#but seeing your father's rage in your baby brother's eyes

[mother-of-houseplants-2]

fiona gallagher // the angry man in the house

[shanastoryteller]

Happy Christmas Shana! May I ask for some Merlin and Arthur? Maybe the time travel Ygraine one, or something else entirely 🎁🎄🎅🏻

Queen Ygraine is cursed to die during childbirth and the baby is stolen from his very crib that same night.

Uther rages. The grief and the fury of losing them both leave him a broken man and a broken king. The grounds of Camelot turn to mud with all the blood he's spilled and the air turns grey and harsh from the burnings. He sends knights to every corner of his kingdom, but his son remains missing, not even a body to be found.

Tristan and Agravaine de Bois send letters, blaming Uther for their sister and nephew's death and proclaiming they are subjects of Uther's no more. It's a blip in torrent of grief - Uther can't even pretend to mourn the loss of his brothers in law in the face of that of his wife and son.

"I still think we should have killed him," Tristan says, watching the servants pack up the contents of their manor with a scowl.

"He would have killed you and then I'd be stuck doing this alone," Agravaine replies, a blond, blue eyed infant in his arms. "So our revenge will have to wait."

"Alone?" Nimueh scoffs. "Thanks. Is this not revenge enough?"

Tristan softens, reaching out to brush the back of his index finger against Arthur's chubby cheek. "He's not revenge. He's our nephew."

Agravaine briefly tightens his hold on the babe before relaxing. "Where are we going? I suppose Mercia is the obvious choice."

"That old man won't be able to help gloating to Uther and we don't want him giving us a second glance," Tristan says. "Cendred's kingdom is a better choice, I think. That's our where our grandfather's castle is anyway."

The two of them plus a sorceress should be more than compelling enough additions to his court for Cendred to relinquish it back to them. Or at least turn a blind eye when they take it back themselves.

~

Merlin is fourteen and standing by his mother's side, keeping his head down and not moving or thinking or looking or anything as the lords come to collect taxes.

No matter what they say, no matter what they do, he's not to move.

There's cries of pain from the smith as one of the lords kicks him down, shouting at him for how little they have. He's the most educated man in the village, he's the one that keeps track. He's the one that warns them how short they are.

They are especially short this year.

There's the sound of sword being unsheathed and Merlin resists the urge to bury his head in his mother's shoulder. He's not suppsosed to move.

"Oh, for goddess's sake," a new, young voice says. He doesn't sound that much older than Merlin. "This is a waste of time. If you cut off his head, will gold coins fall out?"

"We're here to collect taxes!" he insists.

The young lord scoffs. "And if we were sent to squeeze blood from a stone, how long would you spend with your hands pressing into bedrock? Look at them!"

"We can't just let them get away with it," he argues. "If you're father hears about this-"

"He'll hear about it because I'll tell him myself," he says, annoyed. "We could take everything they have and we'll still lose money when they starve to death and we have to send people to bury the bodies or risk disease settling in. The wages for those soldiers will cost far more than everything this little village has to offer."

"They're on our land, they pay the tax!"

The young lord's voice goes hard. "I think you'll see that they're on my father's land and it's ultimately his responsibility to collect taxes for the king. Which means this is decision, not yours."

"Yes, and he decided that-"

"Well I'm deciding differently and he can yell at me about it then!" he snaps. "Put your sword away before I draw mine."

There's a tense, heavy silence. Then there's the sound of a sword going back in its sheathe and, "Yes, Lord de Bois."

Lord de Bois sighs and then raises his voice so his voice carries travels to everyone standing there, to the whole village standing there and waiting. "I'll return within the week. If there's any sort of bookkeeping you have, gather it for me."

"Y-yes, my lord," the blacksmith stutters.

There's the sound of footsteps then hooves.

He lifts his head and only sees the back of the young Lord de Bois's blond head.

Merlin wonders if when he returns, he'll be allowed to look.

[ceilidho]

oh i just know bear latches onto the single pregnant woman working at the diner closest to his place, he sees her as a way of saving her from gods wrath if he married her and adopts her unborn child and he gets the family he always wanted with Lena (who idk she rubbed me the wrong way in the show, maybe its due to the shows inability to write woman but i digress) but like that god complex sort of mentality that has been building in him with the loss of his navy brothers, the divorce and the loss of his own child idk man youre the one with the amazing brain and ability for these concepts god i love your work sm its not funny.

oh you've got something insane cooking here........

divorce has been finalized, Lena's long moved out and maybe even left the state altogether (I'm not touching what actually happens in the last ep)......only his work is really keeping Bear upright at this point, otherwise he would've just gone on a year long bender. he still has his bad days though, weekends where he just disappears. passing out in the bushes outside his house, waking up with a kink in his neck and a headache that threatens to split his forehead open. spends his days questioning why God has allowed everything else in his life to fall apart, has allowed countless other people to die, but just won't kill him.

and then one day he stops at the diner for a quick meal before heading to the bar and notices the new waitress. pregnant, obviously so. not terribly far along, but noticeable. his first thought, the most immediate thing that jumps into his mind is what she's doing working at this crummy diner on a friday night. just his luck that he's seated in her section and remembers how to turn on the charm, smiles and asks for her name and peppers her with compliments and she just rolls her eyes and smiles bashfully like she's used to grumpy old men melting around her.

when he finds out that the guy that got her pregnant has long since skipped town, told her in no uncertain terms that he has no interest in becoming a father, Bear's eyes go cold and hard for a bit. after what he's been through, the thought of someone having everything that he's always desperately wanted handed to them on a silver platter and then...sending it back...has him feeling just a little off-kilter. not quite right. it doesn't last long and he apologizes when she seems unnerved, but the rage still sizzles under his fingertips. makes his hands shake, old nerve damage and anger problems.

but as he sits there, drinking his coffee and lingering, the hour slipping by into the next, it starts to come together in his mind. why he's been forced down this long road alone, why God hasn't struck him down yet despite every terrible thing he's done. he was supposed to be in this diner with this sweet girl and save her. make her an honest woman, give her baby a father. bring her into the lord's house and do for them what he couldn't do for his daughter and fallen brothers.

so he sips his coffee and waits for her to come back to his table. and plots.

[solozxo]

Not so little // JJK

Summary- Jungkook struggles with his loyalty towards his best friend as his desire for you , his friends little sister , grows

Warnings - Smut , Dry humping , Sexual tension , Brothers bsf , fingering , little age gap ext (in their 20s btw)

Pairing - Jungkook x reader

A/N - This is my first time writing so pls bare w me and let me know how i do

Pt.2 - https://www.tumblr.com/solozxo/731745076449050624/not-so-little-jjk-pt2

Jeon Jungkook. The things that man does to you.

You met him around 3 years ago , just casually relaxing in your room nothing too fancy and your brother comes home being all obnoxious and loud as per usual…

————————————————————————————

Flashback

“SCOREEEEE”

“dude that’s so not fair don’t be like that”

“no a wins a win”

What’s with the noise down there? you think to yourself, but brush it off as no big deal , after all your brother never has any real regard for your beauty sleep anyways.

You roll over and try to sleep again after the rude disturbance coming from downstairs.

“AHAAAAA NOW PAY ME I WON FAIR AND SQUAREEE”

That’s it. You get up and prepare yourself to rage at the constant noise - walking with haste downstairs with nothing but slippers , an oversized shirt that could be mistaken as your fathers , and a cute bunny headband covering your head revealing your bare face.

You storm in with your fists clenched ; expecting only your brother with his headset on like he usually does.

“JOSHUA , i’ve told you time and time again stop being a prick and shouting so loud as if you have noise cancellation installed in the walls! YOUR NOT THE ONLY ONE WHO LIVES HERE”

You yell to the top of your lungs to prove your point about the ridiculous sound level.

“ummmm… Y/N” your brother says in an unusual tone which is strange because he’s usually very snappy with his comebacks.

“what! guessing you don’t like my volume either huh! WELL THERES MORE WHERE THA-“

You looked to your brothers right and there was a guy stood beside him staring right at you.

There’s a Guy in the house

There’s a Guy in the house. A Guy I don’t know. A kinda hot Guy . A kinda hot Guy who just heard me yell to the top of my lungs. A kinda hot Guy who’s looking at me right now . A KIND OF HOT GUY WHOS SEEING ME IN MY HORRIBLE SHIRT AND BARE FACE!

He stands up , he’s wearing a white tee with grey sweatpants holding a controller , he’s got a few piercings and beautiful tattoos all over his arm , he’s pretty tall too and your brother stands nexto him as they both eye you whilst you stand there stupidly - mouth slightly open.

“Y/N this is my friend Jungkook , Jungkook this is my ridiculous little sister Y/N” your brother says with a smug look on his face as realises how embarrassed you are right now.

Jungkook walks towards you in a smooth stride.

“So your the cute baby sister i keep hearing about” , he says , tilting his head whilst looking down on you making you feel very vulnerable yet very horny.

You straighten your posture taking pride in your current state refusing to cower away due to the obvious embarrassment coursing through your body right now.

“I’d rather not be referred to like that but yeah im his sister and your making way too much noise down here as you can tell i’m trying to sleep”

You say as you move your hands up and down your body signalling what you’re wearing to him which clearly indicates you were in bed.

Your brother scoffs and rolls his eyes whilst returning to the game and sitting down , turning his back to you and jungkook , who are still both currently stood in the middle of the living room face to face.

Shit. As you stand there you scan his face, His complexion is almost god like , his lips look so soft and pretty and his eyebrows so nicely carved , his eyes too , his eyes are so-

“Is there something on my face?” Jungkook says with a slight smile. Yeah me hopefully..

“Nope , now if you and my brother don’t mind i’m going back to my room so be quiet” you offer a tight smile spinning on the balls of your feet not looking back , running straight to your room and shutting the door behind you , instantly throwing yourself to your bed as you freak the fuck out.

-

Jungkook stands there and smirks to himself thinking about the encounter you both just had.

“hurry up and get back on the game” joshua huffs whilst his eyes are intensely focused on the TV.

Jungkook sits on the couch nexto him and grabs a controller.

“You never told me your sister was so pretty”

Joshua whipped his once concentrated head straight to jungkook so fast to the point he almost got whiplash.

“absolutely not , nope , no way , plus she’s like 4 years younger than you PLUS My sister , so if you ever thought about getting with her then no. Anyway it’s like me if i had long hair… gross dude” Joshua said as he shook his head returning back to the game.

“hmm sure” Jungkook replied bluntly .

“i’m serious , she’s like a baby who complains 24/7 and shes insanely bratty AND she’s just like….not mature atall , she’s not ready for that lovey dovey shit im telling you” Joshua scoffs in pure denial.

“if you say so”

————————————————————————————

3 years later

-

You have gotten used to seeing Jungkook around in your house , as time went by you found yourself crushing on him and wanting to impress him but your brother always found his ways of making you seem like some unprepared child who needs stabilisers or something, CLEARLY ruining your shot at getting with this guy (which you desperately want to do)

You starting to get more and more agitated as you desire Jungkook more each day , it’s almost like he’s a forbidden fruit and sometimes you even wonder if he finds you attractive , infact your really really curious.

-

“Hey kook” You say whilst poking his deliciously broad back as he stands in your kitchen scanning your fridge.

“Hey Y/N what’s up” He says not removing his attention from the fridge.

“i wanna ask you something” You mention with a serious face , feeling a bit daring due to the lack of eye contact.

“Talk to me” he says whilst straightening his back slightly.

Welp here goes. “do you find me attractive?”

There’s a slight silence.

He turns around and closes the fridge , looking straight at you and starts evaluating your body from head to toe , you suddenly feel small.

Your wearing a dress which clings to your body nicely , your hair is done in a style that suits you perfectly and your bat your eyelashes at him slightly as you await his answer.

“Your stun-“

“Hey guys what we talking about” Your brother rudely interrupts opening the fridge once again.

“nothing” you huff and walk away.

Was he gonna say stunning? why is my brother such a cock block , if he found out i wasn’t a virgin he would probably have a stroke

Jungkook exhales at the missed opportunity to compliment you but shrugs it off and continues talking to Joshua.

-

“Hey guys let’s watch a movie or something , it’s kinda late so it would be the best time to fall asleep straight after” Joshua recommends whilst putting something on regardless of your answers.

The hunger games starts playing and everyone gets comfy , Joshua is sat on the far end of the couch leaving a bit of room between him and Jungkook , and you are sat nexto Jungkook on the opposite end only difference is that your closer.

You pull a blanket over yourself as you lean back into the chair and glance over to Jungkook whose body heat you can feel radiating off of him.

It’s dark so you can’t really make of his facial expressions but you notice he’s holding popcorn.

You reach for some popcorn accidentally making direct contact with his hand , his hand is soft and big , I wonder how it would feel wrapped around my throat-

You left your hand lingering on his , looking for some sort of indication that he’s attracted to you , but he moved it back into his lap and looked at you curiously before facing the tv again.

You feel disappointed but you still can’t be too certain that he isn’t attracted to you.

You feel a slight heat growing between your legs as you realise how close he is to you and how easy it would be for him to touch you , the thought of it makes you rub your thighs together hoping for some kind of relief.

Jungkook seems to notice this and he places a hand on your bare thigh right below the blanket placed over you.

The sudden contact makes you flinch but it only makes you even more horny and wet.

You bite your bottom lip and focus on the tv trying not to show too much excitement as his hand clutches to your thigh , and you wait for some sort of movement.

But after a minute or two you notice he isn’t moving his hand , and now the desire becomes pain as you crave his touch , something more.

You accidentally clamp your legs closed at your own thoughts , trapping his hand between your thighs.

Jungkook glanced over to Joshua who’s resting in the far end of the chair , focused on the movie.

then he puts his attention onto you who’s legs have just swallowed his hand , and he squeezes your inner thigh as if to signal you to open your legs.

You open your legs and rest back , expecting him to remove his hand and get back to the film.

Instead he slowly traces his hand up your thigh towards your underwear and your eyes widen and you look at him.

He’s still focused on the tv but his hand only moves futher up landing straight onto your clit.

You bite your lips as you suppress a little moan at the sudden contact , wanting nothing more than for him please you with his fingers.

He starts to move his fingers in a circular motion , softly pressing down on your clit , he feels how wet you are already and it only turns him on more feeling himself growing in his jeans.

You take your bottom lip in between your teeth and open your legs further, clenching your eyes closed in attempt to not make a single sound.

Jungkook leans towards your ear and whispers , “Keep quiet if you want me to make you feel good”

The air is thick as you want nothing more but to ride his fingers there and then , and maybe even more .

His fingers suddenly stop and the withdrawal makes you whine slightly , then he slides his hands in your panties feeling your bare pussy.

The feeling of his bare hands between your legs makes you thrust forward , wanting nothing but to ride his hand.

Jungkook raises his brow as he sees how desperate you are for him as you attempt to rut against his hand like a cat in heat.

“Baby your gonna need to keep still before your brother notices , hmm?” Jungkook whispers in your ear as you feel his breath fan against your face slightly.

His fingers circle your hole then he slowly pushes a single digit in.

You both slightly gasp at the tight grip you have on his finger.

“Your so tight , i wonder how you would feel wrapped around me” he says as he leans into you again , only this time he places a lingering kiss on your neck as he thrusts his finger into you and uses his thumb to rub on your needy clit.

Shit i want him so so bad

You slightly whimper as he quickens his pace , feeling that sensation of an orgasm , but you didn’t want it to be that easy… you wanted more.

You grab his hand , which catches him by suprise as he was sure he could feel you tightening around him getting closer to your release.

“What’s wrong?” he whispers.

“I want more” You nod your head towards your brother who’s fallen into deep slumber , who’s most definitely not waking up any time soon.

“Your his little sister i c-“

“His little sister yet your hand is on my pussy right now” you smirk , silencing him.

“Fuck it fine” He takes your hand into his and leads you to your room , which he hasn’t entered until now.

You shut the door behind yourselves and he stands still scanning your room.

“pretty cute room” He says whilst fiddling with items on your dresser.

“whatever , now please do something about this before i cry” You say softly rubbing between your legs.

Jungkook looks down at you and licks his lips whilst tracing your body with his hands and your nipples perk through your tshirt.

He sits at the edge of your bed and leans back , resting his elbows on the sheets.

“Come sit on me baby” He says whilst unbuckling his belt to loosen his jeans.

Don’t have to tell me twice

You straddle his thighs sitting directly on his clothed dick wrapping your arms around his neck , instantly grinding yourself against him getting any sort of friction you can get.

He leans his head back and grips onto your hips , thrusting upwards into you.

You both moan at the connection of your clothed bodies rubbing against eachother like horny teenagers.

“touch me kook , please” You whimper.

“as you wish” He says , running his hands up your body to play with your hardened nipples , leaning in pressing his lips against yours for the first time , melting into you with a passion that felt a bit more intimate than it was sexual , but you didn’t question it, you didn’t have the time to , not when all you wanted was to ride him and feel him inside you.

You both pull away from eachother and exchange breath whilst looking into eachothers eyes .

“Jungkook i don’t know how long my brother is going to be asleep , if you want me now is your chance”

You say looking directly into his eyes , looking for some type of answer , longing for something, anything that shows he wants you just as much as you want him.

He stares back

he’s silent for a minute

A minute too long.

“i want you , i do….i swear but….. your my best friends little sister” he breathes out , looking into your eyes hoping to find acceptance instead of hurt , but as he searched , he found only disappointment and humiliation.

Your arms which were wrapped around his neck dropped down into your lap and you look down.

i’m such an idiot, he was just horny and wanted to mess with me , he doesn’t want me , he will never want me. i’ll always be my brothers little sister , not womanly enough for him to make love to.

Jungkooks heart raced at the thought of hurting you , he didn’t mean to , his loyalty to your brother interfered with his desire for you. He held onto your hips and tilted his head trying to get a clear view of your face.

“okay Jungkook , sure i get it, it’s whatever” You shrug , offering the same tight smile you offered him on the first day you met him , only this time this smile held pain , heartbreak and shame.

You get off of him , feeling cold due to the loss of body heat you were once entangled in , and you walk to your door opening it holding your head low , signalling for him to leave.

Jungkook stands up and fixes his clothes , looking right at you to try and read your expression , but he silently takes his leave and returns to your sleeping brother who is still submerged in the couch.

“I guess i’m just not up to his standards , i can get over this , i can do it , i can”

You murmur to yourself as you curl into a ball on your bed , wishing for the night to be over with.

-

2 Months later

Jungkook still came over regularly, but you avoided contact with him as much as you could , wanting to avoid any possible interaction or embarrassment.

Jungkook felt like an absolute villian knowing he broke the trust with your brother yet he feels even worse knowing he couldn’t give you what you wanted , but he thinks it’s for the best.

Or so he thought………

———————————————————————————-

A/C : AHHHH how did i do?

[hotchfiles]

↪ day four. sympathy for the devil — #marchhotchness — NSFW ; MDNI!

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ❝ [last true mouthpiece] ❞

pairing: virgin!aaron hotchner x virgin!reader. summary:  "i would battle all nine circles of hell to feel like that again." content warnings: major catholic church disrespect going on. some making out. m! receiving oral. MDNI! word count: 1.3k

god was supposedly pure, free of all sin, free of everything evil that scattered the earth. free of carnal desires. free of hypocrisy. 

church was supposed to be the place to be blessed with his kindness, his love, his overpowering goodness. for aaron it was just another place to be a hotchner.

not aaron, not hotch, a hotchner.

it was a place to be proper, to look attentive, to have his fingers pass through the beads of his rosary as if it really meant something to him or to most of the people sitting there. 

it’s his first summer back home after he was unwillingly sent to boarding school.

if there’s a place he wish he wasn’t forced to be, it would be the place where everyone swore to be good, as good as god, but weren’t.

there’s at least three woman exchanging glances with his father, his baby brother is sleeping peacefully on his baby carrier, thanks to the nanny as their mother didn’t look at him for one second since they entered church, her eyes going from her friends to the priest only, making notes of what the ladies were wearing, how their kids were behaving. nothing good came out of his family. 

not even him, he had his knuckles hidden under white bandage, band-aid on his chin. the signs of his rebellion clear, still his mother would tell the neighbors how sports were tricky for clumsy aaron. 

the only thing close to the pureness and kindness of a god inside that luxurious place was you.

the warm smile you gave him, the way your fingers brushed his skin to ask what happened to him. the way your voice said his name sounded like an angel. it made him believe in angels. 

but the way you made him feel at times was pure sin. if you were an angel, you were a fallen one, beautiful, good, kind… sinful. aligned with the devil and its desires.

but if it meant being able to be closer to you, aaron would knee down and pray to god, or to satan, or to any deity that could make it happen. he would believe anything your lips told him to. 

he would sin in your behalf as you were the only true god he could believe, that’s why when you left your seat during sunday mass to get water, he followed you, captured by the way your hips moved, it had been six months since the last time you two spoke, the flirtatious looks and words leading to nothing of substance. 

“boarding school not treating you well?” you ask him teasingly, but he can see the worry in your eyes as you touch his chin. he winces at the touch, but holds your wrist before you can move. 

“their therapist say i need to learn how to manage my rage.” you chuckle, you’ve never seen him angry, not at you or with you, he was always the softest, most polite boy, the most beautiful soul you’ve ever met. he was bigger than church, his presence made you feel surrounded by good. it’s a shame he doesn’t feel that way about himself. 

you look around, knowing the cues by heart, most people have their eyes closed to pray, and you pull him by his hand quickly, knowing where the altar boys would change, he knew it as well, having been one for years as a child. you locked the two of you inside, breath heavy as you did so. 

at this point the only thing that has ever happened between you two was lingering hugs, suggestive conversations and a quick kiss during spin the bottle. you wanted more of him, you wanted to make him feel good. 

brushing your lips against his chin, you pinned him to the nearest wall, taking his hurt hand and placing soft kisses against the bandage as well, the way he left soft sighs at your touch made you feel invincible, still, you stop yourself for a minute, looking at him for approval, aaron slips his hand behind your neck and pulls you closer for a kiss years in the making, as hungry and needy as you. 

you’re both desperate to feel each other, to feel something real when you’ve been raised in a community where nothing was, his lips are chapped against your strawberry tasting soft ones, his hands are rough and on your waist under your shirt and he smiles at the thought of you having to fight off not wearing a dress to mass. 

aaron’s cheeks flush at how aroused he’s feeling, ashamed to be feeling like that in a place of adoration of everything non carnal, he feels sinful, but the way your body is glued to his, hardening his cock even more, makes him forget about it as he moans into your mouth.

his belt is unbuckled with ease by your hands, but he stops you before you can do anything else. 

“wh–what are you doing?” making out, having someone straddle him, feeling the friction over his clothed crotch–those were the most he had done with someone until now, and there you were with your godly eyes, your red bitten lips and your hands about to make him sin even more. 

“i–i want to make you feel good.” you don’t have much experience either, but still before he can protest to anything you shove your hand into his pants and boxers, feeling him fill your hand and twitch at your touch. 

he nods in a frenzy, helping you by pulling his bottom clothes down to his thighs as you lower yourself, taking him in your mouth delicately at first, feeling the different taste in your tongue as you bobbed your head slowly, your hand holding his cock at the base. 

touching your cheek with one of his hands to catch your attention, he gets you to glue your eyes to his instantly, your mouth still at work as you did so, his other hand guides yours, telling you to move it along with your mouth, showing you what felt good to him. 

aaron can faintly hear the priest citing scripture, telling children to respect their parents in the lord, and he almost feels bad for what he’s letting you do to him, but your mouth may be the closest he has felt to the divine and if god has a problem with that than maybe he wasn’t worth praying to. 

the confidence he gets from the lust in your eyes leads his hand to your hair, pushing you and softly, to the best of his ability, holding you down, it’s clear he doesn’t want to hurt you but he can feel his orgasm building up, he knows it well from the nights jerking off in his bedroom to the image of you, before he can warn you between the moaning mess he is trying to bite inside his lips, you feel his cock twitching inside your mouth, the warmth of his cum filling your mouth. 

you swallow it down in a reflex, the hollowing motion of your cheeks making him whine. you only let him go when he pulls you up by your hair, and it’s your turn to moan. 

his lips and yours feel like two magnets, glued together as soon as you balance yourself, sharing with him his own taste, his tongue meddling with yours made you tingle. 

“i just got us both a free ride to hell, right?” you laugh into his lips and he nods, dropping your arms only to pull his pants up. 

“i think i would battle all nine circles of hell to feel like that again.” his citation of dante’s inferno feels silly along with his teenage hormones filled attempt to flirt, you don’t mind it, his brain was the second most attractive thing about him after all, losing only to the eyes that didn’t leave you as you both got out, again taking advantage of a prayer to get back to your seats. 

[whorefordaemon]

Reader is Daemon's daughter who's obsessed with her daddy and vice versa and now she tries to convince him to not let her marry and bear 'half-blood' Green's baby. She wants a pure-blooded Valyrian babe (3 Guesses where she did her Targaryen supremacy course from).

"You're the only one for me."

Includes: smut, breeding kink, creampie, incest (duh)

Words: 1.6k

Daemon watched as you barged into his chambers, all nervous energy and barely contained rage.

He didn't rise from his chair as you wrought your fingers together and paced around. "You can't do this to me! I'm a pure blooded Targaryen! You dare insult me by selling me to that half blooded one eyed bitch!" You raged, throwing the letter at his feet. You let out a frustrated scream before stopping and facing him. You took a deep breathe before slowly walking upto him.

Daemon straightened himself in the chair as his beloved daughter kneeled next to him. Putting your hands on his knees, you bat your eye lashes at him, showing him your teary eyes. "Kepa please, please don't send me away. From my home. From you!" You placed a soft kiss on his hands. Then his thighs.

Daemon further relaxed into the chair, giving you easy access to crawl into his lap, all while you kissed his clothed chest, shoulders and finally, as you settled on his lap, kissing and sucking on his neck, right where you could see the lump in his throat.

Daemon groaned, wrapping his arms around you, holding you to himself. "My sweet dragon.." he whispered, voice raspy.

"Please don't send me away from you Kepa." You whined, pulling his face towards yourself, looking deep into his eyes.

So similar. You were so much like him. The same long, straight silver hair, same bright lilac eyes and the same soft lips. You stared at him as you leaned in to lay a kiss onto his lips.

You moaned as his grip on you tightened and he pulled you closer. Opening his mouth you slipped your tongue inside.

Pulling at his hair to bring him even closer as if that was even possible. Moaning into his mouth as he refused to let you pull away.

You vaguely recalled the doors were still opened as you pulled away.

Still in his lap, lips puffed and eyes dark with lust, you ask him. "You really want to sell me off to a Highcunt?" You asked brokenly.

"Never my love. My sweet Dragon, all mine." He caressed you gently before suddenly grabbing you and pushing you down onto his still covered cock. Making you grind onto him. "You'll always be mine. I cannot marry you, but I'll have you in every way imaginable. You'll have my sons, not some worthless cunt's."

You sucked in a breath at his words, feeling shivers run down your spine as you felt his hard cock dig into your skirts.

"But Rhaenyra said, she said I'll be married off to her half-brother. That half blooded cunt will father my children."

Daemon growled at her words. "Never! So long as I'm alive, our pure blood will not be tainted." You nodded with him. Thank the Gods he understood.

Of course Rhaenyra wouldn't understand, having had half blood bastards of her own.

"So, will you be the one to give me a babe, Kepa?" You whisper in his ears, smirking when you felt him twitch beneath all the layers of clothes. "A pure Valyrian blooded son! All mine! All ours."

He suddenly rose from his seat, carrying you still in his lap and setting you down onto the table. He stared at you, "Yes. A babe of our own." His hands went under your skirts as he grabbed your thighs and pulled you closer, making you wrap your legs around his waist.

He pulled up your skirts, exposing you to the cold air. You shivered, taking your arms around him and pulling him closer. "Kepa.." you loved calling him that. A reminder of the unbreakable bond between you two.

His fingers found your folds, slowly rubbing them. He stared at you before again pulling you forward and causing you to fall onto the table.

"My beautiful girl." He whispered, increasing the pressure he was applying to your sweet pearl. A shiver went down your spine, the electric shocks making you shake violently.

"Please.." He smiled before going down on you. You leaned on your elbows so you could watch him better.

You tried to keep your eyes open and not miss a moment of his tongue swiping at your folds, but you had to throw your head back and moan.

He bit your thighs to prevent himself from laughing at your reactions. Before he began to loudly suck onto your little pearl of flesh.

You screamed out loud, hand going to grab at his hair, unsure if you were trying to pull him closer or push him away because the sensations were too much to bear.

Your thighs were being forced open by him as you unconsciously tried to choke him with them.

"Even if you did, I cannot imagine a better place to die than right here, inbetween your thighs." He had claimed once.

You screamed as you hit your peak, your thighs and insides all wet and your eyes glassy before Daemon rose up and you watched with hooded eyes and he began to untie his breeches.

You bit your lip in anticipation of his cock. The only you had ever wanted.

"Let me look at us as we join." He smirked before pulling you up into a sitting position.

You both watched with rapt attention as his long, thick cock rubbed at your wetness before slowly easing in.

You groaned as you felt him enter you, toes curling in pleasure and your hands gripped his shoulders so hard, you knew you'd leave bruises.

Fuck, it felt so good..

He didn't take his eyes off your cunt until his cock was fully sheathed in. Your folds were red and puffed from having to endure his length, too big for your small, lithe body.

He let out a deep breathe. "So tight...my sweet." He pulled out just as slowly, watching as you tried to pull in in again.

"Give me a babe Kepa." You whimpered to him.

His hands went to your ass, grabbing a handful and using it to thrust inside you hard and fast for the second time.

"Oh, uh, uh..." you groaned as his thrusts became faster and harder.

Soon he was pulling in and out of you at heightened speed, the loud sounds of flesh smacking against one another, the wet noises making you blush.

Gods, this was so wrong. But you just couldn't help yourself!

"Harder, harder please Kepa harder!." He laughed only obeying you and gripping you so tight, pushing himself into you so deep, both your hipbones touched.

Your sweet spot was being brutalized and you love it. This was unbelievable, how close and one you two were.

No one could take you from him. Not the Greens, not the jealous Rhaenyra, no one.

You grabbed his hair, making him look up at you as you kissed him. He groaned, your tongues battling for dominance.

Your still covered breasts bounced, the fabric hurting them but you weren't in a position to let them escape.

Perhaps your Kepa could later suckle and fondle them. You giggled at the thought.

His thrusts became rougher and quicker and you tensed.

Hiding your face in his neck, eyes closed tightly as sparks shot down your body. Then you came.

A second time you screamed him name, begging him to fill you up as your legs sagged around his waist, too tired to hold onto him.

His thrusts only sped up and he let go of you, letting you lay back down as he grabbed your hips and pulled you closer to himself, grunting and breathing heavily as the first flow of his seed shot up into you.

He came hard, pushing deep inside you as he gripped the table.

Both of you screamed as you felt his seed shoot all the way up into your body. Your womb.

Where you'd grow your pure Valyrian babe.

You waited until he calmed down, before pushing him backwards, into his chair where he collapsed and breathed heavily.

You jumped from the table, legs wobbly and almost falling face first.

You giggled before moving closer to him, shrugging off your dress so your tits were finally free.

You sat on his lap, loving it as he wrapped his arms around you and caressed your long hair. "We made a baby. Don't take moon tea from tonight, up until your wedding." He commanded. You nodded softly, glad to know your blood wouldn't be sullied by some half blood.

You never noticed the door had been left open the whole time.

You kept your promise. Never drank moon tea. Played the perfect daughter and humbled yourself before all the half bloods and ambitious snakes.

And your Kepa kept his promise. Giving you his seed every night, though you were certain he had succeeded the first night, he insisted they keep trying. "Ensure the deed was done."

He fucked you in his chambers at Dragonstone, in the smaller caves surrounding Dragonmont, in the dragon pit, on your quarters in King's Landing.

Even on your wedding day, in your wedding dress.

You barely looked at Aemond as he put the cloak on your shoulders. Not wanting your hatred to be seen by him.

Eight moons later, you welcomed your babe. It was like looking at yourself. Like looking at your Kepa. "Only Daemon is the perfect name for him." You declared, proud.

[vampirevatican]

Looking at saved photos of him...

pairing: om! brothers x reader

summary: the bros find you reacting to something on your phone. a huge smile, blushing, covering your mouth, or muttering things to yourself. they would've never guessed you were looking at them

note: whenever i see my fave boys, especially mammon, i think about how they'd react so i made this

Lucifer

remember. he is pride personified.

sure it's not an arrogant pride, more so stubborness

but!! in this case? oh yeah he knows he's hot shit and he couldn't be happier

funniest part is that the mfer usually has a smug and calm look on his face so when he's thinking about how you were just grinning over photos of him it doesn't really show to others

Mammon

he's boasting...

instantly in the HoL group chat he's going on and on about how he's better

how you ramble on and on over just looking at photos of him

he WILL NOT stfu about it... unless one of his stronger brothers makes him (lucifer or satan specifically)

would start sending you pictures of him at modeling jobs

Leviathan

oh he's flustered and confused

how could you blush over a smelly, bastard, gross otaku like him

and then he hears how sweetly you talk about him and he just gets more flustered and embarrassed

going over some of the pictures with him? maybe you'll build his confidence a bit

although im certain he'd still be fumbling his words and in awe at how you see him and love him

he's going to cherish this for a long time

Satan

he is his father's daughter son.

by that i mean to say that he's prideful about it but he's not focused on him and it being a natural fact like luci

and it's not bc out of all his brothers you're reacting like this about him like mamo or levi

nah this is him being better than lucifer. this is about you seeing him for him. this is about loving him from cute cat pics, rage and handsome

Asmodeus

it's worse than lucifer... mainly because he lives and breathes the reality that he is the most gorgeous thing in all the three realms

would constantly tease you over it

anytime you simply glance at him? "take a picture, darling. it'll last longer." (affectionate)

and me? personally? i'd wanna wipe the smirk off of his face

but for the folks who are in love with him?? you take multiple pictures instantly which he poses for ofc

you now receive every selfie he takes before he posts it on devilgram

Beelzebub

doesn't think much of it but is very happy about it

seeing you happy makes him happy, he's simple like that

at the same time he is very emotional intuitive, so he knows that when you swoon over the pictures it's more too it than his looks

hell the photos and your muttered words say it too, and he actually holds onto how sweet it all is

really makes his day that he's more than just brawn or someone who eats a lot to you...

he feels warm inside when you say he's your baby

Belphgor

he can look like he doesn't care, he can sound like it

but know for sure he's teasing you

and that teasing is the only way he can actually tell you he wants you to look at him more

being the baby, the seventh, and the least active/present brother he demands and needs the attention

might be sweet and smile at you more when you lock eyes, or just when he sees you... maybe even smiles in his sleep when hearing your voice or sensing your presence

i feel like he'd tease you if he catches you staring at him one day by saying "take a picture it'll last longer" (derogatory)

but please take pictures of him, he appreciates the attention

[sillyblues]

‘pecador.’

synopsis— you bring the sinner out of miguel o’hara

cw— religious themes, blood, mild nsfw, 18+

“En el nombre del Padre,”

Miguel O’Hara was a sinner. Violence has always resided in his soul, along with anger that bubbled in his veins. It was evidently clear to him and everyone, even back then when he was younger. He could barely remember his first memories of joy with his mother nor a play with his brother, but he could remember vividly when he threw a punch at somebody who told him that he and his mother and brother were dirty.

And ever since then, he has not learned of a moment filled with peace. His father berated him and punched him as well because how dare he hurt the son of his boss. Because of it, his father had been fired, and they had no money anymore. But Miguel didn’t care. How could he when that little shit insulted his mother in front of him? He let his father vent his anger and frustrations on him. 

“Y del Hijo,”

But a mother’s love was great, and his own mother couldn’t bear to see her son getting hurt, so she tried to stop him. She took her in his arms and protected him from his father. But she shouldn’t have done that. He wished his mother stayed put in place and come to him when his father was done with him. But she didn’t because her love for him was great.

His father grew furious at the sight of his wife hiding his son away from him and in wrath, he hurt Miguel’s mother as well. The slaps and the punches and the hair pulls were thrown at his mother and he knew it was painful. He tried to pull away from her as his eyes were wide and tears streamed down. He begged his father to stop and asked him to forgive him, he sobbed as he said to him to hurt him instead, just not his mom. But despite it all, his father turned a deaf ear to his pleads and his mother’s embrace was tight just so he would not get hurt.

“Y del Espíritu Santo,”

His father’s anger was a large fire that evaporated away his family’s water of tears but Miguel’s resentment was a burning fiery hell only reserved for his father. His rage was molten and flowed through like lava and it pulsed within his heart and consumed his rationality. His fury blinded him and he didn’t know what he had done until he regained his vision momentarily back to see his mother crying.

“Miguel, escúchame,” his mother whispered to him with a tremble as she took the bloodied knife that he didn’t know he was holding from his arms. He looked at his hands soaked in red and furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

“My baby boy, thank you for protecting Mama,” she hugged him and rocked him back and forth as she sobbed. Like instinct, he hugged her back weakly. “I love you so much, I want you to know that.”

“Be strong for me and for your little brother, okay? He has no one but you. Take care of him and yourself, alright?” her soft voice was full of sadness and he desperately wanted to look up to her and comfort her. He wanted to tell her that he also loved her very much and he will but like a lullaby, her voice sent a wave of sleepiness and his vision darkened.

But he couldn’t help it and then, he fainted. When he woke up in a hospital room with his little brother, Gabriel, snuggled beside him, nurses and the police greeted him. There, he knew his mother killed herself.

“Amen.”

He took his mother’s words to his heart and swore that he would protect his brother. He did not let anyone take him or his brother or relied on adults because he trusted nobody. He appealed to the court at 16 years old that he could take care of himself and his brother. Fortunately, he was approved and he took multiple jobs to sustain their needs. He didn’t go to school, no, he didn’t have any time but he made sure that Gabriel did. He worked tirelessly sleeping barely 5 hours a day just to bring food to the table and have a roof over their heads. But despite his busy schedule, he made sure to be there on Gabriel's important days.

Years went by and they had formed a mundane lifestyle. And he tried so hard to keep it that way. But violence resided in his soul and the sinner in him was rekindled once more when his brother was found dead one early morning. He received a call when he was about to go to work and rushed to the crime scene when he heard the news. When he saw Gabriel’s lifeless body and the blood that pooled around him, the remaining hope in his heart was crushed and rage once more visited him and burned fiercely. The police ruled it as suicide as he was found in an alleyway in between buildings. But Miguel knew that it wasn't because of his brother who was so happy and talked his ear off about graduating and becoming a billionaire so he could support him and would never give up on life like that.

“Padre nuestro,”

Miguel decided to join the underworld where mafias and gangs ran about. He took jobs there not only for quick cash but to form connections and information. He investigated more about his brother's death and found out that he was bullied for a long time by a group of kids his age. Apparently, they picked on him because he was sorry for being dirty and a son of a filthy murderer. There was evidence on the autopsy that was not reported that he was burned, with cuts and bruises littered all over his body. A camera evidence that was also not submitted and was deleted (but luckily saved by the corrupt authorities who tried to keep it as a blackmail opportunity) showed that they pushed Gabriel to his death and they all laughed about it. Not only that but he wasn't their only victim.

Miguel felt so angry at himself and guilty that he didn't know that behind his brother's insistence on being covered up from head to toe, lies numerous wounds. Knowing him, he probably didn't tell him so he wouldn't worry about him. He wished he did. He wished Gabriel was a little more selfish and made him worry about him instead because he would protect him better.

With this, he took his time to learn more about the arrogant pricks that murdered his brother. He moved to a different city, to Nueva York, so that he had an alibi. He stalked the conceited brats who did the same to numerous people and their rich parents who didn’t give a shit whether their children murdered someone. He learned their routine. Their schedule. And when the time was right, he put a bullet through their heads one by one when they least expected it. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, come on man, I’m sorry,” they begged with tears and snot dripping, crawling backwards under his shadow. “Don’t kill me, please, I’ll give you anything.”

“Money? Do you want money? I’ll give you hundreds and thousands,” they always said the same thing, thinking that money was enough for him to forgive the suffering they had caused to his remaining family that they took away, the bruises and cuts on his brother’s body, the damage they had done on him mentally. “No? Half a billion? No, no! One billion!”

His jaw clenched. Pathetic pigs. He cocked and aimed it at them.

“No, no, no! NO—!” they stuttered and screamed but were cut off by the sound of a bullet fired by a gun with a muffler.

He wondered if they at least felt some remorse or at the very least thought about how Gabriel or the other kids they tortured and killed felt as they begged them to not hurt them. But he knew people like them, he had seen them countless times including his very own father. People like them didn’t care about anything or anyone other than themselves. These kids were just the same as them.

He made sure to clean up his tracks, deleted potential shreds of evidence, and made some story that would make their case solved and closed easily. He left the city swiftly and came back to his new home. With this, he tried to leave his old past behind and began his life anew.

“Que estás en el cielo.”

Miguel hated himself. He hated the fact that he killed his father which resulted in the death of his mother so that nobody will know that he killed him. He hated the fact that he was so ignorant of his brother's suffering that he had to be pushed to his death for him to realize that his brother was in pain. He hated the monster he turned out to be, always out for blood and killing people like it was nothing.

The sea of guilt and remorse suffocated him and he drowned himself in alcohol and women. The money he saved up which was supposed to be for Gabriel’s graduation gift was used on his vices. 

Day and night, his sins weighed heavy on his mind and not once, was he given at least a moment of peace.

“Santificado sea tu nombre.”

A knock snapped Miguel out of a trance as he smoked out of the window of his apartment. The wispy grey stench wafted in the air as he raised an eyebrow, wondering without much interest who could be knocking on his door. It couldn’t be the landlord as he just paid his month’s due. His past flings? Probably.

Knock. Knock.

He took another drag and inhaled as much as he could before he exhaled and extinguished it on the ashtray full of ashes and butts of leftover cigarettes.

“Alright, alright. I’m coming.”

He opened the door and found nobody, but a baby in a basket with a letter sticking out of the blankets wrapped around it. The sight of the baby filled him with anxiety and dread. He looked sideways, hoping to at least find who put the baby on his door but only the sight of closed doors greeted him. He had an inch of what was happening and he did not like it one bit. 

With a shaky sigh, he took the baby and cradled it in his arms. God, he didn’t even know its gender. But the sight of him made the baby giggle and coo at him and he bit his lip. Fuck. He opened the letter with his other hand and the words written on it confirmed his suspicions.

“It’s your baby, Miguel. You were the last one I hooked up with before I found out I was pregnant and even then, it was too late. She was too grown and I cannot abort her anymore. I don’t have any papers of her because I have no money and I can’t raise her.”

Miguel could feel a migraine forming and he rubbed his forehead. The baby must have found his distress amusing because it giggled once more and tried to grab his fingers. 

No. She. Not it. 

Fuck.

Miguel wasn’t ready to be a dad, he doesn’t even think he was suited to be one because he was a piece of shit but he took another look at her that was so snug and comfortable in his arms as she looked at him with wonder, he thought it wouldn’t be so bad to try to take care after her.

“Venga tu reino.”

A few years passed by and Miguel accepted his role as a father. He named the baby Gabriella after his late brother. He got into therapy and went back to work so he could raise her with no financial problems and so that he wouldn’t be a bad father to her. Gabriella was a handful child. He slept countless sleepless nights, often waking up early in the morning because she was crying. Sometimes it was because she was hungry, sometimes she just needed help to digest the milk, and sometimes there wasn’t any particular reason for her cries. But still, he cradled her in his embrace and sang lullabies to her softly.

It felt like it was just yesterday Miguel opened the door and found her on his doorstep. Gabriella has grown into a bright young child. She took after his looks as she inherited almost all of her genes from him. 

Oh, she was so lovely. She was the best of him, better than him and Miguel liked that because she deserved better. She made him believe that he wasn’t the worst piece of trash and that he wasn’t useless. She made him feel loved and he made sure she felt loved as well.

She was very much into soccer and he was so proud of her. He attended all of her games without a miss, winner or not. He was there with her by her side, teaching her how to be kind enough to not hurt anybody and allow herself to be hurt. He taught her to be emotional yet to also remain logical. He taught her to tell him anything yet also let her remain her own privacy.

Miguel loved her very much and she loved him very much as well. 

“Hágase tu voluntad en la tierra como en el cielo.”

But he was a sinner and there will be time that his sins would catch up to him. He understood this one day when he got home one afternoon as he got home after work and was greeted by his child, his precious baby, his Gabriella’s lifeless body in her blood.

The tears came fast and thick. He immediately cradled her into his arms and rocked her back and forth. He begged her to wake up, to open her eyes for Papa. To surprise him that this was just a prank. Or a dream. Anything.

Please, wake up. You can’t die yet. I haven’t lived the rest of my life with you yet. I haven’t seen you on your quinceañera yet or your graduation or the first time you get a job. I haven’t seen you get married or surprise me with grandchildren. 

I haven’t seen you live your life yet.

Please. Don’t do this to me.

“Danos hoy nuestro pan de cada día.”

Violence has always resided in his soul and with his daughter’s death, he committed his one last vengeance. He visited his old life once more. He got back with his connections and his trusted friends gave him whatever he needed in exchange for nothing and as their condolences.

The killers of his daughter were related to his previous crimes. They were related to the families of the people he killed and they decided to kill his daughter as their revenge.

And in return, hunted them all down. He hunted all families down and despite all the scars, all the sharp cuts, all the black and blue bruises, and all the bullets that pierced him, he never gave up and killed them all. Multiple mafia familias were down and he made sure that they couldn’t even think of getting revenge and that all they could do was bow before him.

“Hahaha, you son a bitch,” one cackled as he spat on him, “you deserve it all.”

“You heartless bitch, you’re the reason why all your family’s dead. Fucking cunt, you think you can revive them? Dream on.” he babbled his useless mouth on and wheezed.

“I know.” How could Miguel not know? For not one second that had gone by, he could never ever forget how he killed his family.

“Your death will not bring my family alive but it will make sure that any other families won’t be killed.” And with that, he pulled the trigger and let the loud sound of the gun resonate through the room. His head spat out red and some solids of his brain decorated the wall behind him. His blood dripped down and it joined the pool of the blood of the other corpses that lay dead in the room. The rays of the rising sun shone through the window and it gleamed on the pool of red. Silence filled the room and only the sound of his breaths remained.

Miguel’s eyes gave up suddenly and he fell to the ground on his knees with a harsh thud. With a tear, his shoulders loosened.

Finally. It’s over. Everything’s over.

Miguel should be glad that all of his enemies were gone and nobody would even dare to hurt him anymore but what does it all matter when everyone he held dear was gone?

“Perdona nuestras ofensas,”

Due to the rules of the underworld, the top dogs with Miguel O’Hara leading, their identities would be hidden and they would not be allowed to surrender themselves to the government as it could overthrow the black society altogether. Partly because of this, he turned to God and moved to a quaint town. He became a priest with the sole purpose of repentance and earning forgiveness for his sins. He didn't know if he was asking God to forgive him or his family who died because of him to forgive his carelessness in protecting them.

It was ironic really because he never really believed in God despite the nightly mass he, his brother, and his mother used to have. The words he uttered were redundant, merely sounds he couldn't understand nor tried to. When his mother died, he and Gabriel did the nightly mass in honour of their late mother. And when he died, he could only attend Sunday mass in the church with Gabriella because of the ache of missing his mother and brother yet still continue the tradition of being faithful to God. He wanted her to grow up good and kind so he taught her the values and morals of being a Catholic despite not fully believing in God.

A hypocrite, that's what he was and usually thought about as he led the mass during his schedule.

And he still was when a quiet mysterious woman moved into town. 

You.

“Como también nosotros perdonamos a los que nos ofenden.”

You appeared so suddenly out of nowhere in this town. He lived in the Church but in such a small town, words tend to spread easily. In just two days of your arrival, he already heard of a young woman who had just moved in. 

Miguel was a bit wary as this town barely had any people. Most residents were grandparents or older parents who were already retired and their children who left to move to the cities for bigger opportunities and education. He didn't know what you were thinking about coming here. Were you sent here by the underworld? No, it can't be. He was protected by his friends who ruled the underworld now. Did you have a past like him? Were you running away from something? He sighed as he shook his head. Then again, it was none of his business and it was most definitely not his right to pry.

The next Sunday was the first time he saw you. You sat there at the back, ushered by your neighbours, he presumed. In rows of people, you stood out so brightly. Your back was straight, there was elegance so blatant despite the plain clothes you wore. He met your gaze one too many times and noticed the way you hung onto every word he uttered.

And when the mass had ended he stayed around longer this time and talked with the locals a bit more. And without a doubt, your new friend introduced him to you.

“Oh good morning, Father O’Hara! Wonderful mass, by the way, I loved the homily, well, as usual, it really reflected my situation now with my son in college. Do you still remember?” Mrs. Lorraine greeted him with a handshake.

“Oh for God’s sake, Lorraine, yes Father still remembers that and I’m sure he appreciated that you love it. Don’t forget you’re here to introduce [Name] to him.” Mrs. Eleanor said, cutting Miguel off before he could even reply.

“Oh! Dear me, why yes,” with widened eyes, she laughed, “Yes, forgive me.”

“Father, this is [Name]. They just moved in here and I invited them to join the church.” she moved her body to show your figure and Miguel finally had a close look upon you. Your eyes stared at him and for a second, he felt like there were just the two of you. You looked at him with wonder and curiosity and Dios mío, you looked so innocent and he was reminded of the darkness that exists from within him. He felt like one touch and he could corrupt you easily. He clenched his jaw and furrowed his brow, desperately hiding any tremor in his composure.

“[Name], this is Father Miguel O’Hara. He moved into this town a little while ago and clearly, one of our only priests.”

“Oh, good morning, Father Miguel.” Christ, your voice was soft as a wind that tickled his heart. You held out your hand to him. “It's nice to meet you.”

“Good morning.” He nodded stiffly. He took your hand and shook it.

Even your palm was smooth and he forced the thought down to hold your hand longer.

“No nos dejes caer en tentación y líbranos del mal.”

You were kind. Endlessly so. You sponsored this town’s community event alongside donations to the church anonymously but everybody knew it was you. Everyone just decided to keep their silence to respect your decision in keeping your identity. 

You preferred to listen to others and learn more about them rather than talk about yourself. You always asked how everyone was doing and gave them gifts under the excuse of it being old despite it polished brand new. Whenever children or the grandchildren of the locals visited, you always stopped by their house and gave them little gifts as well.

Miguel had seen you interact with children multiple times whenever he was doing groceries and pass by at yours, he saw you giggling along with the children. He saw you reading books to them under the shade of a tree and rays of sunlight would gently decorate your faces and the winds would play with your hair. He saw you happy and the children happy with you as well.

And his heart throbbed at the sight of you each time but he swallowed the feelings forcibly down as his grip on the steering wheel tightened.

“Amén.”

He hated you.

He hated the way you invoke feelings in him. He hated the way you tempt him unknowingly and he cannot blame you to take any responsibility for the way you make him feel. He hated the way you make him want to sin again, to unleash the beast inside him he had caged for so long but for another different reasons entirely which was you.

He was a priest, someone who he tried so hard not to sin but you make him falter in his beliefs so effortlessly.

So he hid himself who had become a sinner once more just at the thoughts of you.

“En el nombre del Padre,”

But he was so weak for you.

After a mass one sunday morning, you asked him if you could have a talk with him just the two of you and somewhere private. Miguel knew he should have said no. He should have turned you away and pretend he has not been watching you from afar and from the corner of his eye. But he was weak for you and before he knew it, he let you in on his office room.

“Father Miguel, why are you ignoring me?” you asked so suddenly and he knew it was coming. He has turned away from you, pretending he doesn’t see you coming and would walk the other way. But he was still caught off guard. You leaned closer to him he could smell your delicious scent. He leaned away because his patience with you was just so little he might lose his hard-earned control.

“Pardon me, but you’re getting too close.” He said with gritted teeth and tight fists. You looked hurt at that. With widened eyes that were soon filled with dejection, you slowly rubbed your arm. Guilt flooded his being and as much as he wanted to apologize, he couldn’t. Any second with you drove him insane and he could only take so much of this. He didn’t want to lose his reason, his morals, his values as a Priest. He couldn’t bear to. But any more second with you, he just might lose it all for you. You bit your lip.

“Why do you hate me so much?” you whispered with small tears welling up your eyes and Miguel hated himself more. There was nothing more he wanted to do at the moment than to hold you and wipe your tears away himself. But he can’t. It’s wrong. Priests don’t get close like that to their fellow believers. 

“I don’t hate you—” he sighed as he looked away but you cut him off.

“Then why do you look away from me? Am I so undeserving for you to not look me in the eye? Am I so disgusting for you to get close to me? Am I so inadequate and worthless for you to treat me like you treat others?” you said harshly at him while tears slipped your eyes. You took a step at him with every word you said and he took a step back in every step you took until his back was pushed to the wall behind him. “So do not tell me that you don’t hate me when all you did made me feel like you despised my entire being.”

For fuck’s sake.

He grabbed your arm and turned your body, switching positions with his. He made sure to cover the back of your head so it wouldn’t hit the wall too hard and he growled under his breath.

“I do not hate you.” he said with gritted teeth. “I want you.”

Your eyes widened at that.

“What?” you confusingly and breathlessly asked.

“Every time I see you, there is nothing more than I want than to be with you. I look at your pretty face and I want to kiss you so bad. I look at your nice figure and I want to hold and caress you. I want you.” he panted silently, the words he never dared to even utter to himself outloud was finally out of his chest. And now that they were free, he looked at your eyes to see how would you react. Would you push him away and slap his face? Would you be disgusted with him you’d never want to see him anymore?

He would understand but he didn’t know if he could bear with your hatred.

“Then take me.” your hand encircled his neck and the other gently stroked his cheek.

No.

“I’m right here.”

I can’t.

“Show me you don’t truly hate me.”

It’s wrong.

“Show me how much you want me.”

In an instant, he captured his lips with yours as his hand slid to the back of your neck. At the touch of your lips, the hidden lust for you blossomed. He pressed his face to yours and yours closer to his deeper, his kiss burning so passionately and fiercely. You opened your mouth with a moan and he invited his tongue in, and he nearly groaned at your fragrance hynotizing him and your sweet taste that ignited a new kind of hunger for him. His tongue swriled with yours and together, they danced a dance that left him breathless.

He pulled away slightly and a web of both of your saliva disappeared. He stared at you as you panted. You looked at him pleadingly and your stare sent a rush of blood down in his pants. He wanted more and he knew you wanted the same.

And with that, he plunged to the roaring sea and its waging waves of lust.

“Y del Hijo,”

For you, he threw his title as a Priest and became just Miguel.

All for you, he returned to his origins and became a sinner once more.

“Y del Espíritu Santo,”

Each day and night, you invited him into your temple and he worshipped you. What once was just thoughts that tortured him became reality that gave him a glimpse of heaven. Your aroma engulfed him and filled his never-ending greed of you and your flavor satiated his endless glutton for you.

“Amen.”

As he finished his prayer, he stood up from kneeling and bowed to the Cross of the Lord. He fixed his clothes and the sounds of his footsteps against the tiles of the Church rang as he left with thoughts of you.

He wanted to hear your melody that was akin to the trumpets of the angels again. He wanted your soft and supple skin to be against his dark and rough ones. He wanted to be pressed under you with your legs on the either side of his head and your juices spill in his mouth. He wanted your warm cavern envoloped around him and to feel you come undone by him.

With a silent chuckle, he thought about how he tried so hard to not corrupt you by with his wicked thoughts only to be corrupted by you instead.

For Miguel O’Hara was a sinner and no matter how much he tried to change that, he will always be one. Violence has resided in his soul, along with anger that bubbled in his veins but time changed him and has now become lust that occupied his being along with the infinite greed and glutton that only wanted you.

[chaosfae-writes]

𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥

premise: the lioness gnaws on her favored maiden.

pairing: yandere!cersei lannister x poc!reader

warnings: abuse of power, gender identity issues (slight, but this is cersei), wlw, dead dove smut.

ao3

a/n: although I love show cersei, she was watered down a bit. I wanted to see more of her delulu side, and exploration of her gender issues. Sansa Stark cameo! Sansa is just a baby that needs protecting! <3 anyways, enjoy! <3 do not repost my works!

Cersei Lannister doesn���t have companions.

An unruly child grew into a woman with a crude tongue. Where she lacks empathy with a blackened heart, she makes up for her beauty and charm—- that only extends so far.

Golden locks, and fair skin—- with a temper of a lion. Deludes herself that she has been deprived of her inheritance to Casterly Rock, and is the true queen majesty of all seven kingdoms.

Everything belongs to her.

Her kingdom, her brother, her children —- even you.

A possessive creature. Her love only extends to what she craves, and what she sees in herself. And whenever she senses a threat upon her possessions, that anyone could snatch away her toys —- the lioness becomes irate.

A small council, and a small flock of handmaidens. Only a handful of maids are entrusted in the queen’s space, but only one to bear witness the queen at her rawest.

You are punished by her unsought favor.

To clean her, to dress her, a vessel for her to unburden herself on you. Mistakenly you offered sympathies as a woman one day —- perhaps, too kindly.

Prior, you were just a handmaiden blending in within the palace.

The late king had struck Cersei, you catered to her. Cleaning her split lip, all you spoke was that a queen should be respected, no matter what she has uttered.

All you did was to perform your duty as the queen’s servant … no ill will. Perhaps it’s your shyness, or your taught obedience that caught Cersei’s meticulous eye.

Eventually, she demanded more of you. Requesting your presence for everything, and eventually more demanding—- more touchy.

Dressing you in her house’s colors—- gold and deep red. Adorning you with luxurious fabrics, and discreetly pinning a lion brotchee upon your shoulder. It brought a wave of embarrassment, for such clothing is above your station.

Showering you with such gifts as a king does so to his paramour. It became abhorrent at times to nearby eyes—- more than once, you caught her father’s cold glare.

Conversing with you—- or rather at you, rambling on about her fits of rage upon her father’s lack of respect, how she isn’t respected as queen, how the small folk should be kissing her feet—- or how her little brother should’ve died at the birthing bed.

Delusions of greed and arrogance woven with the silk of self-wallowing, and pity.

Always touching.

Grazing your skin by the fingertips, her breath upon the slope of your neck, gripping your mound tightly as if she possesses any ownership. Sending Bernadette —- against the maid’s growing irate —- to fetch for you almost every fortnight.

To the point where you don’t even sleep in your own chambers anymore.

-

The traitorous wolf is dead.

Long love the youthful stag.

A feast, a celebration held by the newly crowned king. As he cheers over the death of one of the noblest men to live. A cruel boy who immulates his mother’s strife. A feast of dancing, and platters of luxurious food, merry music and jesters.

Seated beside Cersei, as well as her other maidens Bernadette and Senelle. Carefully, your eyes float a peek at the little dove seated beside Joffrey. Sansa is now a shell of the young girl she once was. Pity dwells within you, a somber child, who’s eyes never leave her lap.

You were once that child, once hopeful, only for life to beat you as if you were nothing. Life doesn’t spare the young, age has no limits.

You’re picking at the fruits and meats on your plate, rather bored at the royal nonsense. Gossip among ladies, and redundant chatter of politics among the lords —- it doesn’t pertain to you.

Never has, never will.

As a young girl, it bothered you. How unfair it was that the town folks suffer, as the noble float above the clouds with fine clothing, unending platters of food, and spoiled beyond their dreams.

Now, it doesn’t matter. The bitterness doesn’t matter. Grief to spite, to then an achromatic sense of life. You learned that you are no different than these flocks —- we all are born, then we die all the same, buried in the same soil we go.

But fantasies of escaping to the East, to the land of your ancestors —- to start anew keeps you hopeful. Meet someone, have a babe or two. Live on a farm fruitful of crops.

Lost in your thoughts, you don’t sense a presence looming nearby, ever so watching, gawking at its prey.

“May I have this dance?” A voice soaked in sultry warmth, beckoning and confident. Startling you to jump just a bit, turning over your shoulder, standing above you, is Jaime Lannister. Gold yellow hair, smooth and silky, and a confident smirk to match.

“Lord Commander.” You speak in a gasp, bowing your head respectfully. Jaime’s smile twitches, growing wider—- Lord Commander —- not many address him as such. It’s always Kingslayer , never an ounce to respect.

“May I have the pleasure of a dance?” Jaime’s tone is more smoother, his canines flashing as if he’s ready to bite.

Cersei’s eyes narrow, “Jaime, let her be.” She tries to keep her voice low. Jaime scuffs playfully, “ And why? All these squawking hens must be such a bore.” He turns to you with a boyish grin, making you laugh softly.

All it does is make Cersei more annoyed. She has been upset all evening—- rather all day. Cersei found you earlier in the morning tending to Sansa. The little girl was bruised and broken by the mongrel of Cersei’s beastly son.

Tending to Sansa felt wholesome, it filled a void inside you. Reminded you of how it felt to be a mother again.

It irritated something in Cersei, to see you so kind to another.

“Thank you, Ser,” You cautiously say, you can feel Cersei’s tension. Doe eyes flutter back to Jaime, “But there are more gracious ladies who are more suited for your hand.”

Jaime tsks at your rejection. “ Nonsense. These birds are not to my taste.” He out-stretches his hand, not taking no for an answer.

Hesitantly, you take his hand, his fingers curl around, no space for escape. Jaime guides you by the feet, feeling the heat of anxiety flood your flesh, as if you felt the thousands of gazes in your direction.

But—- the daggers lodging themselves in your back were from a pair of greens.

A clunky sway between four feet, it’s quite difficult to catch up to Jaime’s step. Unaware at first to steady yourself; Jaime takes this to his advantage, slithering his palm to the nape of your tailbone, luring you into him.

Muttering low, “Follow my lead.” Jaime whispers. Slowing his footfalls, you follow his pace. Clenching your jaw, rather upsetting to be in this position, in the hands of a noble —— in such a vulnerable display.

“I am afraid I won’t be much of a dancer,” Your eyes glued to your feet, a little flumpily. “I haven’t had lessons.” Not daring to glance upward at his intense eyes.

“And weren’t taught lessons on manners.” Jaime jests, earning your head to snap up swiftly, now eye to eye, with a frightened stare of a doe. “Have I offended you, Ser?” Your eyes wearily gaze down.

Jaime chuckles, “There it is again,” his finger curls under your chin, making you look at him in the eye. “Most of the dance, you have not addressed me with so much as a glance.”

You hum, eyes downcasted to the flooring. “My apologies, I am accustomed to not stare too long at the noble.” Swapping harshly, your throat clenching a little.

“Mousey little creature, you are.”

You breathe a titter, bowing your head still, “The bored lion plays with the mouse.” Shyly staring at your feet, careful not to step on his toes.

“Bored isn’t the word.” Jaime whispers, tilts his head closer, attempting to catch your eyes. He leans in your space, you can feel his warmth beat against your face. His nose is just inches from yours.

“Merely curious.” Jaime teases. “My sister has had many maidens, but never any has been beautiful.” He has always snuck glances.

Your eyes slowly gaze up, fully taking in his golden hue.

A natural skin of rich brown —- not many folk in the West possess such color, he can tell you are not of Andal birth. Your flesh shines as sun brown, and curly tresses brushed back to a gold thin lined headdress.

You hum low, not intrigued in his antics, your mind is too preoccupied by another twin —- one who is more meaner.

“You hide yourself in plain cloth, dare to deprive a man?” He chuckles, but his eyes are heavy with need. A simple dress of royal blue—- not the colors of the house you serve, it doesn’t shape your bodice, nor do you seek for it to.

“There is nothing beneath to be desired.” You snip softly. A ripple of fear shivers your flesh, sneaking glances over Jaime’s shoulders. Barely a glimpse at the royal table, a flash of angry green eyes burns you.

“I beg to differ.” His voice pulls you back, eye to eye now. Jaime swirls your bodice around, his open palm tight on your tailbone. Sending a shiver upon the curve of your spine, never been touched by a man.

“My sister has kept you all to herself, I’m envious.” Jaime holds you to his chest, heavy breathing collides. “You tend to her hand and foot—- is there any way you can tend to my needs?” A smirk curls on Jaime’s mouth, ready to sink his teeth.

“When I am cold in my grave.”

“A knight and a handmaiden,” Jaime’s shrugs his head, “A sight all too common.” Gesturing to this as it could be a casual affair. He enjoys your bite, so used to the familiarity of women throwing themselves at him, such easy prey to play with, but he rejects them all.

This is new, a fun game.

You admittedly enjoy his touch, Jaime is breath-taking. Golden honey hair, a strong beautiful sculpted nose, and beautiful green hues.

“I must behold my reputation.” You said in a hush, “I am a lady in your sister’s circle, it would be improper to entertain her brother—- a Lord Commander no less.” You hum low, a small twitch of a smile.

Before Jaime could speak, you catch a glimpse of an ornery glare from a distance, burning with fury. The boldness fades on your lips, but confidence still lingers.

“Doesn’t your oath forbid you of any intimacy?” You jest with him, but your mind is still wondering for Cersei, as well as making sure your feet are coordinated.

You’re nearly breathless, and frightened.

Jaime feigns shock. “My oath won’t be burdened nor broken, if it is kept a secret.” He twirls you again among the sea of dancing lords and ladies. “Secrets can be delicious.” He whispers a wisp into the shell of your ear.

“Even poison can be enticing.” You tilted your chin at him, Jaime smiles, his hands circle your waist even closer to himself. His thumb stroking against your waist.

The environment blurs for a moment, it feels nice. To be treated with kindness, and gracious banter. To not be touched so harshly. But simultaneously, it’s all too much. As if a foreigner in unknown land, touch such as this is—- new.

“How could anyone deny themselves pleasure? Even if it’s —- dangerous?”

You gasp, mouth agape, for once, you didn’t have a snip to his flirtations. Jaime hums a chuckle, “Why, has the mouse lost her tongue?”

“I—”

“The Queen is ready to retire for the evening.” Bernadette’s voice floats behind you, and you thank the Gods above for her —- for just a moment. To be freed from this burning grasp.

“A thousand apologies, Ser. I must tend to—”

“My sister… yes. ” There is a mirth to his tone, mischievous. His eyes stare as if he knows something, toying with it his tongue.

“Yes…” You nod with a timid smile. You bow your head to him, grabbing the skirt of your dress, “I am grateful for the honor of a dance, Commander.” Jaime’s mouth is agape, and genuinely it spreads to a wanton smile.

“ Jaime.”

You gasp a breath, eyes taken back. Jaime grabs your hand into his, his thumb caressing your knuckles.

“Please call me Jaime.” His eyes are pleading, almost glassy. You blink, a simper of appreciation. A royal has never been so amiable with you. Always ‘my lord’ this, and ‘my lady’ that.

“Thank you, Jaime.” You say, a human sensation of appreciation is twinkling like feathers in your belly. It feels nice.

A cough emits behind you. You close your eyes —- it’s time. Lashes blink back, “I must go.” Feet backpedals, hands slowly slip from the warmth of his fingers.

“Yes, you must go.” Jaime says coyly.

Oval nails slip back to your stitching, you twirl around to walk behind Bernadette. Duckling footfalls in line, as Bernadette walks with a hast stride, slinking through the dancing bodies.

“Our majesty is very impatient.” Bernadette’s voice is snarky, as if she chastises a child.

When has she ever not been?

All you can do is strum in agreement.

As you both reach the king’s high table, you catch Cersei’s eyes. Envy as green as her hues, mouth wrinkled. Immediately she stands from her chair, bidding her son a good evening —- all he does is give her a wave and a cantankerous smile, too busy boasting with low lords.

You immediately follow behind Cersei’s trail, biting your tongue, the edge of your jaw clenching in unbridled anger.

Bernadette is not far behind, trying to level at Cersei’s shoulders, but Cersei snappily dismisses her with a flick of her wrist.

Bernadette is sent away to her own rooms, much to her dismay.

-

The lioness is prowling.

Foaming at the maw.

Cersei walked with a firm gait. Her hands clasped over each other, her lips twitching; her brocade fabric sways against the flooring. Her brother —- her lover, and her maiden in such a display.

The walk back to her chambers is eerily quiet. Anxiously your fingers fiddle with your rings, as your belly is churning as slippery eels.

Hastily, you grasp the large oak brown door handles, opening it wide for her—- hopefully pleasantries can ease the tension.

Without a look at you, Cersei immediately walks into her chambers. Harsh fingers tugs at her dress collar, Cersei’s back to you. Routine is often instructed to undress her, but she isn’t thrilled to be touched yet.

“Prepare my bath.” She demands, without even looking at you. “Yes, your Majesty.” You speak in a strain. Rolling your sleeves up to the joints of your elbows.

In the washroom, you fill the tub with warm water that has been on flame for awhile. Carefully, you begin to pour in scented oils, put her bar of soaps on the dish tray, and a rag over your forearm.

Cersei strides to the room, only in a crimson robe, with golden threads. Her face is cold, frozen in disgust.

Ungraciously Cersei drops her robe, it glides down her arms. She steps out of the bundle of fabric, and into the steamy bath. The routine commences—- you have it ingrained on what she likes.

As you kneel, Cersei untangles your headdress uncouthly, letting it fling to the floor, your hair flows down your shoulders. You resume your duty, as if nothing happened.

You unclasp her hair from the gold clips, softly caressing her skull. Untangling her swirls, and unclipping her jewelry. Tenderly, you knead the nape of her neck, to the slope of her throat, to her collarbones.

Cersei moans, closes her eyes in content, but she won’t be manipulated by your touch.

Her eyes flicker open.

“Bring me wine.” Curt and sharp. A dismissive wave of her hand. You stand up from your knees, grabbing the wine jug, pouring the dry sweet Arbor wine into her cuppee.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” Cersei asks, if possible, the heat of her jealousy can boil the bath. Hesitant, you cautiously say, “Yes, the Lord Commander is a gracious dancer.” You offer her the goblet.

“Formalities,” Cersei chuckles, her head bobs tipsily, “ Ser… Lord… ” Her laugh dies, with a frown, “—with how you were fondling him, might as well refer to him by his name.” Her voice is sharp. She snatches the cuppee from your hand.

“I wouldn’t dare to speak to him so formally.” You say, sinking into yourself more and more. You resume cleaning her, trying to get through the night.

“Is it men you seek for?” Cersei asks, twisting the cuppee between her fingertips. You shake your head, “No, your grace.”

“No?” Cersei’s voice rises in pitch, almost mockingly.

“I do not seek companionship.” You peek through your lashes, trying to keep your composure. As a fawn caught by the hands of a hunter.

A thread snaps in Cersei’s mind at those words.

“If I bore a cock, perhaps you would be enticed.” Cersei hissed, her milky fingers clenching her gold cuppee. Her voice slithers into an incoherent mumble, ‘If I was born a son, we would be wedded.’

Her drunken vulnerability turns sour once more.

An empty malicious thought plagues Cersei.

“The Mountain has a taste for sweet gentle creatures—-” Cersei whispers, fiddling with your sleeve. “He would eat you alive.” An airy laugh escapes her, head reclines. She’s rambling poison, trying to hurt you, as if you have pained her in return.

“Perhaps then your whorish behavior would then be satisfied.” Cersei growls into her drink.

You remain mute, not daring to speak in your defense. It’s better fitted to let her ramble in her delusions. Cersei’s eyes spark again, feline eyes stare at you.

“Remember what he did to our late Princess Elia Martell? That was just sport for him.” Her face morphed to a devilish grin, hazy eyes sharply baring into your wet doe ones. The threat is clear, but you don’t catch the bait.

“All of the realm recalls the tragedy.”

Cersei’s face falls a bit, her smile morphs to a frown, her eyes narrow spitefully. She hoists her slender leg up, splashing her bath water everywhere, even drizzling your fabric, and face; earning a flinch. Your eyes scrunches shut, from the swash.

“Scrub.”

Gently you resume washing Cersei. The wash cloth soaps her skin, avoiding her lower regions, not daring to touch her —- it will only spark her. You save that task for last.

Cersei gulped down her wine, the warm twang floods her blood, and her mean strike.

Cersei calms for a moment, her eyes staring yards away. Finally, her body is cleaned, and you cautiously dove your hand into the soapy water, scrubbing her mound. You can feel her pubic hair through the rag. Out of instinct, Cersei bucks her hips against your palm.

Cersei moans happily.

“My brother desires you.” Cersei slurs, just a little. Staring into her wine, her fingernail scraping against the gold engraving. She speaks in a manner as if she talks to herself. You ignore her, swallowing harshly. Cersei is bristling, you prepare yourself —- for the outburst.

Her wet hand reaches for your hair, waves of midnight brown. Her fingers fiddle with the tresses, coiling into a makeshift fist.

“Pretty little thing…” Cersei deadpans, her pink mouth purses. She tugs downward, causing you to wince. And without any hesitation, her back hand swacks your cheek, sending you to crash into the flooring.

That was Cersei at her gentlest.

Cersei stands from her tub, her tuft of hair in view, nose down at your pitiful state. Crumpled onto the floor, cheek swelling, wet moon eyes —- fragile and broken, just how Cersei likes it.

“My husband wasn’t so kind.” Cersei spits, “He didn’t grant me such mercy.” Cersei’s bare foot grazes against your belly, slightly pushing. Towering over you as if you were a mere worm.

The late king was a brute, harshly thrusting his drunken rage onto Cersei. His swollen belly crushed her, and to add salt to the wound, after violating her body, he would whisper Lyanna in her ear.

“Undress.” Cersei seethes.

Shakily, you untie your dress, one shoulder at a time. “If you dare lay with Jaime—- or with any man, I will cut that tongue out of your little head.” Cersei clicks her tongue, “But oh, that tongue of yours is too delicious. It would be a waste.”

You slip out of your dress, with only a simple white cotton undergarment. Cersei snags your cloth, tearing it to thin ripped shreds, ‘as so a man would’ , Cersei thinks.

Cersei kicks the cotton against the floor by her foot, as you stand shivering under her watchful gaze.

“Kneel.”

As you kneel onto the chilled flooring, Cersei waltz to the bedding, leaning onto her spine, her legs spreading as if she’s presenting a feast.

Crawling on all fours as a dog, head bowing, nose flaring to maintain a steady pace of breath. Closer and closer now, you can feel the heat from her thighs, a natural essence emits from her mound, damp and fresh with herbal water.

Cersei’s fingers sought through your hair, fondling your scalp; guiding you further into her.

Your nose goes against her pelvic bone, her blonde tuft of hair envelopes your entire mouth, tickling your skin. Cersei’s fingers interwoven with your curls, tugging against your scalp sharply now, tight at the roots.

You catch yourself voluntarily suckingly her clit into the cave of your mouth. Sloppily nibbling and licking her folds.

Suckling her mound, mouth latched onto her as if savoring a succulent fruit. Your nose pinned against her hair, all that can be heard is the echo of your tongue lapping. Cersei’s grip is woven tight, it feels like pricking needles against your skull.

Cersei hisses through her teeth, legs spreading wider, hips thrusting against your mouth. Completely at her mercy, her palms holding your head, struggling to breathe, as her cunt is spilt and soppy against your mouth.

Hair not as dark as Robert’s but thick as his once was in his youth, it stirs something in Cersei. As a pot boiling at the rim, she snaps.

“If I was born a son,” Cersei shouts, nearly at her peak, thrashing you off of her. Wiping your mouth by the back of your hand, it glistens with Cersei’s slick.

“Perhaps then, I would have my way with you, not in such a secret!” How dare Jaime try to sway you in his bed, although Cersei warms it herself.

“Fuck you on the hill of Casterly Rock!”

Cersei isn’t always this cruel. Sometimes, she can be kind, and gracious —- as much as she can. Find the humor and joys in her privileged life. When she isn’t drunk, when she can hold a conversation—- she is tolerable.

That Cersei is ‘sweet’ , and in those sparse moments, you can forget that you are merely a servant, and she is the Queen.

“On the bed.” Barking orders as if she is a commander on the battlefield. As you crawl onto the mattress on all fours, Cersei serves herself a handful of your ass, fingers digging.

A pregnant pause.

“Do you desire my brother?” Do you desire a man?

Your face wrinkles in a silent sob, shaking your head, “No, your grace.” Bowing your head down in-between your arms.

“Do you not find him attractive?” Cersei goads, her finger tracing between your cheeks. “No—” a whack against your backside, causing you to wince in pain.

“As children, many couldn’t tell Jaime and I apart.” Cersei says, as she relishes in the blooming heat of your ass. “We mirror each other in so many ways.”

Even both acquire the same appetites.

“You insult him, you insult me.”

“What do you most yearn for in this life?” Cersei asks, tracing your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“I have no ambitions.” You tiredly say. Sucking in your lips into your mouth, tasting your tears. Blindly blinking with damp lashes. Cersei ignores it, humming low in her throat.

“Every little girl has dreams,” Cersei goades, hovering over your spine, her mouth edging near the shell of your ear. In a warm whisper, “to seek for a prince to whisk them away. Surely I did. ” Her pink tongue slithers, and kitten licks your ear, the warmth jolting a shiver to your mound.

Cersei’s mouth trails down from your cheek, to the slope of your neck, leaving behind open kisses. Scraping the skin of your shoulder with her teeth, nipping here and there —- as if an animalistic urge to tear you apart has overtaken her.

“To be Lady of Casterly Rock, is that what you want?” Cersei says, sitting up again, smacking your back, she hums at your whence.

“I do not yearn for a title,” You wail, speaking through choked tears. “I serve only you.” Wrinkling the satin sheets, bunched between your fingers. Strands of hair cling to your tear stained cheeks.

Cersei plunges her fingers into your cunt, making you cry out. “Does this cunt serve me as well?” Tight walls sucking her fingers in, velvety cave explored.

Intrusive thoughts plague her mind. Images of Jaime crawling and ravishing your body; kissing, biting, and licking. It drives her mad—- with lust. She yearns for it to be three of you.

He is hers, and you are hers.

But what if you two convalude with each other? To leave her behind? To have a life together? An intimacy she has no space to shoulder herself in.

“You plot against me—” Cersei yells, her chin wobbles. Any inkling of logical reason is dwindling now. “Where do you go at night?” She interrogates, nose flaring.

“You slip through the walls, parade yourself for the guards?” She spoke through the cage of her teeth.

“I do not conspire against you, Cersei.” You shrivel, trying to inch further into the bed. “I do not want a life as such with Jaime, I desire to stay here …” you swallow a sob, “in the Red Keep with you.”

That is not enough.

You are Robert, and she wants to hurt you—- sex is electric, or it can be painful. She will fuck you as Robert —- this is what men do. Powerful men take what they want, this is what her father would do —- take, take, take, take ! Power, fear! Take all that she desires, take what she loves—

Love?

Affection isn’t a foreign concept to Cersei, but it isn’t something she gives freely. Only threads of herself can feel her love.

Cersei exhales deeply, trying to organize her thoughts.

Her eyes open blankly, one closes lazily after the other.

“I can see it now,” Her voice is hushed. “A Lannister wedding. Lavish as it can be. Gold it shall be.” Cersei’s head glances down, with an unhinged smile.

“I take Jaime as my husband, and you as my paramour.” Her head is swimming, the wine has sunk her even deeper. “Or perhaps, you as my bride. Oh —- how my father would throw a fit.” Cersei slurs and chuckles as a child.

“If only I was a man,” Cersei leans her body down, engulfing your body into hers. “We would live here, as a man would not be questioned on how many mistresses he possesses.” Her slender fingers creepily slip near your ass.

Guiding the slope of your under thigh between her legs, resting her cunt on your kneecap. The soft tuft of blond hair tickles your bare skin, grinding herself.

Soft wet slick sounds fill your ears, as her fingers grip and tug on the meat of your ass. Her hips are thrashing a bit more harsher now.

Her milky hands slither up the hill of your navel, cupping the weight of your under breast; twirling your brown nipple between her fingertips, twisting.

You hiss at the sting, as she relishes in your distress. Cersei bows her head into your chest, swallowing your breast into her mouth. Her tongue lapping at your nipple, her ivories nibbling and tugging harshly against the skin.

Violently suckling your tit, as you twitch and gasp; worried she might bite it off by the teeth. Despite the astringent offense upon your body, the wave of pleasure cascades you.

Skin breaks into bruises, as you twitch. Sensations of pain and pleasure blur, confusion and ecstasy. Without thought, your fingers caress Cersei’s hair.

Cersei’s mouth releases your breast with a wet pop. A tint of burgundy against the brown of your skin, a reddish ring encircling your nipple. Her puss leaves your knee.

The tip of Cersei’s tongue glides down the path of your belly, down to your navel, to finally your pubic bone. Her warm breaths tickle you.

Raspy moans escape from Cersei, as she slowly licks your mound. Plump, and soft. Flickering with her pink tongue, teasing you.

Her green eyes watch you, as her tongue slips through your folds, tasting you. Delving deep, to your puckering hole. Fucking you with her tongue, no matter how much you fight yourself, the sensation of her mouth on you always sends sparks.

Wetness echoes, as her cheeks puff up against your mound. You move your hips down, fucking yourself on Cersei’s mouth. Slamming your hand against your bedding, gripping the sheets between your roving fingers, as undignified grunts leave your lips.

Cersei admires your heaving bare breasts.

The lioness is selfish—- her mouth leaves you. You whine, stiffly leaning back. Her mouth is damp with your essence. With a harsh slap on your cunt, and another. Cersei finds her enjoyment in your misery, as you mutter for more.

“Pathetic little mercies.” She taunts you.

Silently, Cersei kneels once more, twirling her legs. Lifting your knee upward, over her shoulder, along with your other leg underneath her.

Both of your puss connect, dripping with want. Panting, and sweating, only grunts are in conversation. Your hair is messy, damp baby hairs cling to your forehead.

Cersei’s milky fingers hold the flesh of your thigh, as she rides your cunt with hers. Spilt wet clits, dancing together. Electric sensation that pulls the silky moans from you, as Cersei rides you fast.

Your fingers daringly hold her jiggling ass, fondling her asshole. Toying with it. Cersei squeals at the intrusive touch. A primal surge takes hold of you, placing your fingers into the cave of your mouth, soaking in your saliva.

Your hand cups Cersei between her ass, fiddling the bridge between her asshole to her gaping pussy hole. Her head falls back, as you plunge your fingers inside of cunt.

Her golden hair is loose and disarrayed. Cascading down her face, a lion reduced to a whimpering kitten. Your leg twitches against her chest, Cersei bites at your calf dully.

Your toes curl and flex, as the pit of your belly is unfurling. A choppy high-pitched moan spews from you, your head digging back into the pillows.

Cersei shrills a yes , as her climax reaches itself to the heavens. Bruising your thigh under her fingers. Cumming together, Cersei grinds herself onto you, connecting together, with no space of separation.

Clits throbbing against each other, stinging pleasure. Riding your highs, gently thrashing her clit against yours, earning airy moans. The tuft of her pubic hair against yours fuels the sensation.

Cersei moans delightfully, satisfied with herself. Her body towers over yours, crawling into your heaving arms; not caring of the dewy sheen of sweat that covers your body.

Legs interlocking together, as she pulls you into her arms fully. Turning herself onto her side, her knuckles stroking your hip.

These are the sparse moments you enjoy with Cersei. When she is human, when she relishes in touch, rather than harshness.

“Jaime should not be burdened with duties of the King’s Guard.” Cersei whispers. “He needs a bride. Father is aging, and one day, Castlery Rock will be in need of a lord.” She is mumbling now, mostly to herself.

“That disease of my little brother will defile us with his whores.” Hate spills from her naturally, as it always does.

Her voice trails into silence, her fingers snagging onto your flesh, pulling you closer to her.

Sleep takes Cersei, sinking into the mattress. Paralyzed in her hold until slumber overtook you as well.

The morning sun shone through the windows, baring its light onto your eyes. Rubbing your eyes by the heels of your palms, sinking deeper into the blanket furs.

The hinges of the chamber doors creak, jolting you further into reality, eyes heavily leaning to shut closed. Clicks of heels follow, and a hum.

“It seems the morrow has escaped us.” Her voice is light, cheery even. Not an inch of maligne in her infliction. It’s eerie how the mask can slip on and off—- a performance.

Cersei leans, invading your space, seating upon the mattress. Her eyes lower, and darken. How easily eerie her charm and spite can transmute to one entity.

“If I were to find you in the arms of another,” Cersei says, her voice on edge, taking one step closer, her lips stretch into a gritted wolfish grin. “I will gladly brand your cunt with the sigil of my house.” Her green eyes unflinching, her lips smirking devilishly.

Silence prevails, your hair cascaded against your face. Barely hiding your shame, you subtly nod; submitting to her demanding presence.

Cersei smirks, “Good.” The lioness prowls around her chambers, licking your blood off her paws. A victorious slaughter, a fragile doe locked in her cave, with broken limbs—- and a broken spirit.

-

Peace and quiet.

You inhale a deep breath, as it floods your cavity. Solitude has finally granted itself upon you, away from the yaws of the lioness.

Flexed fingers stroke against the wall, basking in the brisk air. The balcony’s view is marvelous. Unclipping your cleavage, so the breeze can grace your breasts, and sweep against your scalp.

Cersei had taken her leave for a meeting with the king’s council. And surely, no mere maid is allowed in such a space.

Away from her suffocating touch, you can relax in your own skin. A thought comes to you, there are a handful of empty rooms to explore. Your feet carry you down the corridors.

Without thought, searching for an empty chamber, you find one. With the tug of the knobs, you walk freely inside—- only to be greeted with whisking reddish hair.

A gasp catches itself in your mouth, holding your stomach, kneeling legs curtsying in respect.

“Lady Sansa.” You bow your head dutifully. “A thousand apologies, I didn’t intend to intrude.” As your feet backpedal to the entrance, a soft whisper calls.

“Please stay.”

And just like that, her sweet child voice sweeps you.

“Oh, little wolf.” You pinch the fabric of your dress, lifting as you walk with haste. The instinct to hold Sansa over took you. Sitting on her mattress, engulfing her in your arms, quickly her red hair melts against the sapphire threading of your dress.

Sansa’s head is tucked in the crook of your shoulder. Quietly sobbing, her delicate fingers grip against the base of your back, as would a cub cling to its mother’s teat.

Caressing her hair, you shush her softly, rocking her back and forth. “I’m scared.” Sansa’s words are muffled, vibrating against you. “I want to go home.” She wails, mewling.

“My sweet girl, how I long for you to be safe.” You whisper, “I’m so sorry for what has happened.” You kiss her head, muttering apologies into her hair, hoping your kindness weaves itself into her hair, and stays for a rest.

The morrow stretches into noon, as you watch over Sansa. Comforting her in placid silence, brushing her hair. Humming a melody, as your fingers thread intricate braids within her auburn flaming hair.

This feels like home again.

Outside of these walls, both are prisoners within a castle. But here, in this moment, is a woman, and a child. Reliving memories past, as a mother, and as a daughter—- through each other.

To heal these wounds, as mother and daughter.

Just for a moment.

[fl3shm4id3n]

Fₐₜₕₑᵣ ₒf ₜₕₑ Yₑₐᵣ

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐝 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦. 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐝 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭, 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐭.

ᴊᴀᴋᴇ ꜱᴜʟʟʏ x ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ! ᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ (ᴘʟᴀᴛᴏɴɪᴄ), ꜱᴜʟʟʏ ᴋɪᴅꜱ x ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ! ꜱɪꜱᴛᴇʀ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ (ᴘʟᴀᴛᴏɴɪᴄ)

ꜱᴏɴɢ: ᴍɪᴛꜱᴋɪ- ᴡᴀꜱʜɪɴɢ ᴍᴀᴄʜɪɴᴇ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ

Tw: abandonment, Oldest Child Syndrome, angst, reader cussing out Jake.

A/N: I think that one female rage audio edit (the one were the classical music is playing while there's screaming) fits her well, sorry that it isn't long, maybe the next part will be longer.

Masterlist

For the last couple weeks you were alone, you wanted to be alone. You had so much on your mind that you didn't want to interact with anyone but yourself. You hated feeling all sorts of things, specially when it came to your siblings. You had gone to the lake were you'd spot Jake and his family interacting, it was a bitter feeling being here, remembering the times Jake would use the excuse that he was busy. You sat on the floor with your feet dipped in the water.

Looking down at your feet, you couldn't help but feel tears form in your eyes. Why did the relationship between you and your dad had to change? He had made the promise that he wouldn't leave like your mom, but he did. Even though he was still here, he acted as if he did not know you. Was it because he was now a na'vi and had a new family? A family that obviously you weren't a part of, no matter how hard your siblings would try to include you in there family events, you were just not a part of them. Sometimes you wished that you had an avatar, maybe he'd recognize you again, you had begged Norm and Max if they could make you an avatar, they said they could try, but it'll take some time.

You hated it, you hated feeling the way that you did, you hated that your dad had left you behind. You hated everything at the moment. You wished that you were back on earth with the father that you deeply missed, the one that would take care of you and would look at you as if you were the light of his light, you missed when you were his Baby girl, you wished you could turn back the time.

You heard some grass moving, as if someone was walking through it. Looking back to see who it was, it was the one and only Neteyam, the brother who you barely had a relationship with you. "Hey sis.." that's all he said. You only waved at him and looked back down at your feet. Neteyam walked over and sat down on next to you, dipping his feet in the water. "Is something wrong?" he asked. You just sighed, cleaning your tears. "I don't know, everything doesn't seem fine." You said, while rubbing your now red and puffy eyes. "What's wrong? Did something happened?" he asked.

Looking over at him, you noticed his worried expression. You couldn't help but say something. "I've been thinking a lot about the past... how... how my dad used to love me." you said, looking away, feeling your tears coming back. Neteyam didn't say anything, instead he hummed, waiting for you to continue. "..Sometimes... I wished that... I could turn back time.. or.. wished to not be born if this was how my life was going to turn out." You admitted, feeling yourself hiccup as you cried. Neteyam felt bad, he noticed how his parents, mostly his dad would treat you. His first child.

Neteyam wasn't dumb, his dad may think he is but he isn't. He'd notice how you were completely ignored with the 'I'm busy with the kids' excuse. Majority of the time they'd leave the kids in his care and his parent's would be leave together, he always found that weird. Also never understood why you'd get excluded from their family when you were his father's child, also family.

"Can I admit something to you?" he asked, you looked back at him, you nodded while wiping away your tears and nose. "This may sound bad, but... I honestly wished dad wouldn't pay attention to me.." he admitted. "What do you mean?" you asked, a bit confused. "I love my dad really, but... I just.. want to be ignored sometimes you know? All this expectations and responsibilities he has on me are killing me.." he said. It was understandable, it was no secret that Jake would put a lot of pressure on Neteyam, for being the oldest. He was forgetting that his favorite son was also just a kid, a kid who was missing out on everything because he is afraid to disappoint his father.

"I know how you feel, but you never want to be ignored. Its the worst feeling you could have. Being ignored by the people who were suppose to be loving and caring to you" you said. Neteyam only sighed, you could see the sadness in his eyes. All he wanted was to be able to do what other kids did and not worry about being scolded by Jake. You then got close to him, leaning your head on his shoulder while he leaned his head down to your smaller head. This was the first time that you and Neteyam had actually spent time together.

It had gone dark, when Neteyam noticed the time, he was freaking out that his dad would get onto him. You saw how he nearly died on the spot, so you decided to walk him back and to not worry about Jake. The whole walk back he kept mumbling how his dad was going to ground him, you had to basically calm him down from having an anxiety attack. This was not okay, him almost dying for being scolded was a huge red flag.

When you got to the camp, you watched how Jake was passing around outside the hut while his wife was trying to reason with him. As soon as he spotted you two approaching, he stomped over with an angry look on his face. "Where the hell were you boy?!" he yelled at him, totally forgetting that you were there. Before Neteyam could answer, you responded for him. "He was with me!" you said loud enough, then Jake looked at you, seen your unbothered expression bothered him a lot. "You have any idea what you could of caused?!" he asked, now his full attention on you. "We were only out for a bit more later, but were here now." You said rolling your eyes.

"You should know better! He was suppose to be back before Eclipse!" Jake yelled again, all you did was roll your eyes and listened to him rant. "We're here now aren't we? That's all that matters" you said, this angered Jake. "You listen here young lady, rules are meant to be followed and when those rules are broken they're consequences!" he said. You looked at him wide eyed. He did not just say that, he did not just try to scold you as if you were his kid. You are, but at the same time you were.

"I know damn well you did not just say that to me." You warned. "Watch your mouth or else-" Jake was cut off. "Or else what?! You'll ground me!? Guess what! I'm a fucking adult, you can't fucking ground me!" you yelled, getting the attention of both Neytiri and your younger siblings. "Yes I can, I'm your father!" He said, this made you lose it. "Oh! Now you want to be my fucking dad? After fifteen years of you ignoring me and pretending that I'm not here, you decide to be my fucking dad!? Wow! Give up to the Father of the fucking year everybody!" you screamed, but before Jake could speak, you cut him off. "You may think just because you're my dad you can tell me what to do, guess what, you stopped being my dad many fucking years ago. You know what, fuck you! I wish you were never my father! I fucking hate you!" you screamed, ignoring that everyone around you had stopped and listened, they watched how you basically had cussed out their leader, they were in complete shock, including your siblings.

Before Jake could tell you something, you just took off running. Ignoring how your name was called by your siblings. It was already late and the woods were already dark with animals rooming around, you didn't care if something were to attack you, you just wanted to get away from everything. You finally stopped, trying to catch your breath. Your throat and lungs were burning. You felt your tears coming back, you let out a sob, that sob went to a full on scream. It was a mixture of both anger, sadness and frustration. You didn't care that you were being heard. You just wanted to scream and cry all at once.

Once you stopped screaming, you continued to cry, silently as it began to rain. You didn't care that you were being soaked, that was until you felt a sharp pain in your neck. You winced, touching your neck, feeling some kind of dark on your neck. You pulled it out painfully, feeling your neck sting. Looking back at the object, it was sleeping dark. Everything began to feel strange, you saw how the glowing plants began to multiply and how your eyes began to heavy. Next thing you knew, your body felt numb and you began to stumble around, until you hit the floor. You were trying to stay awake, but you couldn't. Last thing you saw was how a group of blue figures dressed in camo were approaching you, then everything went black.

ₚᵣₑᵥᵢₒᵤₛ ₚₐᵣₜ, ₙₑₓₜ ₚₐᵣₜ

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Lamb (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Modern Daemon has bad blowjob etiquette. You think you can teach him a lesson.

Warnings: Smut. Rimming. That’s it. That's the fic. Nah, kidding. Cursing, trapped in an elevator, male masturbation. Casual workplace sexism.

A/N: The last two Sundays I decided to be sweet. But since my finals started, we go back to my scheduled period of being unhinged. And then I started my actual period and hated this so much. So if it sucks, sorry.

He is staring at you. Again.

You never understood the point of glass walls. If you owned the building, you would have them all replaced by real, actual walls. Or at least, you would put blinds on. But you don’t own the building.

The man that does is sitting in the office right across from yours, staring towards you. Daemon Targaryen. Board member of Targaryen’s Industries. Your father and he had been at each other’s throats since you had been a little girl. Otto Hightower and Daemon Targaryen hated each other, it was a fact of life. Him choosing the office right across from yours had been taken as nothing more than a taunt to your father.

But you knew better. Daemon was set on driving you to insanity. You scowled, and he smirked at you, closing his laptop and sliding those damn glasses off his face to look at you unashamedly. He looked starving. Like he wanted to eat you whole.

You didn’t actually know what his position was. It was hard to keep track. He had been appointed by the CEO, your godfather Viserys, to more departments than you could count. First, he had been head of marketing, but your father complained he was using too expensive models that were not on the budget. Then, he had overseen PR, which had been an absolute disaster. After that, he had been placed as the CFTO, only to be demoted a few weeks later. Then he had been… Well, you get the idea.

Daemon waves his hand, shaking you out of your contemplation. You quickly close your mouth, noticing you had your lips slightly parted, as if to speak a word that would never come out. He snickers, no doubt amused at what he perceives as a weakness.

He has done this for a month. You have to give it to him, he is a patient man. Daemon sits there every morning and just looks at you. Takes you in, as you flutter around your office, sometimes on the phone, sometimes typing away on your computer. He never gets bored, or tired of it. How could he, when he is a predator waiting to pounce?

You see, Daemon has been waiting weeks for a moment of weakness. Taunting you, looking at you, making you uncomfortable. And it’s fitting, really. That today of all days is the day you break. There is a storm raging outside, the worst winter Westeros has seen in years. Climate change it’s at fault, or so they say. You only know that you despise Daemon, and you despise thunderstorms.

His eyes. Purple and mischievous, meeting yours at every turn. You despise those. His little sideways smirk. That, too, you hate. You hate his entitled, nepo baby attitude, and you are sick of the taunts about your nephews and sister. His handsome face, and how good he looks in glasses. Annoying. You wish someone would put him in his place.

No one had actually expected you to enter corporate life. You see, as the daughter of an old money family, your father was sure you would do just as Alicent did and become the housewife of a rich man. The thing he didn’t take in consideration was that you had inherited none of your mother’s and Alicent’s grace and soft tempers, and all his cunningness.

You had gone to a good school, and had quickly risen through corporate ranks. You had a strong work ethic, but your last name had helped, too. Being the daughter of Otto Hightower had his perks, especially in university, considering you had been able to not worry about paying student debt and only focus on getting good grades. It also helped that you had a sure work once you had graduated, since Viserys Targaryen was not only your brother-in-law, but you were his goddaughter too. That last fact had made for interesting conversations after he married your older sister.

Still, you dedicated yourself to your work, trying to prove you deserved to be there as much as anyone else. It was a male dominated field, and working in the company where your father was CCO, and your sister married to the owner meant many expected you to be either looking for your own rich husband or to be a lazy nepo baby. Just like Daemon was.

The sound of thunder cast you out of your thoughts. You gave a quick glance at the window, noticing that once more, it was pouring. Not a good omen for your meeting. Thunderstorms always made you slightly uneasy.

Too wired to keep working, you shut down your laptop and slid it inside your purse. You had to be at the meeting room in fifteen minutes, which, in reality, meant you had to leave now. As soon as you stepped outside, however, it seemed destiny had other plans.

“Oi, sweetheart!” Daemon called, and you fantasized of strangling him with one of his expensive ties. You knew, without needing him to speak more, that he was about to taunt you. Still, he owned half the company, you couldn’t risk ignoring him. You turned, heels clicking in the hallway. “Bring me a soy latte, no sugar.”

“Mr. Targaryen, I’m sorry, I’m not your secretary. And I’m going to a meeting.” You answered, very politely, and started walking again, this time towards the elevator. Daemon followed, eyeing your ass with delight. You truly worked those dress pants.

“Come on, Hightower. We both know you are not really busy.” He arrived at the elevator first, to your disgrace, and pressed the button. Daemon leaned his arm on the wall, effectively caging you in. You glared at him, trying not to get distracted by how good he smelled. It’s not that you were attracted to him, surely. He just used an expensive cologne, and those always smelt good. Even your nephew Aegon, who was the sleaziest twenty-something you had ever met, could make them work.

“I am, though.” You ducked under his arm and pressed the button insistently, trying to get the elevator to arrive faster. Nothing happened.

“Doing what? Getting the rest of the board coffee?” Daemon snickered at his joke. You turned to look at him, giving him a disdainful once over that turned… Not so disdainful, when you realized he looked good enough to eat in that suit. Whatever, it’s not like it meant anything. All men did. Still, your cheeks heated up, and your next words came out in a mutter.

“Doing my job, Mister Targaryen. Which does not involve serving coffee.”

“Bah, you are a CDO. A made up position if I saw one.”

“I plan the whole company's social media strategy, and oversee our different digital platforms for purchase and devolution.” You glare even more, but quickly avert your eyes when you realize he is looking at you like he wants to eat you. Again. Gods, does he ever tire? “Hardly a made up position.”

“So you direct a bunch of nerds and interns. Big deal. You can still get me coffee, or send your minions to get me one.” Daemon stepped closer, twirling a strand of your hair between his fingers. You batted his hands away, shivering. From the cold, obviously. There was a storm raging outside, it had been one of the harshest winters in a while. It didn’t matter that you were wearing thermal clothes underneath your suit, which was wool. You were not affected by Daemon’s touch. At all.

“Here’s a novel idea.” You were just too angry to avoid insulting him. It was not often you resorted to those petty tactics. You left them to your nephews, Aemond and Aegon. “Why don’t you go bring me coffee? I don’t even know what you are doing in our department, you don’t even have Instagram, old man.”

Daemon laughed.

“Who are you calling old man, little girl? I will have you know, I know all about social media.”

“Oh, really?”

Daemon ignored you, typing something on his phone. You weren’t too bothered by it because the elevator finally got there, and you were able to step inside. Your phone pinged, as you did, so your hand went to the pocket of your blazer to check it. Distracted, you didn’t notice Daemon getting into the elevator with you.

Your phone pinged again. You took it out, checking the notification without unlocking it.

@caraxesrider has started following you

@caraxesrider: U were saying?

At that, you looked up and glared at him, startling a little at finding him inside the elevator.

“You know I will have to report this, right?” You quickly started scrolling through his Instagram, which seemed very… Normal. He followed his official one, and the accounts of his family members and plenty of models and fitness girls. In little clothing. What a pig. “You are not allowed to have an Instagram, apart from the official one that is in the hands of the community manager.”

“Says who?”

“Viserys.”

“Real mature, that you call him by his first name now. Tell me, do you think watching your father’s business partner marry your older sister, who is young enough to be her daughter, traumatized you?”

You ignored his taunt, frowning.

“I will report you to the PR department, they were clear you are not allowed to…”

“Not allowed.” He imitated your voice, mockingly. “Not allowed. Will you tell your daddy, little girl?”

“I’m serious.”

“Whatever. Report me. I don’t care, you are such a kiss ass.” Daemon rolled his eyes. It stung a little. You hated being called that. It was not your fault, truly. You liked following the rules. They were there for a reason. And Daemon’s antics usually made the company stock drop because his last name was attached to it. When Daemon got drunk and insulted a server or was spotted at a strip club, it was not him who suffered, but the company as a whole. He was a PR nightmare. His Instagram, no matter how private, would eventually leak and become another.

But whatever you were going to say, be it either a witty retort, or more talk about what you were going to do, died in your throat when the elevator jerked to an abrupt halt.

“What… What..?” You braced against the wall, the phone falling to the floor in your haste to hold on to something.

“Well, at least we still got power…” Daemon pointed towards one of the security cameras. “They will see us and then…” He didn’t get to finish his sentence because the lights turned off, leaving you both completely in the dark.

“You jinxed it!” You accused, voice shaking. You were not claustrophobic, nor were you afraid of the dark. What did scare you, however, was that you were trapped in an elevator in a building with no power, which as far as you knew, meant you could plummet to your dead anytime.

“Fuck. Never mind. Are you alright? You sound as if you are about to cry, and I can’t deal with crying people.” Daemon complained, switching on his phone, so he could light up the space. He truly looked concerned. He dropped to his knees to search for your phone and handed it to you.

“I’m fine. Just… Do you think we are safe?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Daemon banged on the wall of the elevator, making you let out a tiny yelp at how it shook.

“Don’t do that!”

“When elevators get less power, they jerk to a stop. It’s safe. It was probably the storm.” Daemon is leaning against the wall and starting to scroll through his phone. Like he is bored. And not, you know, terrified out of his mind because he is hanging from a rope in a metal cubicle caught between floors. The thought makes even more panic bubble up in your throat, so you try to think of something else.

“How do you know that?” You narrow your eyes at him, noticing how the light from his phone lighted up his sharp features, giving them an eerie blue glow.

“I read the OSH mail, every once in a while. That was in the winter’s newsletter.” He drawled, in a bored tone. “Come here.”

“Why?”

“Because you look frightened. Come here. I can make you feel better.” And he almost sounds convincing. Were the light on, you would be able to see that he is nearly salivating at the mouth, like the wolf about to pounce on a little lamb.

He has been working on you for a month. Little pretty Hightower, so tightly wound, always doing the right thing. So close to snapping. It’s like you were a present, placed on his lap by Otto himself when he sent him to this godforsaken department.

You gave him a dubious look, but stepped closer.

“Good girl.” Daemon brushed your hair back, gently. You were so close to breaking, he could taste it. “You will be just fine, just match your breathing to mine.

“I’m not having a panic attack, you fool.” You complained, trying to hide the hint of a smile on your lips. What was it about him that was so intoxicating? He had boosted your mood immediately. Oh, you hated feeding his ego.

"Rude.” Daemon muttered. He pulled you into a hug, pressing your bodies close. Chest to chest, hips to hips. Your curves against him, so damn soft, so ready for the taking. “There, there. It will all be fine.”

“I pity your kids.” Still, you melted into the hug regardless. Daemon took the chance to nuzzle your hair, hands trailing dangerously lower on your back.

“You are so rude and cunty. I can see the family resemblance.”

“Shut up, you inbred degenerate.” You mumbled against his throat, still hugging him. “You were chasing after your niece’s skirts not so long ago. And Viserys first wife was your cousin. Your family resemblance is worse.”

“I have not denied it.”

And of course, doing something very foolish, you tilted your head up and kissed him. Blame it on the sexual frustration, or the way he had shown you he had a decent side to him, but you never found him more tempting. Your kiss was heated, all teeth and frustration. If he responded, it would undoubtedly turn things less family friendly.

Daemon, never one to lose the opportunity to have sex, responded in earnest. How could he not, when he had been waiting for a chance to pounce for a month? His lips parted, turning the kiss into something much more dirty. His hands went to your hips, rolling them against his. You moaned.

When you parted, he had his trademark smirk on, full force. The one that said, Daemon Targaryen is a winner. The asshole was getting off on the thought of corrupting a Hightower.

You pressed a few careful kisses down his throat, making sure to not smear your lipstick in places that are noticeable. Daemon smells so good, it makes your knees weak. Fucking expensive cologne.

The arousal doesn't let you think straight, and he loves it. You are desperate for him already, Daemon can tell by the way you clutch and grope at him. And in truth, you are turning into a wanton little thing. Wet from just a few stolen kisses, it’s hard to think of all the reasons why this is wrong.

You want to suck his cock, badly. It’s not often, you are in the right headspace to give head. It gets guys too arrogant. And Daemon is already arrogant enough. The temptation seems too great, until he tries pushing your head down. Talk about a mood killer. It feels as if a bucket of cold water has been dumped on top of you, dulling your arousal and making you realize, in fact, you had been about to suck your nemesis off.

Daemon. You had been about to suck Daemon's cock. The guy who orders you to bring him coffee, as if you were some intern and not the head of your section. The guy who despises your family. The guy who calls you and your father kiss asses and Alicent a cunt. Twenty years older, brother to your godfather, man whore, Daemon.

Oh my god, are you turning into Alicent? Fucking men old enough to be your father? Being into Targaryens? Ew. No way. Viserys is nowhere near as appealing as Daemon. But still. What's next, leaving your career to pop out entitled brats?

You stop. Daemon pushes your head down again. It ignites a rage long settled on you.

“Are you seriously pushing my head down?” It comes out like an indignant little yelp. Turns out, the little lamb was not so willing to surrender, Daemon thinks. He has two choices. He can force you down, make you break. Or he can wait it out, lull you into a false sense of comfort, and slowly get you more and more pliant. Yet, he wants to see what you are about to do.

“Is it working?” He sasses, and you turn your head up to glare, even if he can’t see it in the dark elevator. Then, a thought sparkles in your mind. Kiss ass. And here you have someone who needs to be taught a lesson.

A thud. Your knees hitting the floor of the elevator, between Daemon's legs.

“Fuck. Are you really…?” He groans, and you hear another thud. Must be his head against the wall. Good. Perhaps this way, his two brain cells will actually connect.

You unbuckle his belt and open his trousers, the sound loud in the stillness of the elevator. It's done the fast and quick way, not really knowing how much time you have left before someone comes looking for you. You kiss his hipbones, then his thighs. Daemon tangles a hand in your hair, leading you to his cock. You go along with it, but do not touch him where he wants you to.

Instead, you go lower. And a bit further back.

“What are you…?” He asks, confused. Praying to god he showered that morning, you spread him open and lick a stripe over his asshole. His body seizes up, a moan leaving his mouth. “Oh, little girl… You are filthy.”

Daemon is clean, if a bit hairy. The carpet matches the drapes, you will be able to say now. This will be a little secret, between the two of you. When he mocks you in the boardroom, or asks you to get him coffee, you will be able to think of this moment. Not only have you seen him bare, but you intend to take him apart.

For all his posturing, he is only a man. It shows in the way he arches, hips bucking, desperate to find friction. Cock swollen and balls heavy, tip messy with precum. You lick at him, making sure to make the most obscene slurping noises you can, as if his ass was a fine meal. Daemon moans, hand desperately going to grab at the wall to keep himself upright, and you snicker.

“Tell me again how much of a kiss ass I am.” You taunt, curling one of your hands around his gorgeous cock. He is thick and warm in your grip, you can feel him throb in your hand. Your panties feel embarrassingly wet at the pure filth of the act you are performing, but also at the fact Daemon is losing control so steadily.

“You… Oh. Seven Hells. Fuck.” And it's not his fault, really. You have been steadily opening him up with your tongue, nearly french kissing his hole, only to spear your tongue right when he tries to form a coherent sentence. One of your hands keeps him spread for you, and the other is braced on his hip, to avoid him rutting and bucking. Daemon is so pent-up that if you weren't holding him, he would be humping the wall.

His hand tugs at your hair, harshly. You stop.

“What…?” He looks down at you, at the way your face disappears between his thighs, utterly confused. Then, he gives you a menacing growl, as if he were the one in control. “Don't tease, little girl.”

Daemon wears dominance well. It comes with being a Targaryen, you have realized. The entitlement oozes out of his pores. When he gives an order, he is used to at least five people jumping out of their seats to obey him. That gives any man an unstoppable confidence.

But it's not what you want. This is about rewarding politeness, not him acting like an entitled fool. You press down on the sensitive skin behind his balls, right on his perineum. You want him to beg. Not only will it teach him a lesson, but perhaps, get you railed after.

“Beg.” You order, pinching at his thigh.

“You are out of your mind if you think…” Daemon starts, but he quickly shuts up when you place a hand on his cock again. You are not what he was expecting, not what he was expecting at all. He underestimated you. Yet, he cannot say he doesn’t like what he is learning about you.

“Beg.” You insist, teasingly dragging your nails over his sensitive skin. Not enough to hurt, but to warn. Your teeth and mouth are very close to his most delicate parts, and he should remember it. “And be polite about it.”

“You will not get away with this, little girl. I’ll spank your pretty ass red.” Daemon complains, and you snicker. Funny, that he thinks that is a threat. You intend to do much worse to him.

“Oh, really? And who says you will have the chance?” Petty. Realizing you are not going to budge, and he cannot make you, Daemon lifts his hand from your head and pats you on the hair. Not an apology, no. A reward for a particularly clever pet. The game is not over yet. Not when he still has everything to play for. What is losing a battle when he can win the war?

“Please.” At his moan, you start jerking him off. It's a bit rough, without any lubricant, so you offer your hand to him, never stopping your tongue and mouth from working. Daemon catches the hint beautifully, spitting on your open hand. You go back to jerking him. His desperation is a heady thing. It gets you almost high on the thrill of it. You squeeze your thighs together, trying to get some friction on your clit. A shame you cannot touch yourself, with both hands busy.

You wish you could suck his cock, mouth watering with the sight. He has one of the prettiest you've ever seen, all flushed skin and slightly curved in a way you know would feel just right inside of you. And he is smells nice too, which is deeply unfair. Clean, yet still male and musky. Daemon tenses, cock throbbing in your hand. He is very close, about to spill all over you.

The sound of metal scratching against metal makes you jerk and pull away. Divine intervention, you think to yourself, as you get up and start rightening your clothes and hair.

“And where in the Seven Hells you think you are going?” His tone is so short and clipped, you worry he is about to pounce you. His breath is heavy. You bet, if you could see his face, he would be absolutely enraged.

“Are you deaf?” You answer condescendingly. You can hear how his teeth grit against themselves with how hard he must be clenching his jaw. “Bruxism is not sexy, by the way. You will hurt your teeth.”

“Deaf? Bruxism? What the fuck are you talking about? You just ruined my orgasm! I was so close and you, you… ” Daemon truly, truly wants to grab at you and choke you. He underestimated you. Again. Such a fool, he has been. Thinking he is leading his little lamb to the slaughter, and here you are, composed and retouching your lipstick without a care in the world. Oh, next time he gets his hands on you, he is going to make you cry.

“They are opening the door.” You answer, smugly.

“You little shit!” Daemon nearly screams. You cannot hold it any longer, and start laughing. The scratching turns louder, and Daemon hurries to tuck himself back into his suit.

When they finally open the doors, you strut out, not a care in the world. You kiss your father’s cheek, who is standing next to the security guys. Daemon glowers.

“Neither of you thought to text or call someone?” Otto asks, incredulous. He turns to you and checks you over. “Are you alright? Did he hurt you?”

“I didn’t hurt your precious little flower, Otto.” Daemon rolls his eyes. Now that he is standing in the light, you can see he looks slightly disheveled, cheeks flushed and standing awkwardly. You nearly smirk. “She is a cunt, just like you. If any, she hurt me.”

Otto glares at him, and places an arm over your shoulder, gently steering you away. He starts talking a mile per second, something about all meetings being adjourned because of the weather and waiting to give you a ride home. Of how worried he was, when you didn’t answer your phone and were not in your office. You hardly listen. Because your phone pings in your hand, another Instagram notification.

@caraxesrider: You will pay for that, little girl.

Your fingers fly over the keyboard in your haste to answer him:

I'm totally reporting you to the PR guys. XOXO.

[oval3000]

Oneshot!

Yandere Simon Riley x reader (Soap's younger sister)

(Pretend that you guys are adopted or something idk. Also the Canon story with Makarov will be different - he's dead)

Warning: Toxic behavior, light (Forced) Smut, Assault, Curse, very toxic. Yandere, Violence. Slight yandere platonic Soap.

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

When Johnny's parents told him that he's going to have a baby sister at the age of 13, he was shocked and didn't expect it. At first, he wasn't really thrilled since the age gap was really big. His father will tell him that he'll have to protect you and love you like an older brother should do.

When they brought you home, he immediately realized the things his father had said. The feeling of not caring for you changed. He loves you. He would drop you off and pick you from school whenever he had the chance. He would take care off you when his parents go out on their date.

He would help you with your homework, even if he didn't understand it well. He would show up to all of your school events. He would give you pep talks whenever you needed it.

He got full custody of you, when his parents passed away.

When he joined the military, you were worried about him, but he assured you that everything was going to be okay. You would send him letters and he would reply, which caught Simon's attention.

He was able to get a safe house, after his encounter with Makarov to keep you safe. The only one that knows about it is Price, Gaz, and...Simon.

When they were stranded and needed to get shelter, Soap brought them to you. You met them...you met Simon. Simon couldn't help but to stare at you. You could feel his eyes on you and it didn't feel good. It felt like you were about to get eaten alive.

You never really had good luck with boys since Johnny would scare them away. So the feeling of a men staring you, made you feel a little uncomfortable.

Afterwards, Johnny told you that everything was going to be fine since they took down Makarov, you were happy that Johnny was no longer in danger.

He was happy that he can come home to you. He wouldn't know what to do if something bad happened to you.

So you can imagine his rage when he comes home and you're gone.

He didn't waste anytime to call Price and everyone, telling them that you are gone. They went to check the house and saw broken vases and picture frames on the floor. It wasn't rocket science to know that you have been kidnapped.

Johnny expressed his anger and concern to Simon, who he reassured Johnny that everything is going to be okay. They all tried to track you down. Visiting possible locations where you could be only to storm inside empty, abandoned, places.

Johnny couldn't sleep or think of anything else except to get you back. Each night when he tried to get some rest, all he can think is the moment his father told him to take care of you and failed.

The team told him to take it easy or else he would hit the breaking point of his own health. Price ordered him to take time off while they worked on finding you.

Simon would come and visit Johnny to check how he's doing. "What if she's gone forever, Simon? What would I do with myself if I never get to see her again?"

Simon looked at him with pity, "don't worry, Johnny. We'll find her."

After checking on Johnny and helping the team on finding you, he would go home to his safehouse. He would place his bag on the couch and take off his mask and jacket.

He would walk to kitchen and open the door, turning on the lights. He would walk down on the creaky, woodfloor, staircase. He would stand there, Infront of the twin bed centered on the back wall of the basement.

He would stare at you.

Chained up that is hooked to the bed headboard. You sat up seeing him there. The man that took you from your home and locked you down in his basement. "Please don't hurt me."

"Love, I'll do whatever the fuck I want with you." He took off his shirt, showing his toned muscles. He climbed on the bed, having you to back away as much as the bed headboard allows you to. "Be a good girl and spread those beautiful legs of yours."

He gripped on your waist, thrusting his hip into you. You felt his cock drilling you so hard and deep you held on to the chain links that is connected to the metal cuffs on your wrist.

You hated it. He loved it. He loved the way you squirm under his tough body structure." Ah..Yes! Be a good girl for me, love!" His grunts and moans will take over your ears aswell as the sound the bed creaking and the sound of wet skin slapping eachother.

He would flip you over, pushing his your head down into the mattress and lift your ass in the air, thrusting even harder. "You're fucking mine." He pulled your hair back, forcing you to arch your back. "All mine."

He would cum deep into your womb. He would get up and leave you there, naked. You would bury your head into the bedsheets and sob quietly. He hated to hear you cry. He really hated it. "Shut up! I'm doing this because you don't listen to me!" He clasp your cheeks with his hand. "You're gonna learn, yeah," he pulled down his pants and shoved his cock in your mouth.

You were forced to swallow his cum.

You have no idea how long you've been in his basement. You don't know if Johnny is out there looking for you. When you tell Simon about it, he would take off his belt and fuck you till you pass out.

At first, you were his sex toy. He'll come home to you and drill you in till you could see the stars and leave you naked alone in the dark.

However, lately, he would lay in bed with you. He would caress your body as you lays on his bare chest.

He would unhook the metal cuffs from your wrist and carry you, bridal style, upstairs to bathe you. He would come home with flowers and teddy bears for you. On your birthday, he would bring a piece of cake with a lit candle on it.

You couldn't tell if you have lost your mind or just accepted your fate, but you wanted him. You want Simon. You want his attention, his love, his affection to you.

When he comes home to fuck you, you felt pleasure than pain. "Mhm...yes! Ah!ah! Harder Sir!"

"Love it when you call me that, love." He huffed, burying his head on the side of your neck, moving his hips back and forth. The sound of the bed creaking so uncontrollable. "You're so...ah!...s-so fucking beautiful."

Although, his demeanor never changed. "How many times do I have to tell you!? You're not leaving this room!"

"I want out of these chains, Simon!" You plead to him, holding out your chained wrist.

He lowered his head to you, "No! And if I were you, I would drop it."

That's how it was for who knows how long you've been tied up in his basement.

You weren't the only one loosing their minds. Johnny, running around trying to found you.

However, his focus came to Simon. How? Because he visited you.

Johnny went to visit Simon, to talk to him, about you. He thought he had some lead on to where you are. When Simon was looking as to where he thought you might be, Johnny wanted to get a drink.

Johnny is no stranger to Simon. He knows where Simon keeps the drinks. So when Johnny touched the basement door, it snapped Simon.

Johnny brushed it off. But not having you in his arms, he would honestly put the blame on a mail man that he met once. So it wasn't out of character for him to honestly question his own teammates. Afterall, they all knew where you were. They knew where the safehouse was. So how bizzare would it be to accuse his friend of possibly taking you.

He would spend weeks, just studying on his mates and all the possible scenarios lead up to Simon. It wasn't really that out of place, Simon became a bit sloppy. His energy of founding in the beginning, shifted. When Johnny would want to go to his house and go to the basement to get some drinks, Simon wouldn't allow him.

So when Simon opened his door and saw Johnny there, he felt the nerves rising. "Hey, Lt. Sorry to just drop by like this. I just wanted to take break and being in the house without her makes it hell."

"No problem, Johnny." He moved outside to let him in. He felt his throat to dry up a bit. Johnny has been visiting him a lot these past few weeks and it was unusual.

They both began to talk and drink. Simon excused himself to use the restroom. Johnny didn't waste time to go to that basement. He opened the door and slowly walked down to not create loud creaking. He reached the bottom floor and saw the bed and you on top.

You were laying down on your side. When you heard the sounds of steps, you thought it was, "Simon?" You peaked up and saw your brother standing there.

It's been so long that you've seen him, so him being there made you cry out. "Johnny!?"

He stood there frozen. He wished there was nothing here. He wished he wrong. He wished that it wasn't Simon. He wished that it wasn't someone he had trusted. "(Y/n)?"

You are so happy to see you. So happy that you couldn't see Simon creeping up on Johnny. "Simon! Please don't!" Simon knocked Johnny out cold.

You plead and plead Simon to let Johnny go. He tied him up. When Johnny woke up, he felt his arms on his back. He went on his knees and saw Simon standing near you. "You..you fucking bastard. I trusted you. You're supposed to be my friend."

"I only did what was the best for us." Simon went to Johnny. Crouched down infront of him. "You left me with no choice. You're overprotective of her, I knew this was the only option."

"The only option! You bastard! She's my sister and you took her away from me. I would never have someone like you to end up with her." His anger with his harsh down tone words made Simon take a deep breath.

"I know. So you kinda left me with no other choice." He pulled out a gun and pointed it to his head.

"NO! PLEASE! Please! Don't do this, Simon!" You cried for him to stop. "Please! I'll do anything you want! Just please don't kill him! Please.

"Sweetheart, you don't make the choice here." He held the gun tight, almost hesitant to pull the trigger.

"I love you, Simon! I love you. I'll be with you! Please don't kill him! We'll both forget about this, right Johnny!?" Johnny looked at you from the side and gave a small nod. "Let him live and I'll be with you. I'll do whatever you want me to do. I'll listen to you,I swear!"

"If I lower my gun, will you attack me?" Simon said to Johnny. You gave Johnny head shooks to tell him not to do something stupid. Johnny wanted to kill him, he does. But he knows the outcome if this. If he does die, then you'll be with Simon. If he does attack Simon, then he'll have to kill his friend.

How he wished he was wrong about this.

"I won't attack you. If you let me go, I won't tell anyone about this. As long as I get to see her still, I promise I won't interfere with anything else. Just let her go off those chains." His voice toned down a bit in a more calming manner.

Simon lowered his gun and turned his head towards you. "You love me?"

Your eyes widen with fear as to what Simon is going to do. "Yes. Yes, I love you!"

He ran to you, cupping your face with his hands, "You love me, sweetheart? I love you too. We'll get married and gave kids together yeah."

"Yes. But don't hurt Johnny. Ou-our kids will want their uncle." You smiled at him trying to hide your fear.

"I won't. I love you so much."

The words stick through. Johnny told Price that you were found and that some punks kidnapped for you 'their fun' it took a couple of months for people to find out about you and Simon.

The wedding was beautiful to him. The honeymoon was magical to him. And the announcement of your pregnancy was amazing to him

Johnny watched you, his little sister. Being trapped in a marriage with Simon.

As for you, you couldn't quite think of anything. It was all Simon. He knows what's best for you.

So you should trust him and love him.

Right?

[jungle-angel]

Two Birds In A Nest (Bob Floyd x Reader)

Summary: You and Bob are just beginning to build your lives in Montana and hope that your family will grow with it

Warnings: Talks about starting a family, wanting a family, smut etc.

Your moans were tied together with Bob's even as you felt him gutter into you, an explosion of warmth blooming between your legs as your heavy breathing began to even out with each other's. You reached up, placing a hot hand against Bob's chest, feeling his fast heartbeat beneath your palm.

"Oh baby," he sighed happily, nuzzling your cheeks and your jaw. "My sweet (y/n), I can't get enough of you."

You giggled a little as you felt his baby smooth skin against yours, the both of you still sensitive to each other's kissing and caressing. Bob helped you up from your bed and into the bathroom, running a hot bath for the both of you to get you cleaned up. God it was heaven being in your brand new bathroom and not having to worry about who would be up at some ungodly hour of the morning to hog the shower. The steam carried with it the smell of Bob's Irish Spring body wash that he used on the both of you, gently washing every part of you that he could touch. Back into your shared bedroom you both went, crawling under the warm covers as the blizzard outside began to rage. Your house however, was so cozy and warm, the dogs sleeping soundly in their crates while the cats had taken to the laundry room in the finished basement.

You and Bob lay facing each other, chest to chest, tits pressing against each other and still warm from the bath. He looked like a dream with his soft cheeks, his limpid blue eyes that reminded you of the forget-me-nots that popped in your garden every spring. The lazy but loving smile on his face was almost the same as his dad's, the spitting image in all those family photos of Bob as a baby being held by Joe, his father.

Yet there was something that stirred and ached in your chest. You couldn't put your finger on what it was or why it was there, but it was.

"What's wrong sweetheart?" Bob asked, seeing the worrisome look playing with your face.

"Do you ever feel like something's missing?" you asked in reply.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know," you answered a little sadly. "I just.....I pass by one of the empty rooms and all I can see in there is you standing over a crib.....a little baby in your arms.....maybe you're sitting in the rocker singing and rocking him or her to sleep."

Bob could feel his eyes burning and a few loose tears beginning to form. Growing up the youngest in a big family, he spent endless days playing with all his nieces and nephews, sometimes watching them while his brothers and sisters either didn't have the time to do so or had to go on a SEAL team mission like his oldest sister, Reagan's husband. Picking them up from school, playing with them and taking care of them had made him feel as though there had been a hole somewhere that he could just hardly fill. Ever since the two of you had gotten married, he wanted so badly to have just that....a family of your own and a house that truly felt like home.

"Oh baby," he cooed, kissing your cheeks. "It'll happen, don't you worry."

You had hoped so. God you had hoped so. It was all you could think about, even when you were at the school trying to teach your fifth graders about ancient India and having to fill one side of the chalkboard with a drawing from The Ramayana. Now that you and Bob could finally have the time to try, you were excited, happy, nervous and scared all at once.

"Do you....do you wanna try?" you asked him a little meekly.

You felt him roll his body on top of yours, the heat intensifying a little bit from the heavy duvet you only used in the winter. "Hell yes," Bob murmured, his lips gently grazing against yours.

You felt him kiss you gently, just as he had done earlier that night, the wetness beginning to build again between your legs as his red hot, throbbing cock slipped inside you with ease. You sighed and moaned happily as his hips thrust gently in and out of you, slowly drawing your orgasm out of you. It was almost like the blizzard outside, dizzying and a wild flurry of moans, groaning and skin slapping against skin before everything calmed down and you and Bob were resting skin-to-skin against each other.

"You think this one will take?" you asked sleepily.

"I've got a feeling," Bob yawned.

Sure enough it did. After almost a week of you waking up sick, you and Bob were over the moon to find that it had taken, the tears filling his eyes when he hears the baby's heartbeat for the first time, more so when you learn that it's a little boy, your tiny little August Robert Floyd, who becomes the biggest blessing your family has ever received.

[tilvcei]

► 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆

⭢ In which: you become ghostface newest target but figure out who’s been behind it all the whole time which shocks you, you loved ethan but he was so obsessed, maybe you were his everything.

☆ | Warning(s): blood , gore , death , suggestive language

☆ | note: when I saw Jack champion as Ethan Landry? I became obsessed recently. now I have a huge obsession with his character. and you will too ;)

☆ | gender: she/her (reader)

You had love for Ethan. you really did. but when it came down to certain things you didn’t like talking about, he dropped the topic. and that’s what you appreciated about him.

But also, he was crazy about you. feral if that’s what you wanna call it. very protective — yes he has that shy demeanor but when you actually take a good look at him in this moment? you can see he isn’t that innocent. if he can kill, he can do much more.

You just saw him twist someone’s guts. why wasn’t it obvious to you before? he was part of the killings. as well as Quinn and their father. the whole family was crazy, Sam got you tangled all into this but it wasn’t her fault you agreed to this anyways.

At the moment you were standing in the middle of Tara and Sam as they were surrounded by the family of Richie. you could see the anger and rage in their eyes. you get it, they lost their brother due to sam killing him. but he was so obsessed with the movies, it was his fault. not hers.

"He was obsessed with the movies! it wasn’t like sam had a choice. he attacked her first, what was she supposed to do? not fight back in her defense?" you questioned, your arm was still bleeding from when Quinn ‘accidentally’ stabbed you.

Ethan turned to you, "you’re really going to let that bitch put that in your pretty little mind? she’s the one in the wrong. Richie did nothing wrong! nothing! And she fucking killed him without any regret. she’s just like her damn father." Tara put a hand on your shoulder but Ethan glared at her.

"Don’t. don’t you fucking touch her!" Ethan yelled, Tara pushed you behind her while staring down Ethan, “No, no you stay the fuck away from her!” she yelled back, Ethan kept glaring at her.

"You keep gettin’ in the way. but I’m gonna fix that real soon, Tara." Ethan threatened, you backed away in fear. what happened to the Ethan you once loved and knew? what happened to the shy Ethan? the dorky one?

He then looked over at you with a smile, he looked at the blood on the knife and realized it was yours. his face turned into one of concern.

"Oh, baby I’m sorry if I hurt you. it wasn’t even aimed at you, it was for Sam. but here, cause Y’know, I love you so much." Ethan said with a crazed laugh.

He licked the blood from the knife, moaning while he did so which caught you off guard. Tara looked at him like he was crazy, what the actual hell was wrong with him..?

"Run!" Sam yelled, Tara grabbed your hand and the both of you started running, you were inside the museum of all the ghostface items and things every person was killed with, you slipped but returned your footing and dashed up the stairs.

"Are you really trying to take what’s mines, Tara?" You heard Ethan say in a low voice — and it scared you, if you were honest. a shiver ran down your spine.

You kept running and leaned against the railing, which broke and caused you to nearly fall. but Tara and Sam were quick to grab you by the wrist and stop you from falling all the way down. but you were hanging and nearly almost done for.

"My hands are slipping, just let go!" you said, Tara felt tears fall from her eyes as she started sobbing, "just hang on okay? just hold our hands, it’s gonna be okay." Sam reassured.

You screamed when a hand grabbed you by the ankle, "help! get off me! someone help!" you continued to yell. Tara held your hand tightly.

She saw Ethan at the bottom with his knife in his hand, a smirk plastered on his lips as he sucked your blood off his fingers.

"You heard her. now you’re hearing me. let her go, Tara." Ethan said with a low growl, "go to hell!" Sam screamed while glaring down at him.

Then your hand slipped, "shit, (Y/n) no!" Tara screamed, you fell to the ground with a thud and groaned in pain. you hurried and crawled away, but Ethan grabbed you by the legs and dragged you back, "No, no, no!" you yelled, looking for any weapon you could find close.

He turned you around and looked down at you with a crazed smile, his eyes glossing a bit because he had you right where he wanted you.

you were all his.

"Ethan, please. please don’t kill me, please." you begged, this must’ve triggered something in him because he went stiff, a frown on his lips appearing.

He cupped your cheek, "baby..why would you think I’d hurt you? wh..what? no, never. once this is all over you can leave with me, my dad, and sister. we wouldn’t have to worry about anything, it’ll be just us. ‘kay baby?" Ethan said while placing a kiss to your cheek.

you continued to sob, you tried pushing him away but you knew nothing was going to work. you were his and only his. It’s not like you didn’t mind it but you didn’t want it this way.

"Shh, my pretty baby. it’s gonna be okay." he whispered in your ear, something sharp stung you in the neck, you realized it was a needle — wha- what? why did he..?

Your eyes felt droopy, "’ts gonna be okay baby, I promise you." then you went limp in his arms. he got you exactly where he wanted you.

in his arms and only his arms. you were so good to him, no one was ever like that to him before. you were different — completely. that’s why he loved you so so so much.

nobody could take that away from him. not even family.

Note: Part two or..? I think this is good, amazing even. I really love the character so here’s my dedication to our precious bby Ethan & jack :))

[mothwingwritings]

Hi hi~ hope you are doing great today xD

Sooo First of all I love how you write and I have been binge reading yujiro stepfather serie(?) And absolutely love it; but stepdad yujirou + Baki and jack the yandere/siscon stepbrothers could you imagine like:

*Katsumi became her eternal friend but feels like he can't be with y/n, so ends up as her loyal/platonic companion or ends up as a teacher and friend and go on with life because yujirou is hell of strong and Sadie to pummel him again

*yujirou marries s/o and impregnate her, but y/n gives love to the child because she doesn't want him/her to suffer like her brothers

*yujirou wanted to rill up his son's and knowing their dark yandere side put the scenario on so the two end up taking her as well

*Baki and jack won't left her until she at least have s baby of each because hanma bloodline and a sense of twisted family

*and what would happen if pickle also gets interested? How would he reacts with y/n pregnant or with kids and with the scent of the hanma's? Would he tried to kill the kids like the lion in a new pride? Or just add them to the family and put his seed too? And the hanma's what would they do?

*oh and what happened with the ash tray

Sorry for the long feel free to ignore

I love your brain, darling~

Warnings: Stepcest, breeding kink, mentions of child rearing/being a mother, mentions of noncom, 18+ only please.

If the two Hanma brothers didn’t have any kind of breeding kink before, seeing their sweet little sister heavy with child is about to change that REAL quick.

Don’t get them wrong, it makes their blood boil to witness you carrying some other man’s child, let alone Yujiro’s spawn. Seeing you grow each day, swelling with the ogre’s unborn infant, is enough to make them go damn near feral. The whole situation unleashes a torrent of emotions -rage, disgust, pity, vexation, and sympathy, all swirling together within the two of them, vying for dominance. They don’t know whether they wanted to give this kid the world (it was your child after all, and it wasn’t that they weren’t sympathetic to its situation, they probably knew the tribulations and hardships that baby was to face more so than anyone else) or completely disregard it (they just couldn’t shake where it came from, what brutality was committed against you to conceive it).

On one hand, how dare Yujiro force himself inside of you, planting a seed that will bind you to him irrevocably? It was maddening knowing you were trapped by Yujiro’s side, saddled down caring for his offspring. The ogre had you right where he wanted you now, stuck between a rock and a hard place, trapped just beyond the brothers reach.

But on the other hand, two can play at that game.

It was easy enough to convince you to come to them. You loved Baki and Jack. You respected them and you trusted them, you had no reason not to come to them willingly.  You were always so eager to see them, so grateful for their companionship. The day they entrapped you, you approached the brothers with arms spread, heart bared, and eyes sparkling as you walked blindly into their trap.

The last thing they wanted was to hurt you, that was never their intention. But you just looked so beautiful when you were pregnant, full and round and glowing, like an angel had landed on earth. They were craving seeing you that way again, adamant that they would be the ones who would fill you with their seed, and you would be the one who would help them create a new life.

And you were such a good mother, doting on your baby with love and affection despite the circumstances of how they were conceived. Didn’t Jack and Baki deserve that too? Why did their monster of a father get the only honor? They certainly treated you better than he did, loved you far more than he ever could or would. And they would never treat their children the way the ogre had treated them growing up, disregarded, abused, or as petty amusements their whole lives. Yujiro was such a terror that the brothers tried to keep themselves from growing overly attached to the baby he had created with you, not only due to the mixed emotions they felt about the situation, but because they knew the likelihood of having an infant survive growing up around the Ogre was optimistic at best.

However Baki and Jack were not their father. Maybe they had to resort to underhanded methods to get to you, sinking down to Yujiro’s level to get you pregnant with their children, but the difference between themselves and that monster would always be the overwhelming affection they held for you. Even if you had trouble understanding what was going on, or couldn’t quite wrap your head around the fact that everything they did for you was for your own benefit and safety, they knew that the lives they were forging for you was what would ultimately make you the happiest and bring you the most joy, you just needed time to get used to it first to realize that. Seeing you waddle around fat with their baby’s is both brothers ultimate dream, and they will destroy anyone who tries to steal that from them, whether that be their father or otherwise. And unlike their father, any life they bring into this world with you will be cherished-the baby will essentially be half you, after all, how could they not adore it?

They know you will cry and feel betrayed and possibly even get a bit hurt should you try to deny them. But no matter what happens, they know you will forgive them because when it comes down to it, you love them just as much as they love you. They are ready and willing to give you all the time in the world to adjust, you are worth any amount of effort to keep happy.

(Also poor Katsumi, but I am glad he gets to be a homie at least lol. The eternal suffering that poor man receives through our prose…)

Now for our caveman situation…

Pickle knows there is something different about you, something that draws a family as strong as the Hanma’s to you. There’s a reason why they are all vying for your attention, eager to procreate with you, and your beguiling presence is not lost on him either. Should his interest become strong enough he’ll definitely snatch you away to create a brood of his own with you. He would become EXTREMELY overprotective of you while you were pregnant, monitoring you like a hawk to make sure you are comfortable and that there are no predators a foot to cause you any harm. When you are full of his children, he treats you more gently than you thought a beast like him possibly could. Were this a situation you were actually compliant in, you would almost call it charming how gently he handles you, or how quietly he tries to lumber his large body around you so as not to disturb you.

As for the other children you had previously… I feel like that is very dependent on the situation. He would not outright kill them by any means. Right now they are small, helpless, they don’t pose a threat to him and you care for them, he has no reason to take them from you nor does he really want to. Also, they have Hanma blood running through their veins and that intrigues him. What manner of person will they grow up to be, he wonders? The thought of watching such people grow, even have a hand in raising them or training them, was too interesting of a prospect to throw out the door.

THAT BEING SAID, his children with you will always take precedence over them. Should you find yourselves in a situation that requires him to choose who he needs to protect, you will always come first, followed by the children he sired with you, anyone else is nonconsequential. Though he has no true ill will towards the children, he certainly doesn’t harbor the love for them that he does his own offspring. He cares for the Hanma kids well enough, but base interest is about as far as it goes. If they starve, get hurt, or have to get sacrificed, so be it.

And Yujiro def still has that ashtray. For WHATEVER reason, even though it’s a shitty little trinket that was crudely made by the hands of your child self, he can’t seem to part from it. He even travels with it and uses it regularly. Weird, huh? I wonder why…

[one-piece-aus]

Whumptober Day 15

Cracker x Reader

TW: Implied parental abuse

"Hold still-" You reached for Cracker's arm with a cotton pad when he swung it away from you.

"What are you doing?!" Cracker glared at you. He just came home to relax.

"I'm trying to clean your wounds," you said, attempting to grab his hand to bring his arm back to you, and he kept holding it out of your reach.

You don't understand why your husband must be so difficult when it comes to cleaning his wounds. If Cracker tended to his injuries better, he wouldn't be so vulnerable to pain. You swear he bruises worse than a banana.

"Leave me alone, woman!" Cracker got up from his seat to move away from you only to bump into a bookshelf behind him and have a few books fall on top of his head. "Ow, STUPID MOTHERFUCKER!"

He picked up the bookshelf and threw it across the living room. Books were now scattered across the floor. You sighed but you knew the servants would clean it up later. You moved over to Cracker who now sat on the floor, pouting and holding his sore head.

"Cracker, would you please let me take care of you now?" You gently laid your hand over his.

"Fine," he grumbled, rolling his eyes to look the other way as you took his arm. Lightly you pressed the cotton pad to his arm, and instantly, he flinched and yonked his arm away. "Ow! What is in that thing?"

"It's rubbing alcohol, it kills the germs on the surface to prevent an infection, which causes severe pain later," you stated trying to grab his arm again.

Reluctantly, he lowers it back in your gasp, wincing with each press to the wound. "Ow... ow..."

"Oh, you poor baby," you coo as you delicately clean his wounds. "Mind telling me why your pain tolerance is so low? I thought all Big Mom's sons had to go through rough training to be strong."

"No-" He winced again before continuing. "We didn't have to train if we didn't want to, we just had to find a way to help Mama out with her dream to find the One Piece. Perospero took to reading books, studying the art of warfare and navigation for example, he can fight but he didn't dedicate himself to training like Katakuri."

"Hmmm, so you trained because you wanted to. Is it because of your admiration for your brother Katakuri?" You guessed.

"No- well- that's not the real reason... I just wanted to get stronger so I couldn't feel pain anymore."

"How come?"

Cracker tilted his head back, debating whether to tell you or not. "You know how Mama discards our fathers once we're born?"

"Yeah."

"Well, she didn't always do that, but my father was the last one." His tone melted into a resenting growl as he brought up his father. "Since Mama was busy a lot of the time, she didn't watch the damage he did to me." Cracker bawled his fist, trying to contain the anger rising with the memories. "It wasn't until Katakuri saw the aftermath of one of the bastard's episodes did Mama find out." His rage died out as he opened his palm again, he then turned to you with a smug smile. "And then I never had to see him again."

You smiled at him, happy your husband is now being more open with you. Finishing the bandage over his arm, you patted his arm. "There, all better now."

"What?" Cracker held up his arm to see the wound was covered in white bandages. "When did you-"

"When you were talking," you giggled heading out of the library. "Don't go anywhere, I'm going to get you an ice packet."

Cracker watched you leave, dumbfounded. Glancing at his patched arm then at the exit again, a smile curled up his lips.

Tag: @bookandyarndragon @roseoftrafalgar