#cinder fall x reader

[as-nodt-ghostwriter]

RWBY: Bedtime — Cinder Fall / Male Reader

content warning ⚠️ — NSFW oneshot (18+ only, you’ve been warned)

requested by anonymous — “Cinder Fall with Male Reader whose prone to wet dreams and humping in his sleep.”

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

You and Cinder went back to your sleeping quarters after that intense meeting with Salem and that inner circle of hers.

You want to stick by your partner’s goal in her becoming stronger, but you feel like you’re walking on eggshells with the likes of Tyrian and Hazel. It’s making you anxious and you haven’t gotten the best sleep in a long while.

It was hard enough that Salem’s lair had “bedrooms” that looked straight out of a Lovecraftian nightmare.

You always had trouble with sleep. The nightmare lair just made things worse. You also struggle with a high libido since you were a teenager and it’s never stopped since. Cinder never saw you less, surprisingly.

Although Cinder was still dealing with her injuries and self respect taken from her when her eyes was injured after the Grimm incident, Cinder found herself drawn to wanting to be more clingy and emotional when around you. She could be as stoned faced and passive demeanor by day, but in private when it’s just you two, she wants to jump at the chance of undressing you with her eyes.

Your eyes would drift off to sleep as you dreamed of some…nice things.

Always starting with you and Cinder on a simple innocent date. Well as simple and innocent of being partners with a criminal goes.

Everything in the dream feels nice and warm. Cinder is beautiful and drop dead gorgeous as she always is. In your dreams, Cinder feels much more sweeter and clingy, holding onto you like her life depends on it. Showing more of a sweet sensitive side to her as she pours out her heart to you.

The rug is pulled under you when Cinder mentions the idea of bringing in a third to the mix. Your dream self is always taken aback.

“What could she mean???”

In a stereotypical but quick manner, Cinder admits she wants to have three ways with you. It’s always either with Neo most of the time.

You’re self conscious always saw Emerald as a friend so she was never seen. Although depending on how bad your libido was that day, your brain didn’t care. You just wanted your dream to feature you fucking your girlfriend with another beautiful woman.

In reality, your body jerked upward, and craved feeling something to rub up against.

Your body instinctively turned behind Cinder’s backside as you two always spooned privately. Your crouch slowly grinded into Cinder’s ass.

Cinder wasn’t much of a deep sleeper and awoke to the feeling off being pushed.

She felt groggily for a bit but that went away soon after as your thrusted your clothed crouch into her.

Don’t take it lightly, Cinder still has a high view of herself and believes you should be grateful and thanking her for letting you see her through and through. The black haired maiden still believes she’s the one keeping score. She allowed you to let her have your way with her during bedtime.

Yes, it’s all her idea.

The way she gasped and bit her lip when she felt your hard cock on her backside when you both spooned that night.

The way her thighs clenched together to keep her wet pussy from further soaking through her panties and bedsheets.

They way she instinctively rolled her hips back to feel the tip of your cock as it was leaking with precum.

You could remember your wet dreams feel more real as Cinder grind her ass on your crouch.

You woke up with cold sweats as you found yourself dry humping your girlfriend. The first night you caught yourself doing it, you apologized profusely but Cinder clicked her tongue and told you to not stop.

She demanded that you fulfill your obligations and just fuck her into the mattress till she came all over your cock. You already started it. Why stop now when she’s already soaking through her panties.

Fuck it was unbelievably hot the way she called the shots as you fucked her pussy hard, pining her head into the mattress just as she liked and wanted.

Cinder was on cloud nine as she had her ass up when you were fucking her brains out. Fuck she loved every minute of it!

You couldn’t believe your girlfriend let you fuck her as long as you wanted every night. Such a sweet girlfriend, such a caring girlfriend, so nice and cute of her to have your thrust your cock into her in and out of her pussy. Maybe Cinder had some repressed libido she kept to seem dangerous and cunning on the outside. Kills two birds with one stone in the long run. Cinder loved milking your cock every night and you get to have much better sleep after fucking her.

Having sex with Cinder afterwards, you always forget what your wet dream was in the first place. Post nut clarity was very real after Cinder had milked your cock dry. Her pussy was tight and slick that it felt like your soul was being drained everytime.

Ever since that one particular night, you and Cinder fuck like rabbits during those quiet late nights.

[cosmichorrorsarestillnicerthanme]

Could I get the Himbo headcanon with Winter and Cinder?

Yes you may my good Anon!

Now! Your wish is my command!

Winter is aware that she isn’t the… warmest person around.

However, you could always melt her heart with ease.

She had no idea why.

Perhaps it was due to the kindness you gave everyone.

Perhaps it was how you wore your heart on your sleeve.

Perhaps it was how you crushed her in a hug every time she returned home.

Perhaps it was how you could always tell when something was wrong.

Or it could simply be how she could talk to you about anything.

Her frustrations.

Her disappointments.

Her failings.

All of it.

In those moments, you never judged her.

You only advised her.

Winter Schnee knew she could be cold, detached, and criticizing.

But she always knew that wasn’t who she was.

Not really.

And it was all thanks to you and your own warmth.

Cinder was confused by you.

You were a kind person.

A good person.

The antithesis to her.

And yet, you firmly lodged yourself into her heart.

You knew exactly who she was, exactly what she was.

Despite that, you were loyal to her, you trusted her completely.

And what’s more, you loved her.

You genuinely loved her.

She did not understand you at all.

And yet��� she didn’t entirely mind that.

When she was with you she felt safe.

Protected.

Warm.

Happy.

Loved.

She felt like she was at home when you were with her.

When she felt your heartbeat she could feel her worries melt away.

When she listened to you speak she could ground herself.

When she was with you, there was only you and her in the entire world.

You may not be the smartest person in the room.

But to Cinder, you were irreplaceable.

[razzle-dazzle-writes]

Going Down on Them feat. Weiss, Winter, Cinder & Pyrrha

Weiss Schnee

Oral is one of the parts of sex that Weiss enjoys the most. There's a deep intimacy to be found in it for her which only adds to the pleasure it brings her on its own.

She doesn't force you to go down on her, but doesn't make it a secret how much she enjoys it. Both in the moment and afterwards you are made well aware of how much she enjoys cunnilingus.

She keeps herself completely bare. She finds that shaving is the simplest and cleanest option that the both of you can be happy with for going down on her.

A small bit of teasing doesn't go amiss in the moment. Kisses on her thighs, taking your time to reach her cunt. Building the anticipation only makes things more sweet for her when she finally is given what she wants.

As soon as your tongue begins work she has her hand at her lips, trying to contain the loud expressions of pleasure that emanate from deep within her. She can't help it, she just loves being eaten out.

She'll lay on her back at the edge of the mattress and let you do as you please. She usually gives up trying to dampen her moans pretty quickly, the sounds dripping from her lips to encourage you further.

Her body trembles every time your tongue passes over her clit, the small bump sending waves through her. Her slick walls quiver at your touch, the juices brought forward from arousal leaking from her entrance.

Weiss doesn't have a whole lot of stamina, it doesn't take more for a couple of minutes of oral service for her to come onto your tongue and lips. Deep breaths bringing her chest up and down as she comes down from the intensity of her orgasm.

She likes to kiss you afterwards to show her affection and appreciation, even if her come is still covering your lips, she doesn't mind enough to stop her.

Winter Schnee

Winter has a stressful job that puts a lot of weight on her shoulders day in and day out. A lot of nights when she finally has the chance to retreat to your quarters she's stressed or tired. Sometimes, being able to take a moment to stop and maybe get eaten out is just what she needs.

She'll never say anything, but it isn't difficult to tell when she wants you to go down on her. She'll greet you before collapsing onto the bed, too exhausted to do anything else for the moment. Read into what she wants in the moment how you will, but going down on her is usually a pretty good answer.

She doesn't stop you when your fingers hook around the waistband of her underwear and pull them down her legs so that you can spread her thighs to get closer to her cunt.

Her let down hair spreads out beneath her as her tired body lets itself relax for the first time in what seems like an eternity. She groans unashamedly in relief, the tension in her body slowly releasing while your tongue spreads her open.

She keeps her pubic hair neatly trimmed and controlled, she isn't completely bare but you'll almost forget that there's any while you're tongue fucking her cunt.

Winter has a deep-seeded sense of pride even during intimate moments between the two of you, her vocal expressions are restrained and controlled. She doesn't speak while you eat her out, keeping herself to quiet sighs and breaths of pleasure.

Her typical exhaustion will in most cases have her leaving the work to you, she knows that you understand what she wants and she doesn't need to intervene to control you to reach a satisfying orgasm.

Winter's stamina is slightly above that of the average person but is by no means remarkable. One orgasm after a few minutes of attention from your tongue and fingers is enough to leave her content and far less stressed than she was beforehand whether she feels the desire for further physical intimacy or not.

Any thanks she gives you afterwards is short and simple, Winter isn't one to waste words. Still, the understanding between the two of you that she greatly appreciates the small effort to help her out after a long day remains ever present.

Pyrrha Nikos

Pyrrha, even some time into your relationship, feels awkward asking you to do something solely for her pleasure and therefore a lot of the times you go down on her will be reading in the moment what she wants.

She never stops you however, any time you sink to your knees to eat her out she happily accepts your affections with an a appreciative smile on her lips.

Whether she's sweaty and showering after a training session, already naked and anticipating in the throes of passion or just taking the rare chance to stay in bed for the morning with no responsibilities for the day, she'll always eagerly accept the chance to receive cunnilingus.

Pyrrha is quite laid back in shaving her pubic hair. She keeps it in control for the most part, but she is certainly not shaved bare either. Something about the sight of your lips pressed to her hairy cunt lights a fire inside of her. Whether the carpet matches the drapes is something I'll leave to your imagination.

No matter the position, she will have a hand on your head, fingers tangled through your hair as you eat her out. She doesn't want to control you, but the waves of heat coursing through her wave any inhibitions she may have about restraint.

She mewls and whines loudly through the entirety of your servicing. It brings a bright blush to her cheeks thinking about how shameless she must sound, but she wants to show you how much she enjoys your work and doesn't see the need to hide how she feels between the two of you.

Pyrrha's body is no less subtle in showing how she feels than her voice. Her hips buck whenever your tongue flicks over her clit, her liquid affection drips onto your tongue as it delves into her core and her body shakes as she draws ever closer to her orgasm.

Pyrrha often comes quite quickly. Despite her honed endurance as a fighter she doesn't have that much stamina for sex, the orgasm is enough to satisfy her if it stands alone, though she still has the energy to reach another during penetrative sex if it follows.

She will always thank you afterwards despite your insistence that she doesn't need to, she just feels bad if she doesn't. Please go down on her whenever you have the chance, she really quite enjoys and deserves it :).

Cinder Fall

In all parts of her life Cinder takes what she wants and that has always extended into your sex life. If she wants you to go down on her you will be going down on her, there is no question about it. You're her boyfriend/girlfriend after all, its your job to eat her out whenever she desires it.

Whether the two of you are already in the middle of a moment of intimacy or whether its completely unprompted apart from her deciding she wants it, her way of telling you what you are required to do for her is to push you onto your back.

Cinder more often that not sits on your face, the control it gives her over you gives her a power rush which only feeds her desires farther than they've already grown. In her more vulnerable hours, such as when she was debilitated after Beacon, there's more of an ability to let you be in control of the flow of things however.

Cinder does not shave her pubic hair. Maybe she'll give it some attention every now and then when it gets too out of hand but never is she bare. She does not take suggestions on this topic either, in her own words "get used to it".

She is very vocal while you eat her out. Not so much in sounds but in the river of expletives that come out of her lips. She talks the entire time she's atop you, muttering her praises of your efforts amidst all the "fuck"s coming forth.

Cinder doesn't tell you want she wants, she knows at this point that you understand her desires, additionally her sitting on your face gives her more agency in controlling the pleasure being given to her. She grinds her cunt over your mouth as she pleases, pulling herself up to let you take a moment is a rare luxury.

There is no impulse of self control inside of Cinder and she will work in conjunction with your tongue with her hip movements to orgasm as soon as she is able to. Her stamina is also quite impressive, often she will immediately keep the cunnilingus in motion for a second time if not switching the two of you into something else.

When she does come it is very noticeable, both in the trembling that runs through her body, the further streaming expletives flowing from her mouth and the aggressive, sudden rush of liquid that she releases atop your lips.

Cinder isn't really one to say thank you, firstly because her stamina usually means that your physical intimacy isn't over for the time being and because her ego holds her back from expressing genuine appreciation. Still, she tells you how beautiful you look beneath her with your tongue buried in her cunt and in her more vulnerable moments that she loves you.

[thatanimewriter]

CHILLAX.

➳ request: MERRY CHRISTMAS YALL! Cinder with a Male reader who's the epitome of UNIT, like he's bigger than Hazel by 2 feet and Hazel's 8'0, he's incredibly strong being able to throw around a deathstalker by the tail with one hand, he can shake off attacks from incredible opponents like burning Yang, multi dust Hazel, powered up Nora and even Adam, even for his large size he moves QUICK, when I mean quick I mean faster than Ruby's semblance quick, speaking of semblance, it allows him to steal the vitality A.K.A life energy of every living beings around him by touching them making him bigger and stronger, now with all that I've told you you'd think he'd be a monster, but in reality he's an incredibly lazy guy who don't care 'bout nothin', he just wants to sleep and cuddle all day.

➳ character/s: cinder fall

➳ warnings: mention of death, mention of injury

➳ notes: I'M SO SORRY IT'S BEEN LIKE, 8 MONTHS SINCE YOU PUT THIS IN- here you go, it's extra long because i feel like i have to atone for my sins ;v;

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬 / 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭  / 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬 / 𝐰𝐢𝐩 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

── 𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋.

was sooooooo into the power and probably initially thought to exploit you ngl

but also figured that since you've bodied a bunch of objectively strong hunters, huntresses and grimm, it's probably a bad idea to test you

so she bides her time mostly, and initially doesn't want you to be making any physical contact with her

it's both the superiority complex and she doesn't want you to like, kill her by takin her life force away

she needs that to do nefarious deeds

finds you an extremely worthy opponent from how god damn huge you are and how fast you are

was super surprised when you agreed to join her for evil doing, she was a lil apprehensive you were a good guy

but you just shrugged n said "aight, i guess so" and followed her to salem

salem loves you btw, cinder is a lil bitter-

at first, found your laidback nature a little bit annoying ._.

have some passion in your life please, she wants to share the excitement of murdering people

probably has faked an injury so you carried her back to base instead of her having to walk

also probably lies to you about when plans are taking place so you get your ass up on time

she worries you'll just sleep through it all-

HOWEVER

she's learning to enjoy a little bit of wind down time with you when you start dating

which she's not happy that she had to make the first move, she wanted to force you all in but it didn't work-

there's something healing in cuddling with someone WAY bigger than her and having such high capability of killing her

it's probably the childhood trauma, but she gets to be the girl she used to want to be for a little bit

she's a bit happy you just go along with whatever without arguing (mercury-) because she feels a bit less alone

she probably does still exploit you a little bit, n that guilt lives with her every night you cuddle and she's awake while you sleep

old habits die hard, n she's very uncertain in this oddly loving relationship she's never had

[frickingnerd]

cinder falls walking in on her boyfriend crossdressing

pairing: cinder falls x male!reader

tags: silly fluff, missunderstandings (cinder thinks you're a spy / cheating on her), reader held at knife point, happy ending

cinder didn't even recognize you, when she entered your room and saw you stand there, with a wig and a dress on

honestly, she assumed this was some woman you were cheating on with her or an intruder, so she immediately drew a weapon!

but when said “woman” spoke up, cinder quickly realized that it was her boyfriend, dressed as a woman!

cinder put away the weapon, only to start yelling at you right away! you scared her, by making her think you were cheating on her

she takes a moment to calm down again, before she can even comment on what is actually going on: you dressing up as a girl!

after the initial shock, she's interested in learning why and how you did this, as well as wanting to recruit you for undercover missions

and cinder also demands that the next time you decide to crossdress, you tell her in advance, so she doesn't mistake you for an intruder or woman you're cheating with

plus, she is intrigued to see just how exactly you're pulling off this look. you looked so convincing and cinder might want to give it a try as well…

[novankenn]

Cinder: (Swings door open quickly ignoring the note.) My Queen! Those brats have broke into the castle we must stop!

(Pauses while looking at the scene)

Jaune: (His head on Weiss's lap as she runs her fingers though his hair) Alyx was a brat but she still was like family she didn't deserve what that cat did.

Salem: I understand life is usually cruel. Now tell me more about this Curious Cat.

Cinder: WTF?!?

Cinder stalked through the halls and corridors of EverNight Castle. Her twin obsidian blades ready to strike down the intruders... if she could find them. Normally she would have zeroed in on the sounds of conflict and combat, but there was none. The grimm she passed, when she did come across them were just wandering about aimlessly, that was if they weren't sitting or laying down.

So without the sounds of a fierce pitched battle to guide her, Cinder was forced to actually search for the interlopers... who she knew was team RWBY and their friends.

Cinder: This is RIDICULOUS! I must ask my queen for help, to locate these brats.

Cinder made a turn at the next corner and stomped her way toward the throne room. She emerged from one of the side halls into the main corridor and turned towards her destination. Five minutes later she stood there before the large double doors... in total shock.

Cinder: I...

A Beowulf, dressed in a tasteful skirt and blouse ensemble, matched with a set of sensible heels, and topped off with a pearl necklace, and a pair of wire rim glasses... stood before the doors baring her entry.

Cinder: I...

The Beowulf pointed to a sign near the door, well a set of signs in fact. It took ever ounce of her will power to draw her eyes off the figure before her, and look at the signs.

(1) If the doors are closed there is either a meeting or session in progress. Unless it is an EMERGENCY no admittance.

(2) Sessions are by appointment ONLY.

(3) This is a ZERO TOLERANCE work place. Anyone causing a disturbance, or harassing staff will be asked to leave. Failure to do so will cause the authorities to be summoned.

(4) I am the boss, but my secretary is in charge. If she says NO then it's NO. There are no exceptions.

Cinder: Secretary?

The Beowulf nodded its head and using a metal ruler tapped the desk name plate.

Cinder: Grendelsa Grimmsald, Executive Assistant to Doctor Salem Salem?

The Beowulf who Cinder now knew was named Grendelsa nodded.

Cinder: But, I...

Grendelsa: *Grunt like growl*

Cinder: I know I don't have an appointment, but this is an emergency! The castle is under attack! I must speak to Queen...

Grendelsa: *Growl like grunt*

Cinder: I mean Doctor Salem.

Grendelsa pointed to a set of rather comfy looking waiting room chairs, and Cinder knew instantly she had no choice. So she sat down, and after a few seconds wiggled her butt into the plush cushioning getting more comfortable.

Cinder dozed off, and awoke with a start at the sound of the door opening.

Salem: I understand it is quiet the commute so I will have Grendelsa arrange for some accommodations for you, as in my opinion there is a need to have a few more sessions over the next week before I feel confident that we can space them out further. Is that acceptable Ms Schnee? Mr Arc?

Weiss: More than. Thank you for your hospitality, and all your help.

Cinder shot to her feet, her eyes wide in shock. Salem, her queen. Malevolent Evil Incarnate was in a black pant suit, wearing glasses and SHAKING HANDS with the SCHNEE who was holding the hand of the blond wanna-be knight from Beacon!

Jaune: I still don't...

Salem: It's alright Mr Arc. These things take time, and we progress at the pace that you set. There is no rushing this. Your mental health is very important, and with Ms Schnee's support and my assistance we will help you find resolutions.

Weiss: Can we give it a couple more sessions Jaune? I really do think this is good for you, me and us.

Jaune: Okay. I'll try a few more times.

Salem: Excellent. Grendelsa will make all the...

Cinder: WHAT THE FUCK IT THIS!!!!

Salem: Ms Fall. Those types of outbursts are not acceptable!

Cinder: WHAT THE FUCK, SALEM? THEY'RE FROM BEACON! THEY'RE YOUR ENEMIES!

Salem: Lower your voice or you will be escorted out.

Cinder: WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?!?!? ARE YOU GIVING THEM THERAPY???

Salem: You were warned Ms Fall. Ms Grimmslad if you please...

/==/

Twenty minutes later Cinder found herself sitting outside of the main gate of EverNight Castle, right next to Ruby Rose, Yang Xiao Long, and Blake Belladonna.

Ruby: You get kicked out too?

Cinder: ...

[eternity-death]

Had the thought/realization that regardless of if the Dream Master approved or disapproved of Sunday pursuing you, Sunday would still choose not to.

There are just too many factors that prevent him from doing so. A lack of time, for one. Sunday’s duties keep him on his toes constantly; he can’t find a moment of rest even in his sleep. He foresees his negligence of your relationship, and though unintentional, it still wouldn’t be fair to you.

His status as Oak Family Head would be another problem. How would you fare under the overbearing pressures that come with being his lover? Penacony is a planet of lights, glamour, and gossip. All eyes will be on you as soon as your relationship is publicized. You will be held at standards far higher than ever before, and the other Family Heads will be expecting nothing less. Sunday couldn’t possibly bring himself to burden you with all of this.

And of course, there’s his grand plan for Penacony.

I think that he’s been anticipating his sacrifice for a loooong time. Sunday acknowledges that he’ll be hurting you by leaving, and if you were in a relationship, then he would be hurting you even more.

You will be furious with him, surely. You’ve always chastised him for his self-destructive work habits.

But the image of you eternally safe and sound within Ena’s dream is enough to lay any rueful feelings to rest. He hopes that one day you’ll find it within yourself to forgive him.

[rwby-imagines-and-headcanons]

Time for some nsfw fluffy headcanons! Request: Yang,Cinder and Weiss sitting on their male reader's lap while he gives them cute praises like "Good girl" or "you're doing so good for me" while fingering them (Sounds so adorable 🤭)

The amount of fluffy NSFW prompts I'm getting is so beautiful man, we need more wholesome lewds in the world

---------

Weiss/Yang/Cinder NSFW Fluff - Fingered by Male S/O

Weiss Schnee

When you suggested the idea, Weiss was hesitant. It seemed super embarrassing to her, to just sit on your lap like that, legs open

After convincing her to give it a try, she sighs and gently plops on your lap, back towards you

The moment you grazed her she instantly shuddered and blushed

You started out very slowly and gently, only using one finger at first to get her used to it. Once she was ready you added another finger

She tries her hardest to hold in her moans of pleasure. It's unladylike to just howl like a cat in heat! But everytime your fingers pumped into her it got harder and harder to hold back. It got to the point she had to clasp a hand over her mouth to quiet herself

That didn't last long though

As you continued, you started to softly whisper praise into her ear. Telling her she is doing a great job and looks so pretty with her face all flushed

Everytime you called her a "Good Girl" you could feel her constrict around your fingers, hearing whines come from her throat

Weiss couldn't put her finger on why she liked that so much. Maybe it's due to a life of little praise and appreciation. Maybe it because it's nice to have her self doubt be challenged. Maybe it was daddy issues

No matter the reason, everytime your hot breath hit her ear she got closer and closer to climax, her pussy getting wetter by the minute

You found her so cute like this! Seeing her so vulnerable like this was endearing and made you love her even more. Feeling the end coming soon, you decided to hit her with one last sentence

"That's it, cum for me~"

Lift off, baby. Weiss's head whipped back as her body convulsed, not even bothering to hold in her cries of pleasure, feeling it run through her whole body

After all that, you are REQUIRED to help her stand and clean up. You did this to her, take responsibility!

She'd never admit it at first, but this was one of the hardest times she had ever cum, and secretly wants to do this over and over again. Whenever she just silently puts a gentle hand on your thigh, it's clear what she wants

Yang Xiao Long

Boi, the instant you suggested the position, Yang dragged you to the bedroom and locked the door

This was a great idea! How could she turn down the offer?

Leading up Yang was super confident and playful, doing a little strip tease with a wink and grin

The moment she actually sat down though, her heart started racing like crazy. The reality of what was gonna happen kinda hit her and instantly made her mind fuzzy

More kinky and sexual things she was way more confident in. Just having a good railing session is her speciality! But more sensual and personal moments get her nervous

She expected you to just instantly go for it, so when you lightly rubbed her pussy lips instead it caught her off guard

As you rubbed and teased Yang got antsy, begging you to just get on with it already

"As you wish~"

With every pump Yang let out a grunt, not afraid to vocalize. She was never the type to hold back when it came to sex and it was the same here. The only difference was these noises were different

You being so gentle was something she wasn't used to, so it hit different for her

This time it was YOUR turn to tease! You loved to whisper praise into her ear and see her embarrassed face. She would try to tell you to knock it off but would be quickly cut off by a hitch in her voice. Seeing Yang so submissive was odd but satisfying

Please call her a Good Girl, it just does something for her. Being caring in general does it for her, even maternal in a sense (Team RWBY? More like Team Parental Issues)

She is so used to being the tomboy, the action girl, the strong fighter. Being treated like a delicate flower just drove her crazy

As you increase your speed Yang gets more and more vocal, until it all crescendos into a climax like no other

Like a lightswitch, the moment she gets a clear head, she is back joking and teasing with you, acting like she didn't just completely melt at your touch

Expect to do this more in the future to mix things up a bit

Cinder Fall

Cinder is a proud woman, she is strong and independent. In your relationship she is the dom 100%, she takes control and loves doing so

So when you suggested this idea she actually scoffed at the idea. Why would she just give herself to you? You have to earn it!

You both made a compromise. She will go along with being submissive for one time as long as you treat her amazingly throughout the day. I'm talking foot rubs and feeding her grapes

Once you earn it, Cinder rolls her eyes but happily strips and sits on your lap

At the start she guides you, telling you exactly how she wants it, and you oblige. But as you go along, you manage to convince her to relax and just let you do your thing

Your fingers were soft and slow, something she was NOT used to. She was used to power and aggression, so this was a culture shock to her. There was a lot of denial about how much she enjoyed it

Throughout she will act aloof about it all, chiming in that you could be doing better. On the inside though she is actually surprised at how skilled you are when you're in charge. It was hot

What really shocked her was when you started calling her a "Good Girl" and telling her she's doing great. I mean, of course she's doing great! She doesn't need you to tell her that!

But somewhere deep inside her got warm and fuzzy listening to your words, mixing with her inner denial and stubborness

She never thought she would ever crave praise or approval from anyone, but hearing it from you somehow made her feel... happy?

The longer it goes the weaker she becomes, and you can start to hear her make noises of pleasure ever so softly, legs quivering and twitching

As she cums, Cinder shamefully lets loose and just lets out a deep moan, gripping your arm tightly and bucking her hips. A few tears fall down her face as pleasure fills her, something in her heart feeling complete

Afterwards she will NOT speak of this. No one can know she let someone reduce her to a literal crying mess, it would ruin her reputation completely. And if you bring it up she'll deny liking it as much as she did

One night though, Cinder approached you in lingerie and pushed you into a chair. You were about to question when she turned around and settled on your lap and opened her legs. She didn't say a word, but you instantly knew what she wanted. And you were happy to oblige~

----------

Thanks for the prompt! I had fun with this one, and it's always great to write for Cinder!

{Like my work? Consider tipping me on Ko-fi! Every little bit counts~}

[h-doodles]

truly not sorry but once again thinking abt miranda/mc/mia in RL. i need them SO bad. like, 2 of the most morally unsound persons (Mia & Miranda) + their little meow meow. Knowing both are so possessive and destructive (TO OTHERS) when they love and instead of running, fully embracing the chaos of it. Loving them despite their delusions of grandeur, the crimes, the secrets, and the deaths (+ undeaths) caused (or ordered!) by their hands. Acknowledging this is fucked up but you can't help it. Lovingly bitching abt their fights but fully done and gone to do anything else but to soothe and continue loving them, because after all those years of waiting and doing and redoing everything to be perfect was worth it for this.

also did i mention being their little meow meow. sorry Miranda, MC was the original gremlin in the relationship and Mia being the fucked up feral racoon she is now is not solely by her doing, MC was and IS the enabler in both relationships that it bled over sm and OUGHJJJJJHHHHhhhh im being so emo abt three (3) women being utter menaces frfr

[lola-writes]

Prince Regent

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

Word Count: 8.6k

Synopsis: Aemond returns to the Red Keep after the battle of Rook’s Rest with a newfound vigor for his wife.

Themes & Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI!), POV first person (Aemond’s & reader’s), s2x04,05 inspired, enemies to lovers trope, smut, violence, blood, dark/possessive Aemond, breeding kink, swearing, mentions of rape, high valyrian, fingering, multiple orgasms, p in v, doggystyle, creampie, rough sex, hair pulling, choking

Song: Hide and Seek ~ Klergy, Mindy Jones

Latest oneshot: A Dragon's Lullaby

Masterlist | Add yourself to my taglist | Playlist | Ao3

Likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated ❤️

Enjoy the read!

[gif @aemondstark ]

AEMOND

Smoke. Dragon fire. Blood.

It clung to me, acrid and sweet, like a perverse cloak of victory.

A primal urge, raw and unbidden, erupted within me, a hunger that transcended the battle’s end. It devoured my senses. It vibrated within my bones. It consumed my very being.

My adrenaline ebbed, leaving a hollowness in its wake. The battle was over. Victory was ours. Gleaming armor was storming the castle. But that victory hung hollow, a meaningless echo in the carnage. My flesh seared with defeat. A strange fire, unsatiated, stirred beneath my skin.

I needed something more. Something I could sink my teeth into, as Vhagar had. Something warm and living.

From the air, I watched the smoke curl skyward, soldiers scattering like startled ants, and Meleys red corpse lay vanquished beneath brick and dust.

The warmth of my kill was still writhing. It was a fresh, living ember, demanding to be tended.

The impact of my brother’s fall had torn the wood asunder, set the ground ablaze, smoke and cinders rising steadily towards the heavens. My gaze settled on the inferno, and I urged Vhagar, my reflection in scales and fire, towards it, my mighty beast beating the wind like thunder as we circled twice around the barrenness of the forest, before she heeded my command.

“Qubemagon, Vhagar.” (Descend)

I dismounted her and trod a path towards the inferno, my sword materializing in my grasp with a practiced turn of my wrist. Shades of red marred my vision. The air shimmered, thick with smoke and the metallic tang of blood.

Adrenaline trickled into my bloodstream.

Never had I been so close to my birthright, so close to erasing the past. My grip tightened around the hilt. Images swam up before me. A lifetime of humiliations, each one a searing brand in my retina. My brother getting what he wasn’t fit for, presented to him on a silver platter. But no longer. No more would he be the architect of my suffering. 

But as a tremor shook the ground, a low rumble heralding the broken form of the golden dragon, a monument of smoke, blood, dirt, and ashes, none of it seemed to matter. 

As I crested a rise, the world snapped into sharp focus. My gaze landed on him - my brother; melted into a nightmarish tableau of steel, flesh, and bone, encircled by his dragon’s golden body.

Resolution, cold and heavy, settled in my chest. Killing him would be fruitless. The Stranger had already requested an audience.

I had achieved what needed to be done. As I lifted the edge of my sword to its sheath, a voice echoed through the forest.

“Aemond!” Cole cried my name like a desperate warning. I glanced back, my weapon disappearing into its sheath with a final rasp.

I looked down at my sacrifice. The damage was raw, excessive. The damage that was wanton. A pang of unease twisted in my gut. 

A glint of metal caught my eye, and I dropped to my haunches to retrieve the Conqueror’s Valyrian steel dagger from the bloodied earth. The dagger that was once Aegon’s. It was mine now. 

Ser Criston’s rustling armor announced his approach. “Where is His Grace?” he asked, voice quivering.

I didn’t respond. Instead, I tilted my chin, allowing the glistening steel guide his gaze toward the grotesque sculpture of my melted brother encircled by golden scales.

Ser Criston crumpled to his knees without a word, as I rose to my feet. 

A cold knot of regret twisted in my chest as I regarded my tribute. But it was fleeting, replaced by the icy fire of my ambition. 

There was much to be done, and I needed to proceed if I were to achieve it. I turned on my heel and left Cole and my broken brother behind. 

The battlefield and the devastation shrank beneath me as Vhagar’s powerful wings propelled us skyward. 

A sharp thrill prickled my skin that was naught from the velocity, but rather that of my impending regency. 

_

Upon returning to King’s Landing, I made my way to the small council chamber, ascending the stairs with slow deliberate steps. The air was thick with tension. The council was in disarray, engrossed in a heated discussion, but fell silent as the doors swung open. Eyes turned to me.

“My Lords,” I announced, my voice cutting through the sudden hush. I rounded the council table. “Mother,” I said, offering a curt nod of acknowledgement as I passed Alicent’s chair.

“Aemond,” she demanded, steel in her voice. “Where is Aegon?”

A heavy pause hung in the air before I met her gaze.

“Aegon has fallen,” I said. 

The council erupted in uproar. 

Cries of outrage and accusations.

Obscenities.

Scandal.

“How could this be allowed to happen?”

“What is the meaning of this?”

“We are doomed!”

The disapproval of the Lords sullied the chambers. This council was surely in lack of discipline. I already had my eyes on who I were to replace.  

“The King is dead!”

“The King is not dead,” I countered, my voice calm and mellifluous, soothing the council members like warm milk. Voices dipped and eyes turned to me, an invisible shudder surging through the air. “He has merely sustained grave injuries and is being brought back to the Red Keep for treatment as we speak.” I began to pace around the table, hands slotted behind my back. “The King fought bravely,” I continued. “Landing mortal injuries to the Pretender’s cause. But the Red Queen cast him out of the sky before I could get to him.”

My pacing had brought me to the head of the council table, where I ceased my step. My hand reached out to allow my fingers to trace the chair frame, its iron vibrating with the power I so craved. 

It was palpable. 

It was mine for the taking. 

I looked up at the members of the small council, my eye piercing each and every one of them until they quivered in their chairs.

“And in the coils of torment,” I spoke. “My brother, King Aegon, named me Prince Regent.”

A tremor vibrated the room, weary eyes glanced at each other, bodies twisting uncomfortably in creaking chairs. 

“If anyone should be named regent, surely it should be me, his mother,” voiced Alicent. 

I cast my gaze on her. 

“Aemond is next in line,” came voices from the small council.

“Yes, but the King still lives!” Alicent implored.

“Who am I to contest the wishes of the King?” I said softly, casting her a look of pure innocence.

Alicent’s eyes welled like a tide of despair, her head dipping to the table with defeat. If Alicent could conjure words that had not been uttered to serve her own ends, why could I not?

“Aemond…” she started, her voice a gentle tremble. “Could we at least discuss this?”

“As prince regent, I vow to serve this realm, my Lords, and guide our path to victory against the Whore of Dragonstone.”

My gaze drifted to the platform in the center of the table, settling on the cold polished marble that remained. The King’s marble. I reached for it, and as my fingers closed around its smooth surface, I met Alicent’s eyes. A flicker of desperate plea danced within them, and I held it with a cold response. She exhaled with defeat as I seated myself in the King’s chair, placing the marble in its rocky nest. 

“All hail Aemond, Prince Regent and Protector of the Realm,” Lord Tyland Lannister’s voice came, and the words echoed across the table. 

A smirk played on my lips. “My Lords,” I began, splaying my hands atop the table. “Let us commence.”

YOU

Mutters. Whispers. Gossip.

The news, carried on frantic breaths, was a tangled mess.

One moment, the King was dead, the next, grievously wounded. Some murmured of a crippled monarch, others of his mighty dragon slain. 

It buzzed in my ears as I made my way towards the throne room.

Fear, a cold serpent, coiled in my gut.

The throne room pulsed with tense energy. Hundreds of courtiers jostled for position, their faces etched with a mixture of morbid curiosity and nervous anticipation. I descended the cold stone steps, the weight of each step echoing the growing dread in my heart.

The Iron Throne loomed before me, an empty monument of jagged steel. Its cruel beauty, forged from a thousand fallen enemies, held a chilling glint in the flickering torchlight. I observed it over the shoulder of the woman in front of me, the precariousness of my position suddenly amplified. 

A shiver ran down my spine. Sometimes, I believed it was cursed. Promising to cast whoever graced it to a terrible fate.

My fingers, restless with apprehension, turned my rings about my fingers, pulling them off and on in a nervous dance. A prickling sensation spread through me as I felt countless eyes burning into my back. Disapproval mingled with a strange reverence. The room thrummed with unspoken questions, and I, too, yearned for answers, desperately seeking a foothold in the swirling vortex of uncertainty. 

A ripple of anticipation surged through the crowd as a figure emerged. I turned to witness the gleaming silver armor of the King’s Guard announcing Ser Criston Cole, the newly appointed Hand of the King. Hundreds of eyes swiveled in his wake as he strode towards the Iron Throne, which seemed to gnash its serrated teeth at his approach. 

My mind churned in chaotic disarray. Ser Criston had marched on Rook’s Rest, prompting Aemond’s hurried departure. Where my husband was now, remained a mystery. Perhaps still at Rook’s Rest, tending to the fallen King, or perhaps continuing on to Harrenhal, a destination he oft mentioned.  

None of it mattered. 

My marriage to Aemond had been a political maneuver, as cold and sterile as a septa’s cell. He held no affection for me, nor I for him. He was the absent, aloof prince I’d always imagined him to be. Carrying a frozen heart of a killer. Our union was no more than an alliance. Though I was hardly complaining. Married life granted me freedoms I scarcely thought possible for a highborn lady. But I would jest if I said I did not long for something more. Something warm. Something living. But in Aemond, either would be the last place I’d find. 

Ser Criston swept a steely gaze across the court, his face unreadable. He chewed the inside of his cheeks curiously, the motion ceasing abruptly when his eyes met mine. Cold and dark. I met his stare head-on, until an odd feeling took root in my gut. 

Unanswered questions swirled in my mind. 

Ser Criston tore his gaze from me, his eyes flitting across the room. Then, with a voice laced with authority, he boomed, “I address this court as Hand to inform you that the King has been grievously wounded in battle!”

A collective gasp ripped through the court. Whispers, like startled birds, rose in a flurry.

Ser Criston continued, a steely edge creeping into his voice, “Rhaenyra the Cruel will believe she won a great victory this day. May believe we will cower and offer her the throne like whipped dogs. But the False Queen is sorely mistaken. For the throne will not remain empty.”

Whispers escalated into a commotion. An unsettling prickle danced across my skin. My mind darted to the dowager Queen Alicent. Surely, in Aegon’s absence, they would elevate her to the throne. But after usurping Rhaenyra, would they truly place another woman in her stead? 

My thoughts, apparently, mirrored those of the court, for Alicent’s name drifted around me like a persistent echo.

Ser Criston’s voice rose to a commanding pitch, reverberating through the throne room, “I present to you…” The heavy oak doors of the throne room ground open, drawing every eye in unison.

My breath caught in my throat as a figure materialized at the stairs. 

It wasn’t Alicent. 

A frame, draped in dark green leather that shimmered with silver accents, emerged from the groaning doors. The Conqueror’s crown, a heavy circle of iron, sat upon their silver head, casting a long shadow across a face half-obscured by an eyepatch. 

“Prince Regent, Aemond Targaryen,” Ser Criston declared, his voice thick with forced authority. “Rider of Vhagar.”

Aemond descended the steps.

“Slayer of the queen who never was.”

Aemond’s footsteps, muffled by polished leather boots and the collective murmurs of the courtiers, made a predator’s approach as he stalked toward the Iron Throne. Two King’s Guard flanked him with stoic expressions. 

“And Protector of the Realm.”

He ascended the iron steps with a chilling grace, finally settling upon the throne. A hush fell over the court, thick and heavy. Silence stretched as he molded himself into the seat, his lethal hands caressing the equally lethal rests, a small smirk playing on his lips. His voice, a honeyed drawl laced with a hint of steel, echoed in the sudden silence.

“My Lords and Ladies,” he began, the menacing glint in his blue eye accentuated by the play of shadows on his face. “His Grace, the King, has been wounded at the battle of Rook’s Rest, and will be incapable to rule.”

There was a power in his presence, an unspoken threat that left the court speechless. Not a cough, not a rustle of fabric dared to break the silence. 

“Therefore,” he continued, his gaze sweeping over the frozen faces, “I, will act as your sovereign.”

Unease prickled at my skin. Something about Aemond’s demeanor, the unnatural sheen on his face, sent a tremor of suspicion through me. 

Had this all been a carefully orchestrated play? What truly transpired at Rook’s Rest? 

My eyes darted to the ornate dagger resting at his hip, the ancestral blade of Aegon the Conqueror. It was the same dagger I’d last seen clutched in the hand of his brother. 

As Aemond spoke on, a knot of apprehension tightened in my gut. 

“The tide has turned,” he declared, his voice ringing through the stunned silence. “Rhaenys Targaryen is slain, along with her dragon.” A small smile tugged at his lips, a low hum escaping them. “The largest serving the Pretender’s cause.” He said it like it was a jest. “Rook’s Rest has been claimed, leaving Dragonstone vulnerable.” His fingers tapped across the blades. “This is a victory for us.”

Scattered heads nodded in agreement. 

Then, his gaze snapped to me, a rapacious glint in his single blue eye. It seemed to bore into my very soul, stripping away any pretense. 

“It’s all going according to plan,” he murmured, his voice a silken threat, and for a moment, an eerie feeling within told me he was addressing me alone. The fire that danced within his eye flickered a touch too bright, and it felt like he could see every thought swirling in my mind, every flicker of doubt, every spark of fear. 

It felt like he was about to eat me alive.

A violent terror surged through me, icy fingers gripping my heart. Adrenaline tapped into my veins, a primal urge to flee. 

_

Frantic energy fueled my movements. I shoved dresses, jewelry, all of my belongings, into overflowing wooden trunks. Their straining hinges mocked my desperation. My handmaid, silent but swift, followed my frenzied instructions. I knew then, with a chilling certainty, that I owed her my life after this escape. 

Aemond’s chambers, once a familiar haven, felt cold and sterile now, stripped bare of my belongings. Rain lashed against the open windows, mirroring the frantic rhythm of my heart. The journey ahead would be long and treacherous. Circumstances weren’t optimal, but there was no other choice at my disposal.

My husband was a murderer and a kinslayer twice over. And my intuition told me it would soon be thrice. He wasn’t just ruthless; there was an unsettling hollowness behind his actions, a chilling absence of remorse. He was a walking blight, a storm that devoured everything in its path. And I refused to be struck down by its lightning.  

The apartment doors shuddered open, shattering me into distraught. My flight instincts flared, but I refused to cower. My hand instinctively shot out, grasping my maid’s hand tightly. We held our breath as a large, porcelain hand reached out and pushed the door wider. 

Aemond entered, leaving the door ajar. His gaze, unwavering and cold, locked with mine. “Leave us,” he commanded, his voice a smooth, cold current. 

My handmaid curtsied, her grip faltering as she pried my fingers loose. With a hurried glance back, she scurried out, the heavy door slamming shut behind her. 

An oppressive silence descended, broken only by the frantic pounding of my heart against my ribs. 

Escape seemed impossible; the air thick with a chilling dread. 

“You sent for me, wife?” Aemond’s voice, a silken caress laced with steel, echoed in the cavernous chamber. He approached with a predative grace, each deliberate step shrinking the distance between us. 

Confusion slammed into me. I hadn’t summoned him. This was, by far, the most he’d spoken to me since our loveless union. 

“You are mistaken,” I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper. My feet, traitors that they were, retreated with each of his advances. Then, it dawned on me, that it might have been his intention to put me in a state of dubiety, making me more malleable. A cutthroat, not only lethal, but cunning.

He stopped beside my overflowing trunk, a flicker of amusement playing on his lips. 

“Travelling somewhere?” His single blue eye, unnervingly perceptive, held me captive. 

Panic clawed at my throat. I clenched my trembling hands into fists, slotting them behind my back, forcing my lips into a gentle smile. 

“I wish to visit my family,” I said. “With war looming, I wish for us to be together.”

Aemond took another measured step closer. “Ao issi aerēbas mirriot daor,” (You’re not going anywhere), he murmured, the High Valyrian rolling off his tongue like a sinister threat. 

A furrow etched between my brows as I attempted to comprehend his words. My grasp of the ancient tongue was limited, and whether he intended me to understand was a cruel game. Perhaps, it was yet another tool to exert his dominance. But based on his relentless pursuit, I gathered me leaving wasn’t an option he entertained.

“I am of no use to you, Aemond,” I pleaded, maintaining a safe distance. “Me staying serves no purpose.”

“On the contrary,” he purred, his voice dripping with a dark promise. His head tilted covetously, venom flashing in his eye. 

“We barely exist to each other,” I continued. “What difference would it make if I was half a world away?”

“It would make all the difference.” The warmth in his voice vanished, replaced by a glacial edge. “There’s the matter of heirs.”

Seven Hells. 

Anguish twisted my gut. Intuition, a primal scream, roared to life. Images flashed behind my eyelids – Aemond sitting the throne, and Aegon reduced to ash. 

Had this been his plan all along? Was he the reason for the King’s lethal end?

The pieces slammed together in my mind, a horrifying mosaic. 

I gasped, my back hitting the cold stone wall. Aemond’s ambition stretched far beyond my naïve expectations. Loyalty to his house, to his brother, had been a carefully constructed facade. Beneath it, he schemed, a shrewd predator stalking his ultimate prize. The crown. 

And the crown needed heirs. 

He towered over me, his presence overwhelming. He was much taller than I recalled, every inch radiating a rapacious tension. A hand braced itself against the wall, inches from my head. 

“What have you done?” My thoughts materialized into shaky words, laced with an enmity that surprised even me. My gaze raked over him, revulsion twisting my features. The green leather seemed to pulse, an illusion fueled by my churning stomach. 

A flicker, a hint of something akin to uncertainty, crossed his single eye. It darted across my face, as if truly seeing me for the first time. Perhaps he was. In this desperate flight, we’d never been closer. Close enough to be enveloped by his scent, a foreign musk that did little to quell my churning nausea. 

“Skoros iksin bēvilagon.” (What was necessary)

I frowned again, aggravated that he took to High Valyrian as an attempt to shut me out of his thoughts. My jaw clenched, frustration a bitter taste on my tongue. 

Malevolence rose like a flood as I leaned forward, so close that our noses nearly touched, “I would not have your child in a million years, kinslayer,” I spat, my voice trembling with contained fury. I lunged forward, aiming to push past him, to escape his suffocating presence. But his other hand shot out, slamming against the wall beside me, effectively caging me in.

A venomous glint flickered in his eye as he narrowed it at me through his lashes. A twitch played on his lips, a cat batting at a cornered mouse. “Be that as it may,” he said mellowly. “But even a bad wife must obey her king.”

A scoff escaped my lips, my eyes sizing him up and down. “You are no king,” I hissed, defiance lacing my voice. “You are not even a man.”

His reaction was swift and brutal.

One hand shot out and grabbed my face, forcing my head against the cold stone. Pain erupted at the impact, but quickly subsided as he leaned in, his hot breath fanning against my lips.

“Speak such treason again, and I’ll show you what I really am.”

“What will you do?” I spat back, my voice trembling with a mix of fear and insurgence. “Cripple me, like you did your brother? Force yourself on me?”

“Don’t tempt me,” he growled, his voice simmering with barely contained violence.

A tense silence ensued, the air crackling with his restrained fury.

My suspicions, already simmering, solidified into a horrifying certainty. He’d orchestrated his brother’s downfall on purpose. 

“Have you no honor?” I whispered, the words a ragged plea. 

The silence stretched, broken only by our ragged breaths. His hold on my face loosened gradually, his hand falling away. But his gaze remained fixed on me, a storm brewing within its depths. 

“You cannot stop me, Aemond,” I said, my voice shrinking. “I will leave this place, one way or another. You can play king in my absence, but it will be a hollow crown.”

“Kesan arghugon ao naejot se mōris hen tegon.” (I will hunt you to the end of the earth)

“Speak plainly,” I snapped, my patience with his cryptic pronouncements wearing thin.

A chilling smile, devoid of warmth, stretched across his lips. He pushed himself away from the wall, backing away, creating my long-desired distance between us. 

“You may go,” he drawled, the amusement in his voice laced with a dangerous edge, that sardonic smile still plastered on his lips. 

Acrimony filled my gut. What little I knew of this man, I feared greatly, but also told me this was a trick. He wouldn’t relinquish control so easily. He’d allow me to make my “escape”, only to have me snatched back by the King’s Guard, now under his control, a public display of his authority. There was no true freedom with him.

Maegor’s tunnels, a potential escape route, loomed tantalizingly behind me. If only I were alone, a simple push against the wall would send me tumbling into its dark embrace. But escape without a plan or supplies was a fool’s errand. 

My mind spun, each possibility twisting the knife of despair deeper. Even if I reached my family, what awaited me there? Shame would be their welcome. Aemond, no doubt, would make sure of it. 

The rain continued its relentless assault on the outside world, punctuated by the booming symphony of thunder. A flash of lightning illuminated the apartments, casting Aemond in a grotesque, menacing silhouette. 

Exhaustion overwhelmed me. I slumped to the floor, seeking solace in the meager comfort of my arms wrapped around my knees. Here I was, a prisoner in this gilded cage, condemned to bear the children of a traitor until flames consumed us all. 

Aemond crouched before me, his wrists resting on his knees. He regarded me with an intensity that bordered on scientific curiosity. A flicker of something, perhaps disappointment, played at his edges. 

“I’d take you for many things, wife,” he cooed, the endearment dripping with veiled malice. “But weak was not one of them.” His words landed like a body blow. “If I’d known you’d crumble so easily, I would never have wed you in the first place.” 

I sniffed and looked up at him, exhaustion a heavy cloak on my lids. “You did not have much of a say in the matter,” I countered.

A wicked smile twisted his lips and his head tilted to the side. “No,” he said softly. A sudden chill iced his demeanor. “And neither do you.”

He rose to his feet with predacious grace, leaving me pleated on the floor. He sauntered to his chair and seated himself, one leg propped up on his knee, his leather splaying atop the arm rests.

I watched him. His face was turned to the violent storm outside, immersed in contemplation, lightning whipping across his features. A vision of menace. A weapon poised to strike. 

“So, what is your scheme, Aemond?” I started; my voice hoarse. His head turned slowly, his gaze locking onto mine with the piercing intensity of Valyrian steel. “Do you envision a period of mourning for the King, followed by a convenient acclamation in your favor? Or will you hurry along the succession and carry out the deed yourself before anyone suspects?”

A single corner of his mouth quirked into a cruel smile. “Suppose I have not yet decided.” His voice was like liquid. 

Defiance flickered within me. “The court will never agree to this once they find out what you’ve done.”

Aemond hummed, a deep sound in the bottom of his chest. “Dragons don’t concern themselves with the opinions of sheep.” He leaned forward, resting his arms across his knees. “I am next in line to the throne,” he drawled. “None is better suited than I.”

I staggered to my feet and went to sit beside him. “With a legitimate heir,” I said carefully. “Your claim would be uncontested.”

He smirked, as though I’d read his mind. He leaned back, his eyes gleaming with dangerous delight. 

“A woman’s pleasure is,” he began, a slow, suggestive smile playing on his lips. His blue eye drifted down my form in a way that made my skin crawl. “Of as much importance as the seed itself.”

A hot flush crept up my cheeks at his implication.

“Which is why submission must be a willing act,” he finished, his voice dropping to a husky murmur.

I swallowed, provocation crackling through me. Did he truly believe I would succumb to his advances? He seemed to think he could manipulate anyone to his will, whether through seduction or brutality, though I had yet to see the former. 

“And if I refuse?” I challenged, my voice surprisingly steady despite the tremor in my hands. 

A low growl vibrated in his chest, his face soft. “Then you’ll find yourself counted amongst the sheep,” he drawled.

Deflating, I sighed and dipped my head. The only path forward seemed excruciatingly clear. Raising my eyes to meet his, I lifted an eyebrow in rebellion.

“Consider me sheep then.” With that, I rose from the settee and strode towards the apartment doors, the cold of the metal handle stealing the warmth from my fingers as I heaved it open.

It shut then, with a loud thud, and I jumped, a sudden heat radiating behind me. Aemond’s fingers splayed on the oak door above my head. My pulse drummed in my ears, Aemond’s lips grazing my lobe, urging it to pick up the pace. 

“Jaelā naejot mazverdagon nyke jorarghutan ao, ābrazȳrys?” (You want to make me chase you, wife?) His voice rumbled into me, a low growl as potent as the thunderstorm.

The rolling, guttural words sent a strange warmth through my core. His air consumed me. A rich mixture of smoke, leather, and dragon, infiltrated my senses, intoxicating and unsettling in equal measure. 

“I can’t understand you,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. I felt him smiling against my ear, a low chuckle reverberating into it, sending goosebumps erupting across my skin. 

“You won't need to,” he said softly. His hand drifted away from the door and closed around my throat, surprisingly gentle, yet the warmth of his fingers felt like embers branding my skin. They snaked around the back of my neck, the pressure tightening as he turned me to face him. His single eye, a bottomless well of intricacy, held mine captive.

My gaze flickered down to his lips. They were curved into a wicked grin.

His scent became a suffocating presence. The heat radiating from his body, fervid as a dragon, made sweat bead on my forehead. My entire being screamed I was at his mercy. He could crush my life out with a mere squeeze, or worse, with his single eye, he could strip me bare without ever laying a hand on me. 

But a strange fire flickered within me, a rebellion against his dominion. My hands, fueled by a desperate need for control, reached out and began loosening his doublet, my fingers slow and deliberate. 

Aemond stilled, his eye falling to my movements. He watched, transfixed, as I unfastened the green leather halfway down his chest, then trailed my fingers lower. His gaze darkened and his breath grew uneven, as the bulge beneath his belt pressed against my touch.

A visceral desire flared within me, a response I couldn’t fully comprehend. My pulse hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs, slowly drifting between my thighs at the sight of his desire. 

His grip softened at my nape, and with a surge of defiance, I ripped myself free from his hold, and landed a heavy blow to his stomach. But a wave of terror washed over me when Aemond barely flinched.

Panic clawed at my throat. 

Taking advantage of his momentary surprise, I flung open the chamber doors and fled, the sound of my pounding heart echoing in my ears. 

AEMOND

The aftershock of her blow lingered, a dull ache radiating from my gut, while I allowed her to make her escape. Fury, a familiar companion, usually surged through me, promising retribution, suggesting to make her death appear an accident. This time, however, a different heat consumed me, a mix of surprise and… arousal. 

Rarely did I misjudge a person. Yet, the meek mouse I’d wed had transformed into a daring she-wolf before my very eyes. This escape attempt, fueled by defiance, was a revelation. It made my dick hard. 

A rapacious glint flickered in my eye. A grudging respect, laced with something far more primal, coiled in my gut. I had underestimated her, and the unexpected turn of events had ignited a spark within me. 

A smirk twisted my lips, and I hummed with satisfaction, the thrill of the hunt coursing through me. 

“Jaelā naejot tymagon?” (You want to play?) I murmured, the challenge laced with amusement. “Kesi tymagon.” (Let’s play.)

I started into the storm-ridden castle. 

YOU

Immediate regret shot through me with a pang, a cold fist squeezing my breath. 

To toy with a dragon was like asking to get burned.

My lungs screamed in protest, my legs burning with each step down the Red Keep’s slick stone steps. Blood, metallic and sharp, left traces in my mouth as I hoisted my cumbersome gown to avoid tripping. The castle shuddered from the storm, which groaned and wailed its onslaught. Guards stood stoic at their posts, their expressions unreadable underneath silver helms. Appealing to them was a fool’s errand.

None dared defy the one-eyed prince. 

Driven by blind instinct, I found myself pushing through the massive doors of the throne room. 

The Iron Throne, a monstrous silhouette of twisted blades, dominated the chamber, its edges flashing white-hot under the lightning’s fury. I stumbled towards it, chest heaving, gasping for air. 

If it truly was cursed, could touching it offer some strange absolution, a release from the gilded cage that was my life? Surely, it couldn’t be worse than the fate that awaited me back in his clutches. 

Ascension. My trembling legs carried me up the steps, each one a monumental effort. Reaching the top, I lingered to sit, an action so simple, yet it loomed so immensely in my mind.

“Waiting to make your peace with the gods?” came a voice, and I turned with a gasp.

Aemond stood in the middle of the room, arms slotted behind his back, approaching with slow, menacing steps, like a predator savoring the hunt. Thunder boomed overhead. 

“No,” I countered, spite flaring hot in my chest. “Waiting for you to catch up so I can meet them myself,” I said, descending the steps. 

“Once more, so quick to admit defeat,” he taunted, venom dripping from his words like the rain outside.

I studied his sharp features, while the burden of my reality settled like a weight in my chest. “There is no escaping you,” I gritted out, holding his heavy gaze. 

His violence loomed heavy, and depravity flickered in his gaze. “Your perception waxes,” he conceded, and suddenly, the world tilted on its axis as he scooped me up and tossed me effortlessly over his broad shoulder. 

The journey back to his chambers was a furious ballet of resistance. My limbs flailed wildly, desperate for purchase, and obscenities, laced with an untenable fear, ripped from my throat.

A sharp slap landed on my behind, eliciting a yelp of surprised pain. 

“The more you struggle,” he growled, the sound a low rumble in his chest, “the worse it will be.”

A part of me recognized the truth in his words, yet a bestial defiance warred within, refusing to yield. Fueled by a surge of adrenaline, I lunged for his silver hair, grabbing a fistful and yanking with all my might. 

He hissed through his teeth, followed by a guttural sound echoing deep within him. “Ilībōños,” (Bitch/Bastard) he cursed.

The apartment door slammed shut behind us as he entered, his movements purposeful. With a rough toss, I landed unceremoniously on the bed, the air whooshing out of my lungs on impact. Fury, a searing inferno, consumed me, each cell screaming in protest, my claws unsheathing. I wanted to hurt him. 

Anything within reach became a potential weapon. Pillows, a discarded jeweled comb – I hurled them all at him, each item a silent scream of rebellion. But his movements were swift, each projectile dodged with practiced ease. 

Frustration mounted, morphing into a desperate rage. I lunged at him, a clumsy attempt to push him back. But he remained immovable, an unyielding mountain. Undeterred, I pushed again, and again, fueled by a futile contempt. 

Finally, as I drew back for another pointless shove, his hands shot out, lightning fast, pinning my arms to my sides. He moved swiftly, his body caging mine in a steely embrace. 

“Lykirī,” he hummed, the word a low thrum against my ear. 

“Fuck you,” I spat, my chest heaving from my ambush.

Did he mistake me for his winged beast that he could command to his will?

My attempt to wiggle out of his hold was a pointless endeavour. Rage crackled in my veins, but it flickered under his touch. My breath hitched as he leaned closer, the heat of his body searing through my gown. The scent of him, smoke and leather, filled my senses. And the undeniable press of his erection against my stomach sent a jolt through me. 

This perverted man was enjoying my defiance. His grip tightened, a teasing hold that both frustrated and excited me. My body, traitor that it was, started to soften against him, a spark igniting beneath the embers of anger. 

“Have you had your fill of my company?” he whispered, his voice husky against my ear. His hands trailed down my arms, sending shivers skittering across my skin.

Every rational part of me screamed to break free, to run for the tunnels, to fight back. But the intoxication of his touch, the heat radiating from him, the suggestive murmur against my ear – they all conspired to trap me.

Before I could think, my head slowly turned from one side to the other. 

He hummed deeply. “Say it.”

Frustration warred with a strange vulnerability within me. My cheeks burned, and I clenched my jaw hard enough to taste blood. 

“I haven't.”

“You haven't what?”

Fury flickered back to life, fueled by his smug grin and the realization of how easily he’d manipulated me. 

“I haven't had enough,” I gritted out, the words a reluctant surrender. 

A growl of satisfaction escaped him before he grasped me by my throat, pushed me back against the wall, and tasted my next breath on his tongue. 

His lips, hot and demanding, devoured mine like a beggar, silencing the gasp that threatened to escape. Heat, a wildfire erupting at the junction of our bodies threatened to consume me. Fury, a simmering ember, still flickered within. I shoved against his chest and stomped on his feet; futile attempts against his unyielding form.

“Gaomagon vīlībagon nyke daor,” (Do not fight me) he said roughly against my lips, nipping at the bottom one. “Kesā botagon daor.” (You would not survive)

I didn’t understand him, and it urged on my fury. I opened my mouth with a quip in mind, but he used that opportunity to slide his tongue inside, hot and wet. The anger threatened to drown the blossoming desire, creating a tempestuous war within. I panted, torn between resistance and a strange, unfamiliar need, a fever writhing and pulsing inside my veins. My hands clenched in the rough leather of his doublet, a desperate attempt to maintain some sort of control. 

I closed my teeth on his bottom lip, and he hissed sharply, encircling my throat with his hand, pushing me against the stone. 

“Kelītīs,” (Stop) he growled.

The question of whether he even realized he was speaking High Valyrian was a fleeting thought. I melted into his rough hold, to his wicked mouth crashing against mine again and again, getting lost in the hot glide of his tongue. His rough kisses, the frantic press of his body, all contrived to unravel my carefully constructed defenses. A soft moan escaped my lips as my nipples brushed against his chest, sending sparks lower. He groaned low in his throat, sucking my bottom lip between his teeth.

With practiced ease, he untied the strings of my dress, letting the fabric pool around my ankles. I stood there in only my kirtle, breathless under his heated gaze. A dark groan rumbled from his chest as he slipped his hands beneath my thighs, effortlessly lifting me. My legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. His grip tightened on my bare flesh, a touch too rough, and I retaliated with another yank on his silver hair. An angry sound erupted in his throat as he attempted to shake off my grip. 

He carried us to the bed, the world tilting on its axis as he settled me on top of him. Our mouths met in a frantic clash, a tangle of tongues and heated breaths. We tore away from each other briefly, just long enough for him to pull my kirtle over my head.

Naked and exposed, I felt a shiver dance across my skin under the intensity of his gaze. Something dark moved through his eye, and my skin prickled with goosebumps.

He gripped the swell of my hips, his palms sliding upward, a slow exploration that sent sparks igniting in my blood. The fight drained from me, replaced by a heavy languor. His fingers, surprisingly gentle for a cold-blooded killer, traced patterns across my skin, before cupping my breasts into a rough grip. A soft moan escaped my lips as his thumb brushed a nipple, and pleasure rushed to my core. He leaned in and closed his mouth over a peak, drawing it in with a slow, gentle suck. My head fell back, a groan escaping my throat. My hands filtered into his thick silver, my fingers impulsively easing off the leather tie that kept it out of his face, and it went cascading around his features like spills of moonlight.

Awe mingled with desire as I watched him continue to explore my body, his mouth leaving a trail of wet heat across my skin. I cupped his sharp face in my hands, the rational, caged side of me screaming to tear him off me. I made weak, pitiful attempts to do so, but Aemond growled his disapproval and sucked my nipple hard. The wet heat of his mouth tugged between my legs as he moved to the other, flames curling low in my stomach. I ground down on him, my wet entrance dampening the dark leather of his breeches, the friction sending a delicious heat through my core. A moan ripped from his lips.

I was on fire, a confusing mix of desire and desperation clawing at me. I needed something more, something to push me over the edge. My body moved of its own accord, grinding harder, seeking that elusive release. 

He released my nipple with a graze of teeth that sent a jolt of white heat through me, and looked up at me with his eye dark like the storm.

“Skoros gaomagon jaelā?” (What do you crave?), he rumbled.

Exhaustion gnawed at me, but a visceral need pulsed deep within. “Please,” I pleaded, the word a ragged whisper escaping my lips, the frustration of the language barrier a dull ache compared to the firestorm raging in my core. “More,” I begged, grinding against his erection with desperate mewlings. 

When his hand lowered to palm my pussy, my skin caught on fire, burning me from scalp to toes. Desire inflated in my throat when he ran his hand up my neck, into my hair, grabbing a fistful and using it to arch my head back, his touch both possessive and arousing. 

“Is this what you desire?” he rasped against my throat, his voice husky with restrained passion. His calloused thumb began drawing circles on my clit, a slow, deliberate exploration that sent frustration battling with a rising tide of pleasure. 

I nodded desperately. “Yes,” I gasped.

He slipped two fingers into my wetness, and I arched my back, groaning in pleasure and a little pain, his fingers filling me up to the brim. My hands found purchase in his hair, anchoring myself as he moved his digits, flames of pleasure licking at my walls. 

Ecstasy unfurled in my veins like milk of the poppy, mind-numbing, delirious, as he slid his thick fingers in and out of me, rubbing a sensitive spot deep within. Hot pressure expanded, and my eyes rolled back in my head. A throaty moan escaped my lips with every thrust of his fingers and a delicious rumble rolled in his chest. 

His grip around my hair suddenly vanished and his thumb began rubbing circles on my clit as he fingered me. I cried out, the intensity overwhelming, and I braced myself on his leather-covered shoulders, a cold sweat starting beneath my skin.

“Sholīze,” (You’re so wet), he groaned against my skin, the word a brand that sent shivers lancing through me, the heat beneath the surface threatening to erupt. I rolled my hips on his fingers, and a satisfied growl escaped his mouth, his eye dropping to witness me riding his hand as my pleasure ran down his wrist, my leg and onto his lap. 

“Shkelagon zhēdys,” (You’re making a mess), he whispered into my mouth, swallowing my desperate cries. 

A third finger, bold and intrusive, slid inside, the added pressure sending me over the edge. My vision swam, black dots exploding at the edges. My heart pounded to the fire searing through every nerve in my body. Throaty moans tore from my lips over and over, as I clenched around his moving fingers. He groaned with dark satisfaction, encircling my waist, pressing me against him as I rode out my orgasm. 

The storm within me subsided slowly. His fingers, once urgent, now moved slowly in and out of me while I caught my breath and the ringing in my ears faded. He didn’t withdraw until he’d coaxed out the very last tremor of pleasure from my body. 

A languorous warmth, a deep sense of satiation unlike anything I’d ever known, bloomed within me.

Lost in the afterglow, I trailed kisses up his neck, small noises of contentment escaping my lips. 

“Gevie,” he panted, slipping his fingers out of me.

I knew that word.

Beautiful. 

AEMOND

I never thought the act of making an heir would be this… riveting. 

So much pure heat, flame and pleasure, fueled not just by my own desire, but by the sight of her pleasure burgeoning under my touch. It was a new prospect entirely. I could have reached my own release simply from witnessing hers. 

But this was not going to make an heir, after all.  

She ran her fingers over my erection, her lips and teeth teasing a line down my neck as she came down from her high. My hand, forearm and lap were slick from her sweet desire. 

She settled back into my lap, a vision of post-orgasmic bliss. Her eyes, usually bright and defiant, were now hooded with languid satisfaction, her cheeks flushed a becoming crimson. Her lips, slightly parted, breathed shallowly. I pushed my thumb between them, and she met the intrusion with a beckoning glide of her tongue, the wet heat settling in my groin. I pulled my thumb free, wiping the evidence of her touch across her lips. 

This woman, this force of nature, was mine. My wife.

Lightning played across her features like she was its master. Like she embodied the raw power of the storm. 

Untamed, fierce, fuckable.

She was molded just for me.

Her fingers, tracing a familiar path down my doublet, encountered the bulge straining against the fabric, my dick throbbing at her faintest touch.

“Take it off,” she said, working on the buckle. I reached my hands up my neck, loosening the doublet from my frame. 

“Do not attempt any strikes this time,” I drawled, a playful challenge in my voice. I relished the smile that spread across her lips.

“You have my word,” she said softly. 

The leather of my arms whispered down, discarded on the floor like a shed skin. Her eyes ignited with raw desire, a flickering flame that mirrored the inferno that had been building within me. Her fingers, hesitant at first, traced a path down my chest, my abs, further, until her hand slipped beneath my breeches and over the length of my dick. 

I hissed through my teeth. The heat, a branding iron searing flesh, intensified as her hand, unsure but determined, wrapped around my erection, heat curling at the base of my spine. Her hesitant touch grew more confident as she stroked me from base to head with smooth, gentle motions, sending a low groan rumbling from my chest. 

I grabbed her face and grazed her chin with my teeth, making her stroke me harder. “I’ll fill you with my seed, wife,” I growled, the words rough against her skin. A promise, a threat, a declaration of possession – all rolled into one.  

Her sigh held a hint of resignation, contrasting the fire in her eyes. “As long as you’ll leave me alone once you’re done,” she mumbled, the words laced with quiet defiance. 

Fury, a red-hot ember, flared within me. 

I threw her down on her knees on the bed and yanked her head back by her hair until her head rested against my shoulder. The vulnerability in her exposed throat fueled a dark avarice within me. My erection pressed against the heat of her ass, restraint becoming an impossible enemy. 

“You’re bound to me now,” I growled in her ear, the words a possessive vow. “You’re not going anywhere.”

A ghost of a smile played on her lips, a silent challenge that both frustrated and excited me. I leaned in, whispering a single word against her ear, “Ñuhon.” (Mine) I nipped her earlobe, making her hiss. 

When I released her, she sagged forward, head hanging low. Her shoulders slumped, and she lowered herself onto her hands, the curve of her backside a sight that ignited a fresh wave of heat within me. 

I discarded my breeches, the urgency a physical ache in my core. Kneeling behind her, I pushed two fingers inside of her. She clenched down on me so tightly. I groaned and pulled my fingers free. As I rubbed the head of my cock against her wet opening, the heat of it almost burned me. A tremble coasted throat her, and her fingers gripped the sheets, bracing herself. 

I eased into her, and, gods spare me, she was so fucking tense, to the point she nearly resisted me entirely. I caressed her ass, her hips, running my hand up and down her back, attempting to relax her, uttering words I scarcely knew were the Common Tongue or High Valyrian. 

“Vīrȳn (take it), you’re so fucking wet, gūrogon mirre yno (take all of me).”

Until her walls softened and I watched myself slide into her, until I was as deep as I could go.

Seven Hells. 

The feeling was overwhelming. The way she clutched me like a wet fist. Every cell in me ached for more, to fuck her hard, relentlessly, but I gave her a moment to adjust, squeezing her, running my hands all over her. 

Soon, she was rocking back against me, and I gave her what she wanted, pulling out all the way before slowly pushing back in, every inch of me vanishing. She groaned and dropped her face to the bed, fisting the sheets in her hands. I gripped the swell of her hips, guiding her warm, wet pussy onto my throbbing dick over and over, watching their salacious union, my sight darkening at the squelching sounds that ensued. A deep hum erupted from my chest.

She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes hooded with lust, settling on each lazy thrust. 

“Iksis ao bisa ijiōrtan?” (Is this pleasing you?) I rasped, but before she could answer, I fucked her a little harder. It occurred to me that she probably could not have understood what I’d been saying half the time. 

Her head fell forward, and the sight of her biting down on her hand to quiet her moans sent a heady rush to my head, lighting me on fire. 

Thunder rolled overhead. 

I was completely lost in the heat of her, taking her hard, watching her ass bounce against me with every thrust. I wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her back against my chest.

She was panting, fucked into soft compliancy.

“To whom do you belong?” I growled in her ear.

She didn’t resist any of my advances this time. “You,” she breathed. 

“Say my name.”

“Aemond.”

“And who is your King?”

“Aemond.”

My grip snaked and tightened around her neck as I fucked her.

“Say it.”

“You’re the King, Your Grace,” she whined. “The first of your name.”

It set me on fire.

I pushed her back down and fucked her through her second orgasm, holding her hips up when her legs gave out. She shuddered and clenched around me, the pressure sending licking fires down my back, threatening to erupt. I gritted my teeth as I came inside of her, a white, hot fire shooting through me so hard, my vision went black.

My muscles shook from the aftershock.

I doubled over her, letting my forehead rest on her back as we came down. 

When I pulled out of her, I watched my seed leak out of her entrance like white tears. I plugged it with my fingers, burrowing deep inside of her, and she gasped.

“Dragonseed is precious,” I rumbled into her ear. “Would not want it to go to waste.” I kissed her temple.

“Tepagon aōha dārys iā dārilaros, dōna ābrazȳrys.” (Give your king an heir, sweet wife)

[lokisgoodgirl]

Two Gods, One Heart [Loki x Reader]

A link my Masterlist is HERE Summary: Loki comes good on a promise to have two of himself bed you. (w/c 2.4k) Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smut. Female Reader. MMF. Language. Oral. PV. Anal. Some Loki/Loki stuff.

���Come to bed,” Loki said, his long limbs stretched across the sheets.

One leg was draped over the side of the mattress, the other drawn up. His eyes glittered through shadow as they trailed over the curves of your body.

Two hands rested behind his head while another, familiar hand, worked his cock.

You swallowed, steadying against the doorframe. How ever many times Loki had whispered the details of your filthy fantasy into your ear; seeing promises made flesh hit different.

The loose babydoll covering your skin suddenly felt very tight.

“Keeping us waiting…” a second Loki chided, followed by a series of crisp tuts.

A shiver of arousal skated across your flesh as their voices mingled like cinders swirling up to an open, navy sky.

“Should we be offended?” The second Loki looked at the first, and their eyes narrowed lightly at the same moment. “Our love is adjusting…” the first said. In tandem, they smirked, before the first Loki’s head fell back with a groan. The second had tightened the grip on his cock, fist bobbing fluidly as amusement danced in his eyes and he swiped his thumb around the tip with targeted ease.

It was impossible to tell which one was the god you’d fallen in love with; which one you’d divulged your deepest secrets to, which one you’d comforted in darkness while he struggled with his past.

The two of them were identical except for the style of their hair; their silvery skin shimmering in the glow of a dozen candles. Their muscles flexed in all the ways you knew, distinguishable only by the fact that one’s onyx hair spread against the pillow while the other was tied up in a knot, several thick waves falling to his shoulders.

Loki said it didn’t matter, that the duplicate was a mirror image of his body and mind at that exact moment. ‘A breathing mirage who loves you as I do.’ And himself, it seemed.

The Loki propped on his side, working the other, turned fractionally towards you. You licked your lips, clenching immediately with a warm slip flushing between your legs. “Fuck us,” he growled like a command. His tongue nipped over the curve of his lower lip, dragging it between his teeth. “I fear we’re rather desperate to have you.”

The first Loki’s back arched from the bed, his eyes flying open in momentary terror. “Don’t waste it,” he snapped at himself as the second Loki’s thumb circled the tip of his heavy cock, slick with pre-cum. “Perhaps I just want her for myself…You could watch?” The first Loki’s chest rumbled in a guttural growl, wrenching the hand from his manhood. Of course they’re competitive. At least he was consistent.

The second Loki rolled on to his back, sliding the hand wet with his duplicate’s arousal down his stomach and beginning to tease himself. Your bare feet drew across the floor and mounted the bed, both Lokis’ propping themselves upright as you settled between them. “As we discussed?” the first asked, all sincerity. There was nothing but love in his voice. It's that one. That's the real one. You nodded, eyes sliding between them.

The second trailed a finger from below your ear down the curve of your neck, his lips ghosting the tip of your shoulder. “Then so it shall be,” he said. No, wait...that's the real one.

The world shifted as the second Loki guided you on your back, the first scooting down the bed and settling between your spread thighs. His hands slid down your legs, hooking beneath, his tongue tracing a soft path along your slit.

“Loki,” you groaned, and the one behind you whispered, “Good girl,” as his fingertips played with your nipples through chiffon. You gazed up at him, mind spinning. The points of his jaw threw shadows across the sharp planes of his face, eyes glimmering with black delight. One of your hands crept to the scalp of the god buried between your thighs, the other reaching up to hook in the hair of the one above. If you died at this moment; you’d die happy.

Your breaths grew short under the tender laps of Loki’s tongue: every flick against your clit, every suck between the flat licks that slipped against your sex.

“She’s close,” the one above you murmured, working your nipples, his breath hot on your neck. He moaned your name softly, praise dripping from his lips.

“Oh my god…Loki,” you gasped in a thin, fragile voice, back arching. The man between your legs let out a muffled grunt against your cum slipping against his mouth. You reached forward, burying your hands in his hair and drawing him up into a messy kiss. “My turn,” the one behind you hummed, and the mattress creaked under their weight. You were aware of a carefully coordinated shift as the Loki kissing you shuffled up your body. His lips broke away, and then he was towering above you with his thighs spread on either side of your chest; cock in his hand, stroking leisurely. Your palms slid up his iron-muscled thighs, golden in candlelight. And then, the second Loki’s tongue slipped inside your cunt. Your nails dug into the femurs of the Loki above.

His head fell back with a hiss, a mess of dark hair cascading around his shoulders. The hard cock bobbing between his legs tapped against your cheek and you immediately curled your fingers around it and guided it to your lips. Loki gurgled as you swallowed him, sucking gently in time with the second god’s expert tongue slide across your pussy. The two of them moaned in unison.

You wondered if they felt the same sensations; if one transferred to the other, and if the god hovering above with his cock in your throat could taste your fresh, liquid arousal welling in the other’s mouth.

The Loki towering with his hair falling free cradled the back of your head as mewls of orgasm vibrated against the velvet skin of his length.

“G-good, f-fuck, Darling,” he muttered as your nails scraped down his obliques. The tongue caressing your swollen, slippery sex vanished—but then a pair of large hands slid over your own. The second Loki appeared at the first’s shoulder, resting his chin on the ropes of muscle starting to strain under the effort of holding back blowing his load into your mouth. “Don’t be greedy,” the second murmured: dark, dirty. You released the cock from your mouth with a slurp, and its master frowned, panting heavily. “I’m giving her what she wants.” The second Loki snorted, before pulled the first’s earlobe between his teeth in the way that made your lover tighten with desire. “I think we both know what she wants,” he whispered, and both sets of eyes locked on yours. A thrill swelled between your legs with wicked force. “Yes, you do,” you said, and both Lokis’ eyes glinted with a mischievous spark. They moved like a dance, sprawling elegantly on either side of your body.

You kissed one deeply, and then the other, settling on your left side facing the Loki with hair spilling over his chest like ink. Your hands tangled in his hair, kissing him wildly. His hand slid down your waist, pulling you flush to his abdomen; cock pressed tight to your stomach, the growl in his throat filling your mind with impossible filth. But nothing’s impossible with him, you thought, as the second Loki’s lips fastened to your neck from behind. Another hand skated over your ass, massaging gently. You swung a leg over the hips of the Loki in front of you; his greedy fingertips immediately sinking into the meat of your thigh. The tip of his manhood slid between your folds. “Are you ready, love?” he whispered. The Loki behind you paused, placing a gentle kiss between your shoulder-blades. You nodded, searching between your bodies and gripping his cock. It slid inside you like liquid, and the breath left your lungs.

‘Made for me,’ Loki always said. And it was true. The expression of the god in front of you tremored, lips parted in pleasure before his beautiful eyes fluttered shut. Your cunt stretched around him, swallowing the size, gripping him in a slickened, silken vice. The Loki sheathed inside you stilled, his hips trembling against yours with the determination not to fuck you senseless. That wasn’t the plan—not yet. He bit his lip as your peripheral vision glowed green.

You turned fractionally, seeing the second Loki empty a small, ornate phial of oil into his palm and warm it between his fingers. “Relax, love,” he murmured as a hand slipped between your cheeks, fingers playing against your ass. You clenched around the root of the first Loki’s cock. “Gods…” he groaned, and the one behind you chuckled. “Hold on,” he said, as his fingers played at your ass. One digit slipped inside, and then two. The tender wildness set your nerves alight, and you began to thrust on Loki’s cock, desperate for movement. A moan caught in his throat. “Wait, love,” he choked, steadying your hip and quieting your whine with a kiss. His tongue slipped inside your mouth, thumb playing at the angle of your jaw while the Loki behind you scissored his fingers: in, and out. “She’s ready,” he purred. The lover holding you pulled his mouth away, sucking on your bottom lip. He winked. “I don’t think she’ll ever be ready.” You smiled, turning to the one behind you as his hand slid over your thigh. Feeling down his body, your fingers curled around the second Loki’s cock at the moment you squeezed your cunt around the first’s. Both of them hissed in unison, and you almost came from sound alone.

The second, familiar manhood pressed against your asshole, slipping against the Asgardian oil. You took a deep breath, following the usual routine, as Loki let you shift backwards until he breached. The stomach flush to your spine spasmed, a sharp gasp splitting the air as you slid down his shaft and the Loki in front of you shuffled closer, brushing his nose against yours. “You’re doing so well,” he murmured. “Isn’t she?” “F-fuck…” the one behind you stuttered, “Yes. Yes…” “Hold on,” the Loki deep in your cunt goaded to his duplicate, echoing the previous jibe. “Don’t ruin the fantasy for her before it’s even begun.” In lieu of words, the Loki behind you dragged his cock from your ass, teasing, stretching, before sliding back in. An obscene sound rattled in your throat as the first Loki rolled his hips, his effortlessly liquid thrusts stroking your g-spot. “Made for us,” the Loki behind you murmured, thrusting gently.

With every gentle slap of their skin, another plane of reality melted. Kisses slid one into the next: from the front, from behind. Your hands roamed over their bodies as they cradled you, suspended in syrupy desire, their mouths taking turns over your skin as twisting moans filled the room.

You didn’t think it was possible to feel this aroused, this full, this safe. Orgasm wasn’t a peak; it was a wave—foaming beneath the soles of your feet as you rode it across a sea of their need. You lost count after four.

Sweat slid between the three bodies on the bed, one folding into another as they fucked you, wringing their name from your lips in every conceivable octave. “Come inside me,” you sobbed, feeling the next climax boiling in your blood. Both Lokis’ breaths hitched. The one behind you sank his teeth into your shoulder while the first palmed your breast upward before slipping a hand between your bodies, circling your clit. Loki’s voice at the best of times was enough to send you over the edge, but hearing two of him in the throes of ecstasy was too much to bear.

Their breaths became more urgent, the thrusts sloppier, the sounds of your bodies driven by some unquenchable need shifting into its final gear. Loki, buried in your ass, fastened his hand at your hip; pulling you onto the base of his cock again, and again, and again. The god buried in your pussy trembled, his jaw clenching, spirals of hair sticking to his forehead. His eyes were wild, pumping up into your cunt with targeted, lethal ease. Fuck, you were so wet. Cum coated the insides of your thighs, slipping against each buck of his hips.

And then, they splintered.

You’d been so excited earlier you’d forgotten to check if he’d made sure the silencing enchantment was in place. But it was too late now, and to be honest…you didn’t care. Your only regret was you couldn’t see them both at the same time, so you glanced between them, drinking in the sight of their faces screwed up and pleasure wrenching from them in violent, guttural sounds. Twin sets of fingers sank deep into your curves, their sobs of your name ebbing like snow melting into hard, winter earth. True to form, neither Loki stopped the churn of their hips as they came; reluctant to spin a second less of pleasure from your willing body. Hot cum swelled against your insides: white, sweet, perfect. The one behind you collapsed his face between your shoulder-blades, condensation misting your skin. The second followed, his messy kisses covering your mouth between wild strands of hair.

And then, their ragged breath eased with a singular, staggered sigh. “Happy, Darling?” the Loki in front of you murmured. You nodded, cupping his face. “I love you,” you whispered, searching his eyes. This one. Definitely.

In a shimmer of green, and with a knowing smile, his body dissolved.

The arm around your waist tightened, cock still buried in your ass. Loki kissed the curve of your shoulder, and you grinned into the pillow. “I love you,” he said tenderly against the skin. “And that’s something I’ll never share.”

Thank you for reading❤️ Come say hi! Alternative Version/Part Two of the THIRD Loki ...yes that's right. The Spare (w/c 1.5k)

[rainrot4me]

Run Rabbit Run - Chapter 1

“And So It Begins”

Summary: When a cop with a knack for interrogation, a suspect who won’t break, and a game of cat and mouse where the truth is buried beneath layers of lies all unfold in a dingy police station, all hell breaks loose. Can he keep the mask on, or will the cost of truth destroy them both? Either way, Masky decides you’re not getting out of this unscathed.

Characters: Masky x Genderneutral Reader, Ticci Toby, Hoody

MAY CONTAIN SENSITIVE TOPICS

TW: Fear, minor character death, blood, kidnapping, trauma

Words: 5.1k

A/N: Hello lovelies!!! At this moment, I have no clue how long this series will be, but just know this is only the beginning! Reader will be gender neutral for the non-NSFW chapters, but I plan on make fem/male alternate POV’s when the time comes! I have high hopes for this series, so I hope you all enjoy this first chapter!!

His eyes.

That’s the one thing that stood out to you the moment the tattered porcelain mask was removed.

It wasn’t the hard-worn crease of his brows. Or the smattering of scars across his jaw. Or even the unmistakable patches of dried blood and dirt smeared through his unkempt facial hair, clearly not his own.

It was his eyes.

Two dark, depthless voids that gathered all of the rage and agony boiling beneath his tan skin—pointed right at you. It would be easy to get lost in them, you think. Easy to fall victim to the pull of those black holes, absent of any light despite the harsh luminescence overhead, but daunting enough to drag you in.

You could understand the rage, the torment that seemed to seethe from the very pores of his skin. But what you couldn’t understand, was the haunting ability to stare daggers at you through the one-way glass. He shouldn’t be able to see you, only able to stare back at his own reflection. But that theory seemed to be falling to pieces when you shifted your weight from one leg to the other, angling your body out of his eyeline—only for his gaze to track your movement.

The black holes were sucking you in.

Wholly. Totally. Dangerously—

“Sheriff. He’s ready now.”

The heavy thud of the interrogation room door shutting jarred you from your trance, and you had to blink several times to finally regain whatever sense you had momentarily lost. A stiff hand on your shoulder untensed your stance, leaning assuredly into the touch beside you.

“Thank you, Marcus.” Nodding to the burly man who had entered the side room moments ago, you shook whatever uneasy feeling rippled down your back off, reassessing your job here.

“He won’t talk. Barely even looks at us, either.” Marcus cast his gaze through the one-way glass beside you, huffing a breath of air when the man seated in the interrogation room still had his gaze locked dead onto you. If he noticed your silent staring contest, he didn’t care to comment on it, just turned away with a silent, “Creepy.”

The energy in the station was less than comfortable today.

You stilled yourself again. The quick commotion of people between the two joined rooms died down as new officers switched shifts and others left for more entertaining tasks. It wasn’t that having a wanted homicidal maniac seated in this small town’s very own police station wasn’t interesting, but when said maniac had little interest in delving out any details, people became restless fast. 

The clipboard you held, tucked under your arm, was a comfortable reminder of why you were here. 

Information. Your job.

You were trained in negotiation, a practiced song-and-dance routine that was second to breathing now. There wasn’t anything special to it, just finding whatever made someone tick and driving it home until you could collect your paycheck at the end of the month. You were literally paid to read people like a book.

You pushed the door open, the heavy metal hinges rubbing against each other until the heavy thud of metal on metal stirred the silence. You slid the lock into place, the metallic scrape reverberating off of the cinder block walls.

When you turned your back to the door, finally facing him, you could feel your stomach twist with dread.

There weren't really any words to explain the energy that thrummed from him. Like a pulsating wrath, tense and dark, soaking up all the light and air from the room. His heavy-lidded eyes held onto yours, reading carefully into every expression you made.

No matter how much your instincts beckoned you to turn right around and lock that door, your job was to show suspects like this that you weren’t afraid of them. You weren’t afraid.

You schooled your face into calm indifference, a tried and true practice that set any suspect into a frenzy of reactions. Some would try and plead with you; others lashed out in anger or frustration, but he just matched your gaze.

Calm and indifferent. All except for his eyes. They held his true feelings now, no matter how hard he tried to smooth the crease of his brow into a thin line. Your only relief was the fact he was handcuffed to the metal bar on the table, elbows resting wide as he leaned his shoulders forward.

It was chilling how he stared up at you through the weight of his brow, the whites of his eyes surrounding that depthless black of his pupils. Bloodshot as they were, it was off-putting.

You stepped slowly to the seat directly across from him and seated yourself, your back facing the window (which you cast a quick glance to confirm, in fact, that it was one-way), and slid your clipboard onto the metal table separating you.

Now the wait begins.

You had already memorized every ounce of information on the clipboard in front of you. But you glanced down anyway, playing as if you were inspecting the information for the first time. It was a good way of ticking guys like this off.

They thought they were important, necessary figures in the public to rid what they thought was wrong by their own hands—so to play as if you didn’t know anything about them, like they were nobody—that pissed them off more than anything.

“So… Tim, right?” 

No answer of agreement came as your eyes met his again. Even with his mask forcefully removed before he was shoved into this painfully white room, he still seemed to wear one, although this one was far harder to control than the ceramic one he preferred.

Crazed or not, humans always gave their intentions out one way or another.

You let the silence stretch between you.

Tim’s breath was even, measured, but his fingers twitched against the metal cuffs—just a fraction, barely noticeable. You noticed.

“No last name?” You continued, tapping the clipboard with the tip of your pen. “Just ‘Tim’? That’s all you’re giving me?”

His full name was in bold letters on the paper between you, but you wanted him to say it.

Still nothing.

He blinked once, slowly. His eyes never left yours. It wasn’t just defiance—it was calculation. Measuring your reactions, looking for a crack the same way you were.

You hummed under your breath, leaning back in your chair like you had all the time in the world. “You know, most people like to talk. Even the ones who swear they won’t. It’s human nature.” You tilted your head, pretending to study him. “But you’re different, huh? Special?” You were mocking him.

His lip twitched. A smirk? No—it was gone before you could tell.

You let out a short sigh, flipping through the blank spaces on your paper. “Fine. If you won’t talk, I’ll talk.” You let your gaze flick over him, slow and deliberate, like you were reading him the way he had tried to read you. “Let’s see… No ID on you, no prints in the system. But you have a name. Which means you’ve slipped up before, haven’t you?”

A muscle feathered in his jaw.

You pressed forward. “Tim Wright.” You dragged the name out, feeling the weight of it settle in the air between you. It wasn’t just a name—it was a riddle, a mask, a hiding place for something darker. You could taste the bitterness of it on your tongue, every syllable dragging like a blade between ribs. “That’s not the name of a ghost. Not some shadow lurking in the woods. That’s someone real. Someone with a past.”

Tim didn’t respond immediately, but his fingers flexed against the cuffs. The movement was subtle but telling—like a trap about to snap shut. You watched his hands carefully, the way his skin tightened, his knuckles going pale. He was holding back, but you could see it, feel it. The tension, like a wound-up spring.

“You fucked up somewhere, didn’t you?”

Silence.

His jaw twitched, just the smallest of movements, but it was enough. His eyes didn’t meet yours, not at first, but you caught the flicker in his gaze—sharp, calculating. He was looking at the table now, staring down at the brassy metal thing like it could tell him what to say. The quiet was thick, pressing in on you both. But you wouldn’t let it stay that way for long.

You leaned in, letting the table take the weight of your elbows. Your eyes never left his face, studying every twitch, every shift. You could practically hear his mind spinning, the way he kept himself together despite the storm raging beneath the surface.

His eyes, again. They weren’t the same as before. There wasn’t that hard crease underneath his eyelids or that nasty scowl evading all light from reaching his pupils. His expression was a mess now—unsure. He was conflicting with himself. An internal battle was beginning somewhere beneath that hard exterior.

“I think you want to talk, Tim,” you said, your voice slipping into the quiet like a predator stalking its prey. “I think you’re just not sure where to start. Not sure what’s safe to say yet.”

You let the words hang in the air, a challenge, a quiet accusation. He hadn’t made a sound, hadn’t moved an inch, but you knew he was listening. You could see it in the way his chest rose and fell, the way his shoulders tightened, just slightly.

“You’ve been in these situations before, haven’t you?” you pressed. “You’re not some rookie. You know how this game is played. You know how to keep your mouth shut. But there’s something else, isn’t there?” You pressed in, just a fraction, letting the question linger, heavy and unspoken. “I know you’re not scared of me, Tim. I think you’re scared of something else.”

For a moment, Tim’s gaze flickered, and it was enough to catch the change. There was something there—a crack in the surface, a vulnerability you hadn’t expected. His eyes darted briefly to the corner of the room, his expression shifting just slightly. It wasn’t a look of defiance, like you’d seen earlier. No, this was something else. Something deeper.

You followed his gaze. The room was empty—nothing but shadows stretching along the linoleum walls, dark corners filled with dust. But you had the sense that whatever he saw there wasn’t just the room. It was something more, something buried beneath the surface, something he was afraid to acknowledge.

And there it was.

You let the silence stretch out between you, letting the weight of it press down on him. You didn’t need to rush; the tension in the air was thick enough to choke on. You knew the game. You knew how to play it.

You let your voice drop lower, softer. “You’re protecting someone, Tim. Who?”

His nostrils flared slightly, just the faintest tremor in his body, but he didn’t say anything. Not yet. His fingers curled against the cold metal of the cuffs, digging into them until they turned white. His muscles were rigid, locked tight, restrained in the way his whole body was wound up. You could feel it, like a bowstring pulled too tight, ready to snap.

The temperature in the room shifted, a subtle drop in the air. The kind of cold that had nothing to do with the thermostat. It was a shift in the atmosphere, something darker creeping in around the man.

You leaned back in your chair then, just enough to break the tension, but you didn’t let your eyes leave his. You could almost hear the clock ticking in the background, the seconds stretching out, longer and longer.

“I could help,” you said, letting the words float like poison in the air between you. “All you have to do is talk to me.”

His jaw clenched. There it was. The thing you’d been waiting for.

A muscle in his jaw jumped. The stillness in him, the ice-cold barrier, seemed to crack for just a second. The tension was almost unbearable, but still, Tim didn’t speak.

“You’ve got something to lose,” you whispered, your voice almost imperceptible. “Who is it, Tim? Who are you protecting?”

For a long moment, he didn’t answer. He just sat there, his hands clasped together by the shackles, his shoulders tight as stone. His lips were pressed together, and the tension in his body was palpable, like if you listened close enough you could hear the metal scraping in his brain. He wasn’t looking at you anymore—his eyes were locked on the corner of the room, distant, as if he were somewhere far away, in a place you couldn’t follow.

You let the silence sit there, let it build between you, until it felt like the room itself was closing in. The quiet was suffocating, the weight of it pressing against your chest. Tim wasn’t giving you anything, and that’s when you knew—you were getting close.

“Just talk to me—”

And then, just as you were about to push again, Tim’s voice broke through the stillness. Low. Rough. Gravelly.

“Go to hell.”

The words were sharp, like a slap across the face. But they didn’t faze you. They weren’t the answer you were hoping for, but they were something. You could feel the anger in his voice, the edge of frustration, the crack in his resolve. He was holding on by a thread, but the thread was fraying.

You smiled, letting the smirk curl at the corners of your mouth. It was a slow thing, like a cat toying with its prey.

“Oh, Tim.” You leaned forward, just a fraction. “We’re already there.”

The air in the room seemed to freeze, the tension so thick now it could have been sliced with a knife. There was something deeper between the two of you, something unspoken, raw, and undeniable. But even as the words left your mouth, you could see it—the moment of realization in his eyes.

He was losing this battle.

And it was only a matter of time before the truth came out.

Tim doesn’t speak again.

But his body does.

The tightening of his fists. The tension stiffened his shoulders. The way his gaze flickers—not out of defiance anymore, but something else.

Something close to fear.

Not for himself. You know that now.

For who?

You tap your pen twice against the clipboard, slow and deliberate, watching the way his eyes track the movement like an animal backed into a corner.

You exhaled slowly, letting the silence settle before speaking again. Your voice softened, just enough to slip under his defenses.

“You know what I see, Tim?” You tilted your head, studying him. “I see a scared little boy, hiding behind a mask that doesn’t fit as well as he thinks it does.”

His fingers twitched against the cuffs, but he didn’t look at you. His breathing was slow, controlled—but not relaxed. Never relaxed.

“I know you don’t want to be here. I know you don’t want to talk.” You leaned forward, your voice threading through the stale air between you. “But I think—deep down—you want someone to hear you. Someone who won’t just see the mask, but the person underneath it.”

A muscle in his jaw jumped. Still, he said nothing.

“I can help you, Tim,” you continued, voice low, coaxing. “But I need you to talk to me first.”

He swallowed, his throat bobbing, but his gaze remained locked on the table. Silent.

You sighed, sitting back. “Or you can keep pretending. Keep gripping that mask like it’s the only thing keeping you breathing. But we both know—” You let the words linger, heavy and knowing. “That thing isn’t saving you. It’s suffocating you.”

The temperature in the room dropped again, but this time, it wasn’t fear. 

His jaw clenches. His shoulders lock even tighter.

He’s freezing up again; time to pivot the nonexistent conversation.

“Is it someone from…before?” You glance down at your clipboard. “You’ve got no record of family. No known associates. No job history. It’s like you just appeared one day. No past. No future.” You look back up, meeting his eyes. “But you do have a past, don’t you? Buried down deep where you thought nobody would find it.”

He settles down lower against the table, elbows spreading wider.

“You had a life before this.” You tilt your head. “And you think I’m going to take that away from you, don’t you?”

He shifts. A barely-there movement. But enough.

Enough to tell you that you’re not talking to some senseless killer.

You’re talking to someone trapped.

“Or, maybe, you want me to take that away?”

You exhale softly, easing back in your chair, arms folded in front of you like you’ve just cracked open the first page of a long-forgotten book.

“I don’t think you’re afraid of being here, Tim,” you say, slowly, carefully. “I think you’re afraid of what happens if you talk. Of what happens to you. Of what happens to that little boy deep inside.”

His breath stutters. But it’s not out of fear. There’s a brewing anger under those eyes, bubbling way too close to the surface. The fear in him from earlier is long extinguished.

You sit up a little straighter, heart knocking once—hard—against your ribs.

Because there it is.

A crack.

Not in his defenses.

In him.

Like there are two men in the same body, fighting for space.

And only one of them is in control.

Your voice drops just above a whisper. “Tim Wright.” You say his name again, slower this time, watching the way his pupils contract, watching the minute twitch in his jaw, the flicker of something—panic?—flash behind his expressionless mask.

You inhale.

And then—like testing the edge of a knife—you try again. Summoning all of the merciful instinct you have left, it pushes its way barely above a whisper.

“Who are you protecting, Tim?”

Something shifts in the room.

The air goes taut.

And then—so quiet you almost miss it—

A single word.

“…Me.”

The whisper scrapes from his throat, raw and broken, like it was never meant to escape. And just like that the anger is gone again, replaced by the chilling fear he held moments ago. This scene unfolding in front of you is like a tornado desecrating a town—quick, and hard, and fast. It’s like his mind can’t make up which emotion he should be showing—like he can’t decide who he should be.

This time, those same eyes from before are something completely different. There's fear and hopelessness and ages of torment etched into every crevice of his dark irises. Unlike the abysses from before, these are murky, untamed waters that swirl into a lifeless whirlpool. But, just like the depth of the black holes, you can feel yourself being sucked in. Mind being drawn into that alluring drain of desperation that’s screaming for you.

Your breath catches.

Because you don’t understand what he means—not yet—but you do understand one thing:

You’re not talking to just one man.

And Tim Wright is not the only one sitting in front of you.

The weight of that single word—me—settles between you like a stone sinking to the bottom of a lake.

You don’t speak.

Neither does he.

You just stare at each other, the silence stretching too long, too thick, until it feels like the air itself is pressing in.

Your pulse thrums in your ears, an instinctive reaction to something you don’t understand—something that shouldn’t be happening.

Tim Wright is protecting someone.

But that someone… is himself.

It doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t fit—not in the way criminals lie to cover their tracks, not in the way murderers twist reality to justify their actions.

This is different.

It’s not a deception. It’s not guilt.

It’s fear.

Not of you.

Not of this place.

But of something inside him.

Your throat tightens. You force yourself to speak, voice careful, controlled. “What do you mean, you?”

His lips part, just slightly—like he wants to answer. Like he’s going to.

Then—

A flicker.

A brief, sharp stutter in the overhead lights.

Barely noticeable. Just a fraction of a second.

But you feel it in your bones.

Your eyes flick upward.

Tim’s don’t.

He doesn’t react at all. Doesn’t even blink.

A slow chill creeps down your spine.

And as if they were never there to begin with, those murky whirlpools disappear. Returning to those lifeless, dull eyes from before.

Something is wrong.

The lights buzz again—louder this time. A whine through the wiring, high-pitched, like something pressing against the walls of reality itself.

Your fingers tighten around your pen.

“Tim—”

BZZZT.

Every single light in the room bursts at once.

A violent crack of electricity. Sparks rain from the ceiling. The security camera in the corner dies with a sharp, stuttering whine. The intercom speakers fizz into dead static.

The whole building shifts.

Not physically—but you feel it. A deep, unnatural tremor in the air, like the entire world has been thrown off balance.

The walls feel too thin. The shadows stretch too far.

And then—

The screaming starts.

Not from Tim. Not from you.

From outside.

The distant echo of officers shouting, papers flying, chairs scraping against the floor as chaos erupts beyond the locked door. Someone yells something about the power grid. Someone else swears as another burst of static explodes through the station’s radio systems.

Your heart slams against your ribs. Instinct kicks in.

You push back from the table, standing too fast, fingers curling around the pistol strapped to your belt out of sheer muscle memory. “What the hell—”

Tim hasn’t moved.

He just sits there.

Still. Silent.

Watching.

Like he’s seen this before.

Like he knows what’s happening.

Your stomach turns.

A heavy BANG rattles the door.

“Sheriff!”

Marcus.

You barely recognize his voice beneath the distortion crackling through the intercom, but you don’t hesitate. You reach for the lock, wrenching the door open just as Marcus shoves his way inside, eyes wild.

“You need to get out—now.”

Behind him, the station is in shambles. Desks overturned, officers scrambling, the emergency lights pulsing weakly—dying in and out like something else is controlling them.

You turn back—

But Tim is already being hauled to his feet.

Two officers grab him, dragging him from the room. He doesn’t fight. Doesn’t resist.

But as they pull him past you, he tilts his head just slightly—just enough for his gaze to flick up to meet yours one last time.

And there, beneath the hollow blackness of his pupils, you see it.

Something fractured. Something trapped. That feeling from moments ago.

And for the first time, you don’t just see a killer.

You see a man.

A boy.

A boy who needs help.

You take a sharp step forward—

“Move!”

A violent pop from the radio cuts through your hesitation, and Marcus grips your arm, yanking you out of the way as another overhead light explodes in a shower of sparks.

“Come on!” he snarls, shoving you toward the exit. “I don’t know what the hell’s happening, but we need to shut everything down before we lose the goddamn station!”

You don’t resist.

Because he’s right.

Because right now, there’s no time to process what you’ve just seen—no time to ask Tim the thousand questions clawing their way up your throat.

All you can do is move.

As you’re dragged from the interrogation room, Tim disappears down the hall, officers forcing him into a holding cell.

And just before the door slams shut behind him—

The lights flicker one last time.

And for a fraction of a second—

You swear you see something else standing in the shadows behind him. And it’s as tall as the shadows themselves.

Then—

Darkness.

The chaos is unrelenting.

The station is falling apart.

Officers scream orders over the blaring alarms, but it’s pointless. The electricity surges violently, lights flickering in rapid succession—too fast, too erratic, like something is alive in the wires.

You press yourself against the wall, breath coming fast as Marcus shouts something at the others, his hand firm on your shoulder.

“Get the backup generator on, NOW!”

No response.

Just static.

And then—

A single gunshot.

Your body jolts with the sound, and Marcus swears, whipping around as the shrill sound of alarms slices through the air. Without warning, the entire station erupts into gunfire, the walls shaking with each blast.

The front entrance explodes inward.

Two figures.

One moves fast, erratic—hood pulled low, arms twitching like he’s barely containing something violent.

The other is cold, deliberate—gun raised, movements precise.

You don’t recognize them.

But they recognize Tim.

Because the second they spot him through the fray, they move in—cutting through the gunfire like they’ve done this a thousand times before.

Officers drop.

Bodies hit the floor.

And then—

Marcus.

The gunshot is deafening.

Your head jerks toward him just in time to see the impact. The way his body lurches—

The way his blood sprays.

His blood sprays on you.

It happens too fast.

Too fast to stop.

Too fast to breathe.

One second, he’s standing. The next—

He’s in your arms.

Dead weight.

Dead everything.

You don’t even realize you’re crying until a hand wraps around your arm, yanking you upward with brutal force.

Your head whips around—

And you freeze.

Tim.

He’s the one holding you.

His grip is like iron. His eyes locked onto yours with something unreadable. Those same piercing eyes from before.

Something calm.

Like this chaos doesn’t matter.

Like you are the only thing that does.

The porcelain mask from before has returned, snugged tightly around his hard features with straps behind his head. The painted-on expression doesn’t match the utter rage filling his eyes.

“Let me go!” You thrash, trying to break free, but he just tightens his hold, dragging you forward.

You fight harder.

You don’t know where he’s taking you.

You don’t know why.

All you know is that the station is in ruins. That your coworkers—the people you’ve worked alongside for years—are dead or dying.

And Tim is walking you through it like it means nothing.

Like you mean something else entirely.

Why are you the only one getting to survive this?

The two masked men ahead are shouting—words you can’t process through the ringing in your skull.

You don’t know them.

You don’t want to know them.

But Tim does.

And that terrifies you more than anything.

The cold night air slams into your lungs as Tim pulls you outside. The world beyond the station is dark—too dark—like even the city itself is recoiling from what just happened.

The masked men disappear into the night.

Tim stops and turns.

And for the first time since he grabbed you, he really looks at you.

Like he’s seeing something new.

Something unexpected.

“Why was it so easy for you?” he murmurs.

Your breath stutters.

“What?”

“To get him to talk.”

Your pulse pounds in your ears. You don’t understand.

But Tim does. Or whoever this is, does.

And that’s all that matters.

Because a decision has already been made.

He’s taking you.

And you are powerless to stop him.

The sirens wail louder.

The darkness swallows you whole.

The last thing you remember is the fatal crack of a gun barrel to the back of your skull.

And everything is finally quiet.

-

The truck jostles violently over the uneven forest path, tires kicking up loose gravel and mud. The inside of the cab is thick with tension, only broken by the occasional creak of the suspension and the distant wail of sirens fading into nothing behind them.

They got out clean.

Mostly.

Hoodie is silent at the wheel, eyes locked on the road. Toby is shifting in the passenger seat, bouncing his knee, adjusting his goggles every few seconds like his body can’t handle being still.

And Masky—

Masky is seething.

Not because of the cops. Not because of the chaos.

Because of you.

You’re slumped beside him, wrists and ankles bound, head lolling slightly from the impact of the truck’s rough ride. A deep bruise is already blooming at the base of your skull, spreading like ink beneath your skin.

You’re completely still. Completely unaware.

Hell, you’re still in your uniform.

And yet, even unconscious, you’re still there—in his head, in his chest, clawing at the locked-up places he thought no one could reach. Tim is screaming in his head, clawing and begging to come out, but Masky’s resolve is better than that—at least he thought it was.

He clenches his jaw, forcing his eyes away from you.

He doesn’t know what the hell you did.

But you shouldn’t have been able to do it.

“Jesus Christ, man.”

Hoody’s voice shatters the silence.

Masky doesn’t react.

Hoody exhales sharply through his nose. “Are you even gonna explain why we’re hauling some random cop through the woods like a fucking deer carcass?”

Toby snorts. “Yeah, dude, not exactly wha-what I’d call laying low.”

Masky tilts his head slightly, but his voice is flat. “They’re not a cop.”

Hoody lets out a sharp, humorless laugh. “They were interrogating you.”

“They’re different.”

Toby twists in his seat, goggles flashing in the dim light. “Dude. No.” He jabs a finger toward the unconscious figure. “They’re a fucking pro-problem.”

Masky grits his teeth. His hands flex against his knees.

“They got in my head.”

Hoody scoffs. “Yeah, no shit. That’s literally their job. They play mind games, get under people’s skin.”

Masky shakes his head. “They got Tim to come out. I couldn’t even stop him. It was like they forced him to the front.”

That hasn’t happened in a long time. Not willingly.

He can still hear your voice. That calm, calculated tone—not condescending, not cruel, but like you were peeling back layers of him, stripping away things he wasn’t ready to face. Summoning the bastard hidden away inside him.

You saw something you shouldn’t have.

And he has no idea how.

Toby makes a disgusted sound. “So wha-what? You’re bringing them ba-back so you can, what—return the favor?”

Masky exhales slowly, anger simmering beneath his skin.

“They broke something open,” he mutters. “I need to know how.”

Hoody tightens his grip on the wheel. He doesn’t like this. Toby doesn’t like this.

Masky doesn’t care.

“I’m keeping them,” he says, voice final.

Hoody presses his lips into a hard line but doesn’t argue anymore. Toby just mutters something under his breath, shaking his head.

What’s done is done.

The truck lurches over a final dip in the tire-worn path, and then—

The trees break.

The mansion looms ahead, massive and dark, swallowing the night whole. The air shifts, thick and heavy, crackling like something unseen is watching.

Toby shifts in his seat. Hoody exhales slowly.

Masky doesn’t move.

You stir beside him. A faint twitch of fingers. A sharp inhale.

You’re waking up.

Good.

Because things are just getting started.

Thanks for reading!

Comments and reblogs are appreciated!

[cosmichorrorsarestillnicerthanme]

Fatal Illusion

Part of this request

The world melted and twisted as you approached, your gray, smokey aura radiating off of you like a fog of war.

Then, like a bolt of lightning, you drew your revolver and the crack of gunfire echoed throughout the room, the bullet finding its target in the leg of Weiss Schnee, sending her tumbling to the ground and allowing Cinder to break free.

Quickly, Blake acted to stop her but was met by the butt of a handgun slamming into her skull, sending her careening into the wall.

Ruby’s scythe cut through the air, trying to stop Cinder from escaping, however your revolver blocked her strike and its twin was raised to her face and spit out a bullet.

Luckily for the red clad girl, she disappeared in a storm of flower petals before the bullet gave the walls a fresh coat of paint.

Yang tried to strike you but you and Cinder were already gone in a cloud of smoke before her fist had even come close.

When the haze cleared and she realized she hadn’t managed to hit you, she turned to her friends and her sister.

However, instead she saw three of you, one holding Weiss’s Rapier, another holding Blake’s sword, and the final one holding Ruby’s scythe.

Yang was confused for a moment but pushed it to the side, she had to beat you up and find out where you took the others after all.

Now, if only she knew that the others were right in front of her.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

You and Cinder rushed away from the scene of the skirmish, Cinder ensuring that she kept a safe distance from your Semblance as you brought it back under control.

Fatal Illusion.

The power to turn allies into enemies and enemies into allies.

It was a powerful Semblance, but it was indiscriminate.

Cinder knew well that if anyone else had this power, she would more than likely kill them on the spot upon finding out about it.

However, you were a different case.

Someone she had known for many, many years.

Someone who took great care in everything they do, especially when it involves their Aura.

Once upon a time, someone had called you the “Ice” to her “Fire”.

Cinder had to admit, it wasn’t exactly wrong.

You were a much calmer individual than her, much more stealthy, much more composed.

You had to be if you didn’t want your Semblance to run wild.

Much in the same way it was doing so now.

“Were you truly that worried about me?” Cinder teased as the two of you ran.

“Of course I was. You are important to me after all.” you answered honestly.

Cinder ignored the warmth in her chest she felt at what you said.

Every time she got into trouble, every time she found herself with her back to the wall, you would drop from the sky, Semblance turning life long friends into people who would kill each other at the drop of a hat.

And every time, when the two of you had escaped, you always said something like that.

[deepspacenova]

Zayne’s insomnia + Sylus being the perfect cure HCs

Zayne x Sylus (x Reader)

Reader is third wheeling in like, this whole list (but somehow I feel like many of us won’t mind). Inspired by the replies in this post with @leighsartworks216 where we spiraled about Zayne + Sylus… dynamics that made my brain go into full HC mode.

[I also have some HCs for Zayne x Caleb (x Reader) if you, too have the same need to be sandwiched between these men as I. ]

Sylus taking care of day to day Onychinus business when he starts to notice traces of Zayne around the house at night: a medical tome left open on the coffee table, a glass of ice water (but mostly ice) on the counter, one of Zayne's rings on the end table;

Pretty sure he understands, Sylus ventures out of his office more often. Each time he sees Zayne, he looks more exhausted but the one time Sylus raises a brow at him, he’s brushed off with an, "I'm fine.";

Sylus, of course, takes it as a challenge and makes it his mission to become the biggest tease. I mean, he's king of pushing the limits of your self control, so Zayne’s cinder block wall exterior is the ultimate challenge and he’s set on tearing that shit down brick by fucking brick;

It starts with touches. Brushing Zayne's hand, playfully squeezing the back of Zayne’s neck when he walk past him on a business call, using his evol to pull Zayne's books, phone, snacks out of his hands;

But then there's Sylus' words. And when it comes to those, Zayne's a goner. He's used to you being forward in your affections with him but he can't help but clear his throat at Sylus' double entendres and flirty quips, or feel heat in his abdomen when Sylus uses his drawling rasp;

"You’re always so tense, Z. Want me to loosen you up?";

"Those medical texts aren't doing anything to put you to sleep. Maybe you need something that penetrates deeper... into that overactive mind of yours.";

"I know you're the doctor, but maybe you need someone else to prescribe your... treatment tonight.";

It’s not long before it becomes a subconscious thing for Zayne — seeking out Sylus whenever he jolts awake at night. Zayne's very adamant that it’s because he doesn’t want to disturb you in bed though (sure baby boy);

But there's something about Sylus’ ruthless teasing and the mind games they play that has him tired out within an hour of even the worst of his nightmares;

And he'd never admit it out loud but sometimes, Zayne falls back asleep imagining the satisfaction he'd get from finally silencing the Onychinus leader's teasing by stuffing his cock down his throat;

Of course Sylus can tell when Zayne’s frustration and tension finally snaps. His new favorite thing is seeing Zayne try to resist him before he gives up and crawls back into bed;

Sylus knows exactly how to wear him down. Sometimes, it’s pulling the book from Zayne's hand with his evol, only to say "Careful, doctor. Grabbing it like that might get you into trouble,” when Zayne reaches over to snatch it back;

Sometimes he sneaks up behind Zayne, kissing the back of his neck while his Evol tugs Zayne's hips back against him;

Cut to Zayne, pants pulled down to his ankles, legs over Sylus's shoulder, getting the best fuckin blow job of his life. Sylus holding onto his thighs, refusing to let the doctor hesitate to squeeze around his head. Zayne's hand in Sylus's hair, pulling and tugging and trying to keep some semblance of control;

Zayne throwing his head back against the couch, breath choked in his throat, hand tight in Sylus's hair to keep his nose pressed to his stomach, but then Sylus pulls off of him. It's frustrating, it draws unexpected noises from him. And Sylus just smirks and says he promised to tire him out, kissing all up his hip and legs; (credit to @leighsartworks216 for these pieces of genius).

On particularly bad nights, Zayne goes to the balcony to catch his breath and some cold air to calm himself down. One night Sylus, effortlessly smug with the phone at his ear, at work, uses his evol to force Zayne to his knees. "Handle it today," he says to the person on the phone, "you know how I like to put men in their place.";

Speaking of, Sylus loooves edging Zayne. Leaving him a panting, writhing mess, pulling away just when Zayne’s hand tightens in his hair or his breath hitches in his throat. “I said I’d tire you out, but I never said I’d make it easy.”;

For a guy who doesn't say much, Zayne's vocal and very demanding in the heat of the moment - which wakes you up sometimes.

Knowing all about Sylus' scheme to tire Zayne out, you love sliding into bed hand pressed to his chest, "Doctor Zayne, your heart is racing, maybe we need to do some tests?" Sylus chuckles darkly, watching Zayne’s eyes flutter between both of you. The idea of you both teaming up to tire him out finally makes Zayne’s control slip;

The best time of day is twilight, a few hours before you and Zayne start the day, as Sylus is ending his. The three of you fall into bed, Zayne's body is exhausted and his mind is quiet. Barely keeping his eyes open when his fingers twine with yours. Sylus pulls you close from behind, his hand on top of both of yours. Sylus smirks at both of you, proud of himself. "The only nightmare you two are allowed to have is me."

[thatanimewriter]

TINY WINS.

➳ request: Yang,Ruby and cinder with a Male Reader who is always affectionate and always compliment them when they do the tiniest thing <3

➳ character/s: yang xiao long, ruby rose, cinder fall

➳ warnings: swearing, pre-marital hand holding, spoilers for volume 3 (yang), spoilers for volume 7 onwards (ruby, cinder), reader is taller (yang), suggestiveness?? (cinder)

➳ notes: god i wish i was the one getting praise, but no, here i am alone in bed typing out self indulgence for myself and the internet.

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬 / 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭  / 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬 / 𝐰𝐢𝐩 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

──  𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐗𝐈𝐀𝐎 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆.

oh lord, you’re creating a monster

she’s already quite the physically affectionate person with partners

constantly got a hand on you somewhere, probably holding your hand

initially, she thought you might’ve been overdoing it because all she did was fry an egg-

but after the whole battle of beacon thing and she lost her arm, she had a newfound appreciation for it

very encouraging, even if it meant just getting out of bed for the day

and when she starts picking up motivation again, you’re there

complimenting her painting skills for her arm and her bike

hugging her from behind and resting your head on her shoulder, murmuring some words of affirmation to keep her going

for sure she never doubts that you love her, but she might also feel like she can’t live up to how you love her

insecurities be gone, cause in you come with more compliments about how she’s doing great

truly the healthiest relationship she’ll ever be in-

──  𝐑𝐔𝐁𝐘 𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐄.

honestly, same

it’s a perfect match, you just have compliment wars and cuddle

nothing wrong with that

she is the type of person who needs the compliments and the support

she just wants to know she’s doing a good job

and it’s especially important after meeting ironwood in atlas and you’re trying to prevent a war

it might not be compliments about her decisions because you definitely won’t agree with all of them

but things like getting out of bed and managing to hold out for so long in the ever after

realising that she’s enough as a human being after having consultation with the tree-

and after all those experiences, she definitely puts more effort into giving you compliments and affection

because she acknowledges how much it means to her to have your support

n she wants you to feel like you have the same amount of support in her

──  𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋.

anything to boost the ego-

it’s probably the trauma though tbh

didn’t grow up with much support and she still doesn’t really have much support except you

as an orphan, she already feels unloved, then the whole thing with her mentor happened

so even the small things matter to her 

not that she’d show it but it does mean a lot

at first, she thinks you’re lying out of your ass though because she’s never had praise in her life

not any that wasn’t backhanded or kinda condescending 

n she probably did take it for granted at the start, but now that she’s had a talking to by watts and is realising she’s being used, she appreciates it more

give her time to be affectionate back and to compliment you back, she doesn’t know how to do this

it’ll start with more sexual sorta stuff like calling you hot and maybe slapping your ass in passing

but she learns to be a little more loving eventually

[frickingnerd]

yandere cinder fall

pairing: cinder falls x gn!reader

tags: manipulative & controlling!cinder, cinder just wants to be loved so badly that it becomes toxic, cinder isolating reader

cinder really longs to be loved unconditionally by someone! 

she wants you to love her for who she is and see her as the person she sees herself as, not the villain that others see in her

and yet, cinder also desperately needs to be in control, since she was mistreated her entire childhood and longs to finally have some control in her adult life

despite how kind cinder tries to be, in the end she always resorts to manipulation and isolation! 

she wants you all for herself and if that means she has to lie to you, then so be it! 

cinder wants you to be obsessed with her, just like she's obsessed with you!

no, actually, she wants you to love her even more! 

she wants to be your everything and anything else won't be enough! 

she needs to be your favorite person, otherwise loving you will only drive her into insanity

and if she can't have you, she'll make sure nobody can have you…