#her smirk at the end… lord have mercy

[bronzeys]

she got me blushing, giggling and kicking my feet🤭

[mangosrar]

call it what you want pt8.

matt sturniolo x fem reader

an: yall my taglist is not working. trust me i have tried to tag you guys it just won’t let me 💔

“well this is a sight for sore eyes”.

you had never moved so fast in your life, you launched yourself off of matts lap, scurrying to your feet, turning to face the voice.

“mom, what are you doing here?” you asked out of breath.

“i could ask you the same thing. what are YOU doing here? in the boys locker room, with him?” she said, folding her arms, raising her eyebrows, and pursing her lips, staring straight at your red face.

“we were just-“ you began before matt, stood up cutting you off.

“mrs kats, i’m matt sturniolo” he said, jabbing his hand out for her to shake.

she didn’t even flinch, she just looked down at his hand in disgust, before bringing her eyes back up to his in a jagged stare.

“i know who you are, and i know what you are, and from what i can see you’ve already made your mark on my daughter” she spat.

“mom” you muttered, as a warning for her to stop.

“what? i’m not the one getting into fights, i’m not the one sticking my tongue down someone’s throat in the boys locker room, while that poor girl nurses a broken nose” she said, raising her voice slightly.

she was pissed.

she stared at you for a second, and when you gave in and looked to the floor, swallowing, she moved her gaze over to matt, letting her eyes linger on his for a second before speaking.

out of the corner of your eye, you watched him squirm under her cold regard.

“and as for you, i suggest you stay as far away from my daughter as you possibly can, or i will have your whole world come crashing down and you will land straight on your ass” she sneered at him. her voice was low and intimidating.

any normal person would’ve crumbled under this type of hounding, but whatever voice spoke inside of matt sturniolo’s head, was a fucking menace.

there was a brief pause, both of them just staring at each other, and when you finally looked up, you wished you could’ve took a photo.

your mother stood in front of matt, face hard, with her arms crossed, looking like she was about to ring his neck, and the devil child of matt sturniolo stood with his hands behind his back, looking calm and collected, with that shit eating smirk on his face that made your knees a little weak.

you weren’t sure how much longer this stand off was going to carry on for, but the anticipation was eating you alive.

suddenly, matt sucked in a breath, turning away from your mother, and sauntering over to you before placing a kiss on your temple and speaking up.

“i’ll meet you in the car baby” he cooed.

lord have mercy.

-

“and i don’t know how she didn’t drag me home by my hair, she just let me go!” you exclaimed, throwing your hands up in the air and dropping them back down.

“she didn’t even try to stop you?” nick asked, quirking his brow.

“i mean yeah but she didn’t put up much of a fight, she just told me i shouldn’t go, and that he’s a bad influence and shit” you replied, pulling your knees up to your chest.

“same old story” chris added, not taking his eyes off of his phone.

somehow, you had ended up at the triplets house, without your mother starting ww3. you hadn’t heard a word, from your dad or caden, and it was a little more concerning than you would like to admit.

the 4 of you were in the living room, chris slumped on the couch, playing some game, you and nick sitting on the floor, and matt on the other couch, mindlessly scrolling through his phone, not even paying attention to the conversation.

neither of you had spoken to each other since the locker room incident. he hadn’t even looked at you.

it was so confusing, because every time you felt like the two of you were getting somewhere, matt would push you back out again.

in a weird way, it was a comforting atmosphere. chris and nick didn’t know, and neither you or matt were prepared to mention it, and realistically, it was better that way.

talking about it would solve nothing. both of you would still hate each other, and you would both still regret it. so what was the point.

-

3:46am

this is exhausting. tossing and turning. you just couldn’t fall asleep. the whole day had been playing on your mind. you couldn’t wrap your head around how so much had happened in such a short amount of time.

nick lay next to you dead asleep, chris and matt upstairs in their own rooms. maybe if you just tried to talk to matt, you would stop thinking about it.

imessage

y/n: are you awake?

matt: what do you want.

y/n: can we talk?

matt: sure.

you found yourself outside his bedroom door, too nervous to go in. why? this needed to be done. you were confused and the two of you were just going in swings and roundabouts.

“are you gonna come in or just stand there like a creep?”

fuck.

you pushed the door open, to be met with matt sitting on his bed, with his phone in his hand. this was awkward. you’d never been in his room before, despite knowing him for 10 years. you never had any reason to.

you padded over to him and took a seat on the side of his bed, next to his legs. you sat silent for a second, looking at him and waiting for him to acknowledge you. he sighed and threw his phone down before meeting your eyes.

“um…i wanted to talk about what happened earlier” you spoke, voice shaky.

he just blinked at you, waiting for you to continue.

you sucked in a breath before just accepting defeat.

“i don’t know what’s going on matt. you treat me like shit and act like you hate me, and then you kiss me? you stood up against elijah, but you’re still so cold towards me? what does this mean?” you frowned at him.

he chewed on his lip for a second, dropping his gaze to his hands in his lap.

the truth was, matt didn’t know what was going on either. he was just as confused as you were and it had completely knocked the wind out of him.

“i just kissed you. it meant nothing. you’re thinking way too deep into it. i figured someone would walk in so that’s why i did it” he shrugged. looking at you with no emotion behind his eyes, and it made your heart ache a little.

“but the whole elijah thing…” you trailed off. “i want to be with him, matt, you can’t kiss me and then pretend like it was nothing.”

“that was just to keep up the act y/n. you’re getting ahead of yourself like you always fucking do” he spat. his voice firm.

you dropped your eyes to your feet, as he stood up, walking over to his desk and messing with something.

“you can’t just kiss me matt, it’s not fair” you whispered, still not looking at him.

he scoffed. “why y/n? because you’re scared of finally getting over him?” you snapped your head up to meet his face, his eyebrows raised in question.

“what are you talking about?” you asked, confused expression on your face.

he turned to face you, looking down like he had the upper hand. he shoved his hands in his pockets before taking a breath in.

“don’t try to act dumb y/n. you crave whatever fucking havoc he brings you. and that is the whole reason you want to be back with him” his voice was quiet but harsh.

“what are you saying matt?” you just simply couldn’t understand why he was talking about this. matt kissed you and that was your concern, not what elijah brought to the table.

“you are too fucking weak to walk away from him. you don’t see what he does, but everyone else around you is laughing it up, watching you fall at his fucking feet. he’ll call you mean names, cheat on you, lie to you, humiliate you, then he will wrap you up, tell you he loves you, let you cry in his arms for his behaviour, and you will believe it. just like the 200 fucking times you have before. but it’s okay right? because his presence is the cure to all the damage he’s done” he spat. he was now in your face, seething.

tears brimmed your waterline. the heavy weight of his words, pressed on your chest. partially because it was true. partially because of the fact it was so obvious what he had done to you.

this was not matts call to make. he had no business knowing this and it was definitely not his place to make you feel like this, because out of all the things elijah has done, he has never been as fucking vile as matthew sturniolo.

“yeah that’s right, you’ll cry, and you’ll say ‘you’re right’ and everyone will feel bad for you, and then in a months time when elijah has you under whatever fucking spell it is that makes you fucking swoon, you’ll go back to him, because whatever damage he has done is so deep rooted and rotten inside of you, it is permanent and you will never get rid of it, no matter how had you fucking try.” matt hissed. his words were dripping with venom, and every single one had poked a hole in the small part of you that still had hope for matt being anything less than the most vile human being to ever walk the earth.

the tears were now full force streaming down your face, as you stared at him with wide eyes, desperately trying to process where this was coming from.

matt almost laughed at your state. his face was cold and switched off and the look behind his eyes was nothing but complete loathing.

you couldn’t even string together a sentence, you just sat there weeping like a wounded dog, trying to fathom how someone who never even gave you the time of day, had you all figured out.

the sound of you sobbing, changed something in matt, and it was like he had suddenly snapped out of this evil trance. his face fell, and his chest ached.

he knew it wasn’t your fault. it was familiarity, consistency. elijah was a fucking disease that you couldn’t fight off no matter how hard you tried.

matt breathed and took a step closer to you, placing a hand on the side of your head. “y/n”. he whispered, in a sad tone.

you shoved him off and stood up abruptly, wiping your face. you wasn’t going to let him pull you back in.

“no matt, you got your point across” you spoke with a shakey voice, putting distance between the two of you. he just stared at you with furrowed brows. before reaching a hand out to grab your arm gently, but you pulled away before he even got the chance, and walked out of his room, slamming the door behind you.

he was on your tail instantly, following you down the hallway.

“y/n wait”

no reply.

“i’m sorry, please just stop”

no reply.

“will you fucking stop!” he yelled. reaching out and grabbing your arm just before you got to the stairs.

when you turned around, he almost fell to his knees and begged for forgiveness when he saw you.

your eyes were glossy and red, and your nose and cheeks were pink, and stained with tear lines.

he did this to you.

“what matt? you got a few more in you, go ahead i’m all ears” you yelled back, with a broken voice.

he sighed and shook his head.

“i’m sorry” he whispered. you just laughed sadly and looked up at the ceiling. he wasn’t sorry.

“i didn’t mean what i said” he swallowed.

“oh i think you meant every fucking word so don’t try and lie to me” you spat through clenched teeth.

he just stared at you wide eyed, trying to think of some way he could make this better.

matt wasn’t lying. he was disgusted with what he has said. it was just one of those moments where angry people say mean things.

he watched as your face contoured. brows furrowed. pursed lips. eyes pinched. desperate to hold in any more tears that so dangerously threatened to spil.

you scoffed in his face, and turned, bolting down the stairs and as far away from matt as you could get, he didn’t even try to stop you. he just stood staring at the spot where you used to be.

and suddenly he realised, you would never truly heal. the pain would eventually be gone but the heart shaped scars elijah left behind would never fade.

——————————————————————————

LMAOOO SORRY YALL. 😛

fat ass taglist: @christinarowie332 @biimpanicking @sturnssan @biplrbtch @valerieburkens @ukyos ios @eyelessdemon00 on @iheart2021chris @hearts4chriss s @leah-loves-lilies ves-lillies @whicked-hazlatwhore whore @lexihpwardsgf @1201pm-blog @chrislover911 @yourmom-123456789 @x4nd3rsukz @ilovechrissturnioloposts @mattnchrisworld d @leoloveeeee e @jazab3lla @martyniukpl l @sturnbaby @knowingnothingnoel @ilovemattstromboli @obsessedwithyou @dragonstoneshortcake @skyteller143 eloveschris s @biinthisbitch13 @skyteller143 @innocentfsin n @mattswifue @thatcrazybitch-69 9 @ihateeveryone357474 @shmophsturniolo @sturns-posts @mattsturnzzz09 9 @sturnisposts s @jenna0rtegaswife e @jeffbuckleylvr27 7 @katelynmeier14 @sara2233445 5 @alexb25598 @sturniolos4lifee @st7rnioloss @kasiaslayuje @causeidontlikegolsrush @cosmicmistake42069 @xxloveralways14 @24kmar @creamoncreamoncream2 @kennyhop @khloe7233 @sofiasnookiee @sfdfgy @ikeryn n @sleepdeprivedandinsane @quinnroki @lvr444life @ffhgdxgg @travelintheworld 2 @aubreyswift13 13 @sturniololol l @starziick k @heartlesssturniolos @nickmillersn1gf @beautyb1ade @tommysaxes @milenchen08 @sstvrnioloo o @flowerneomie

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Perzys Ānogār

16/12: In Nature & Deep Throating - Aemond Targaryen Word Count: 1.8k~ | Warnings: deep throating, face fucking, incest (reader is a strong!niece), dubcon, breath play

12 Days of Smuff Masterlist

To be Rhaenyra Targaryen’s only daughter was a power only she possessed.

While the weight of being the heir to the Iron Throne fell to Jacaerys, the unbearable burden bearing down on him throughout his life, she was exempt. And only at the mercy of being mere minutes younger than her twin.

Sometimes she wonders. Had she been born first, would all this still have happened?

Probably, she mused.

And yet another question always followed. Would Rhaenyra have named her heir? Had she been the first born child, with her dark hair and blue eyes, conveniently matching those features of the former Commander of the City Watch, would her mother have fought so thoroughly for her birthright?

If that had been the case, the realm would never have allowed it.

A bastard and a woman? There’d be riots from Winterfell to the Reach.

She was grateful to be born second. Although, it made the situation no easier.

In his eyes, she was still a bastard. The daughter of his whore sister, who is still attempting to steal his brother’s throne by gathering banners from houses who once swore their loyalty to her mother, years before her birth.

Aemond Targaryen always had a strange relationship with his niece and nephews. Though for the nephews it was easy to identify. Full to the brim with hate, no doubt assisted by the fact Luke had taken Aemond’s eye not a decade before, and never for one moment missing an opportunity to remind them what they all were.

Strong bastards.

He saw his nephews like they were shit at the bottom of his shoe. Unworthy of the positions they were born into.

His relationship with her felt different. Almost to the point of being unexplainable.

When she was a child, though not friendly, there was a noticeable lack of pure animosity towards her compared to her brothers. Aemond would sometimes, though rare, make an effort. But most often, she was either dragged away by her mother, or he was, neither former-friends comfortable with allowing their most precious of children to co-exist like friends.

Like family.

It was only when she returned to King’s Landing, a decade older and brimming with womanly features and assets into her dresses that she noticed something was different about her Uncle. She scarcely believed it was him. Tall, lean and skilled with the sword despite his possession of only one eye. And she was ashamed to say it, but she felt her stomach flutter slightly at the sight of him, one lilac eye locked onto her, and a smirk tugging at his lips as he cocked his head the way he always did when he saw something amusing.

There was something different about seeing him when they were both grown. Something else about the way he observed her over the rim of his cup, and the way his eyelid on his one good eye hooded slightly over the colour of his iris.

It made her throat go dry.

As her head throbs, vision blurred as she stares at the stormy skies above, she feels like being in Storm’s End was a lifetime ago, though it had barely even been a few hours.

Aemond had prodded her, to see if she would bite. Had tried to whore himself out to Floris Baratheon, as she had done to Lord Borros, to attempt to win favour with their house by way of marriage, knowing he had lost his wife years prior.

And he had most of all, threatened to take something from her, something only she could give him, as payment for the debt Lucerys had made by slicing Aemond’s eye at Driftmark all those years ago.

Though he did not elaborate, she need not ask.

She felt her blood chill in her veins, her feet primed to run when Aemond broke into a walk towards her, bending to pluck the dagger he’d thrown to the floor. Her fingers clumsily wrapped around her own dagger at her side, being too slight for a sword, as her only protection.

She didn’t anticipate Aemond would be stupid enough to follow her. But then again, she was wrong about a lot of things when it came to her estranged Uncle.

Her muscles ached as she pulled herself to sit up, the wind nipping at the sensitive skin on her cheeks, pounded with raindrops that felt like ice. Hastily, she threw the chain that still connected her to her now-deceased dragon to the side, having been brought down through the skies still bound to the harness.

Vhagar had sliced through her dragon’s neck with her sharpened, old teeth. The poor thing was probably dead long before she hit the ground. Perhaps it was a mercy of sorts.

She felt her breath hot in her chest as she saw her dragon being licked by the lazy waves, its corpse half in the raging sea and half draped across the jagged rocks of whatever island they’d fallen to. Tears build behind her eyes at the sight. Her dragon had hatched in her cradle, and was therefore still small. Far too small against the likes of Vhagar.

She’s about to tell herself to not cry, to not let emotions run her like men often profile women to do, when she hears the distinct flap of Vhagar’s wings as she lands with a mighty thud on the other end of the island. So big, if she extended herself enough, she’d be nearly as big as.

The white flash of damp hair was the first thing she saw when Vhagar bowed her head to the ground, and his stoic, firm face, looking scornfully down at her in a way that stole the breath from her lungs.

Her shoes slid on the wet dirt with the rain pelting down as she moved to stand, her legs weakly unable to carry her weight. Her hands were coated with mud. But all she heard was the hammering of the storm and Aemond’s damp footsteps as they became ever louder.

She winced when she felt his icy, long fingers in her hair pulling her back. Without second thought she drew her dagger and span quickly, the blade whipping past his face, but barely missing him. Aemond, with a stoic, hard expression caught her wrist and twisted, using his body weight to push her to the floor on her back, with either of his legs aside to squeeze her in.

He pinned her wrists beside her head, one hand still grasping the dagger. And for a moment they simply looked at one another, with practised hateful expressions, completely out of breath and hair sticking uncomfortably to each of their faces.

Thunder rumbled loudly above.

“Not as fast with a blade as your brother, are you, zaldritsos?”

“Get off me.”

“After all that? I’d scarcely think about letting you go. You should know better. I am here to collect what I am owed.”

“It is not me who took your eye, or did he damage your memory as well?”

“Careful. Lady Strong. I'll cut out your pretty tongue.”

She watches him loom above her, his wavy damp hair hanging over his shoulders, with that self-assured cocky smile on his face. No matter how hard she fights against him, she's too weak, and even with full strength would still struggle.

There's a flicker of amusement that passes across his face. One that makes her stomach drop.

“I wonder how talented your tongue is, mandianna.”

She feels her lips crack as her mouth goes dry, the bluntness of what he'd said and the shift in the tension shocked her more than anything else.

“I am a maide-”

“Oh, I'm sure you are.”

“I am.”

He laughs lowly in his chest, “then what an honour it will be, for my cock to be the first.”

“I will cut out your other eye.”

“And how I would like to see you try.”

She gets one hand free, but the slap she gives him is pitiful, and he merely laughs, pinning both down again with one hand while his other unlaces his breeches.

“Such fire, dear niece”, he cooes, “I cannot wait to be warmed by their flames.”

His hand moves to her hair, gripping painfully and pulling her up to kneel before him, her chin held high as he rises to stand before her. She gasps with shock when he pushes his breeches over his hips and pulls his length free, hard and weeping with arousal, pressed firmly against his stomach.

A dull ache settles between her legs, a feeling she does not recognise. She can barely tear her eyes away from his member, she'd seen so few, but knows that the one before her is so impressive, that she wonders for a moment where he intends to put it where it would fit.

He taps the head of his cock against her lips, “I think I shall have your mouth first, then take what I am owed. What do you think, mandianna?”

She barely has time to reply, he pushes himself into her mouth quickly, not at all seeming to care about the squeak of shock she lets out, her throat closing around his length to gulp down air when she's unable to.

Her eyes squeeze shut as his cockhead hits the back of her throat, hearing Aemond moan as he stills for a moment, basking in the warmth of her mouth around him.

“Breathe…”

Hurried huffs of air leave through her nose, Aemond's cock forced down her throat so that air cannot pass. He stays still, not moving his hips an inch, with one hand still gripping her hair.

Aemond chuckles darkly, moving her head on him to create the smallest amount of friction, the hairs at the base of him pressed against her face.

“How does it feel? To have a real Targaryen inside you, hm?”

She only whines around him, unable to do much else.

“Look at me.”

Her teary eyes crack open, struggling to get all the air she needs through her nose alone. And when she meets his gaze, she feels the warmth between her thighs at the eroticism of the act, and knowing it's all so, so wrong.

His sole lilac eye shrinks as he smirks, “If your mother could see you now.

“If you are good, I may fuck a Targaryen babe into you. Then you might see what a real one looks like.”

He starts a calm, gentle pace as if savouring it. She closes her eyes, focussing on the feeling of his heavy length on her tongue, curling it upwards to massage the long vein that decorates the shaft.

Aemond's smile widens, as he saw one of her hands dip between her thighs, a moan of her own vibrating around his cock.

“Yes, you will make a fine wife, I think.”

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard @bellstwd @blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian @randomdragonfires @risefallrise @thelittleswanao3 @theoneeyedprince @thetrueblackheart @tsujifreya @urmomsgirlfriend1 @valeskafics @virtualsweetsqueen @watercolorskyy @fan-goddess

[roses-for-rosalyn]

ngl my brain kinda goes crazy at the thought of mafia!abby. I don't know why but HER IN A SUIT lord have mercy.

put all my favorite tropes in a blender and I give you:

City Lights

Part 2

a/n: not my best work but it is my horniest work, so riddle me that.

cw: Mafia! Abby, dbf! Abby 🤭, little age gap (reader in early 20s Abby is later 30s), feminine reader (specifically refers to reader as girl), sort of innocent reader, Abby walking in on reader using vibe 🤭, Abby referred to as Ms. Anderson or miss, reader gets roofied BUT is saved and nothing ensues, general mafia coded violence, make out session, (smut in part 2 I'm sorry my darlings)

Minors DNI (I will jump out at you through your screen i stg)

wc: 4.8k (woah)

———————————————————————

You watch as the sun falls from the city sky, lights slowly flickering on signaling the end of a day and the start of a long night. You can’t help but marvel at the sea of lights shimmering in front of you creating a sort of man made night sky, stars replaced by the warm glow of living room and bedroom lights from various apartments. You had lived in this penthouse for a while, but watching the city come alive at night would never get old. 

“Hey!” your friend, Dina, waves a hand in front of your face. She must have called you a few times before she finally got your attention. Your eyes reluctantly move from the glowing city to your friend looking down at you, a playful expression on her face. “Girl, you have to get out of your head for your own good.” She lends a hand to you, “Let’s go drink our problems away.” She smirks and you giggle before grabbing her hand and standing up.

“Alright, but you can’t leave me tonight. It's girls night.” She would almost always end up with someone by the end of the night, leaving you to make your way home alone at fucking 3 AM. It definitely helped that her dad wasn’t in the same line of work as yours, you couldn’t exactly hook up with just anyone. Apparently it was “dangerous” your dad was fucking paranoid, but it’s not like you could ignore him and rebel. He always found out somehow and you’d end up being whisked away by one of his bodyguards he hired to follow you around. It was a compromise that the guards were at a distance too, if it were up to you they wouldn’t be there at all. 

“I’m not leaving you tonight because you’re going to find someone to go home with.” She has a mischievous smile on her face, like she’s already planned your fate for the night. 

“Dina-” you start to say, but she interrupts, “Hush, forget about your dad for a few hours of your life, we’ll figure it out.” She smiles genuinely this time and steps back to dramatically look you up and down. “Listen, you look hot, I look hot, let’s go have fun and be hot together.” She wasn’t wrong, you were wearing one of your favorite black dresses. It perfectly accentuated your curves and flaunted just the right amount of cleavage. Dina always looked good, tonight she was wearing a little black dress as well and you two made quite the alluring pair. 

Dina handed you your clutch and led you out of the apartment and into the bustling city. A car is ready for you as soon as you walk out of the lobby– one of the perks of your paranoid father’s line of work. You and her climb in giggling and reflecting on past nights filled with loud music and colorful lights. 

The car slows and you and Dina exit onto the sidewalk. Your heels obnoxiously click against the pavement as you both make your way to the door, skipping the line. The bouncer immediately recognizes and encourages you in with a friendly nod. You glance up at the muscley man with a grateful smile and a wink before you enter with your friend in tow. 

You walk into an empty marble lobby, dimly lit with no furniture. The sound of both your and Dina’s Heels now echoing throughout the grand empty room. Straight ahead there is a small elevator and to the left of it are stairs. The stairs have little lights lining them, illuminating the way up. You and Dina look at eachother, “No way I’m taking those stairs in these heels.”

She giggles “I agree, I don't think I could make it the 15th floor.” You click the button to call the elevator and the doors immediately open. You and Dina walk into the poorly lit mirror covered box and you press the button for the top floor. Turns out she was wrong. It was more like 20 floors, you had scaled those stairs before, but all those times you were very drunk and going down not up. You adjust your hair and pick at your makeup as the elevator slowly ascends. A soft ding sounds and the door opens slowly revealing the bustling nightclub. 

The only lighting in the room was cool colored spotlights, the overwhelming sound of music causing the floor to vibrate under your feet. Most of the light flooded in through the windows that lined the walls. The city lights filtered in, illuminating the room. It almost felt like the club was somehow floating in the middle of the bustling urban area. The floor to ceiling windows made it feel much more spacious despite it being packed with writhing bodies. It was the reason this club was your favorite; it perfectly embraced its beautiful location at the top of a skyscraper. 

You both wander into the crowd hand in hand, making a beeline for the bar. You order two vodka shots each and two drinks, wanting to get the festivities of the night started as quickly as possible. The bartender quickly delivers your orders and you look at your friend nodding before downing a shot. Dina beats you to the second, but you quickly follow, giggling. Your face involuntarily scrunches up as the offensive flavor of pure vodka hits your tongue. She leans in close to your ear and says in a low, mischievous voice “Let’s go have some fun.” and at that you both disappear into the crowd. 

You’re not sure how much time has passed at this point. Apparently enough time for sweat to start to perspire on your skin, the warmth of bodies writhing together causing the temperature to rise throughout the night. A slight dizziness causes your vision to soften, the figures of people around you blurring together. Dancing had become easier and easier as your body relaxed from the alcohol flooding through your veins, the music leading your body movements. You had realized at some point you must have lost Dina, you pause your dancing and make your way to the booths. You spot her in between a man and women, clearly flirting with both of them, with her hands on each of their thighs, laughing comfortably with one another. It was clear she was going home with both of them tonight. Fucking impressive. And annoying.

It’s probably been years since you flirted with someone like that, at a certain point you gave up, letting other people approach you. It never ended in anything though. You envied Dina in her ability to execute that kind of thing. 

You walk up, hesitantly interrupting. She spots you and pauses her heavy petting on her new friends. “Oh shit, I forgot I don’t have to-” 

You hold up your hand and smile “Don’t worry about it, I’m having fun. Just text me later.” you wink and she smiles and nods. You walk over to the bar for your last drink of the night and to close your tab. You look around as you wait for your drink, scanning the VIP section for any familiar faces. Unsurprisingly you spot one of your father’s associates Ms. Anderson. She was here pretty regularly and maybe that’s why you were also here pretty regularly. There was an unspoken, forbidden attraction between you two. Stolen glances and tense conversations made it obvious it was mutual. It was also obvious that nothing could happen besides the occasional sexually charged staring contest, your father might murder her–in a more literal sense than most dads would murder their daughters' lovers. So you resorted to touching yourselves with each other’s names on the tip of your tongues, fingers teasing the ache that grew between your legs at the thought of the other. 

She was wearing her usual suit minus a tie. Her white shirt was mostly unbuttoned, giving her a more casual, careless look. She sat with her legs spread, arms carelessly strung along the back of the couch she was sitting in, a glass of neat whiskey in her large hand. A woman sat next to her–well practically on top of her– in a scantily clad outfit, Ms. Anderson hardly made an effort to look at her eyes. She was surrounded by multiple men, clearly negotiating something, barely paying attention to them. And yet despite her disinterest in their words you could sense the respect that was held towards the blonde woman. They didn’t care that she wasn’t intently listening, they were grateful to even be heard at all. You could tell they must be low in the ranks, especially considering Ms. Anderson’s bored expression as they spoke to her. She caught you staring at her and her bored expression turned into a devilish smirk, her eyes meeting with yours. You look away embarrassed and pray your drink comes sooner rather than later. After a few minutes the bartender sets it down in front of you, you grab your drink off the counter gulping the whole thing down in a few sips. You step into the mass of bodies dancing to the loud music and begin moving in sync with the warm figures. Soon your vision turns concerningly blurry, you immediately try to stumble towards the bar, your legs starting to fail you. You were unfortunately familiar with what was happening which only made you panic all the more, trying to fight through the tiredness that is taking over your body. In a last ditch attempt you lug your failing body towards Ms. Anderson, praying to a god you didn’t believe in that someone noticed. 

You hadn’t spotted Ms. Anderson earlier, but she noticed you. She had been watching you all night, specifically taking note of the way your body guards were distanced from you. She watched the bartender make your drink. Right as she watched him slip some sort of powder into it she left in the middle of her conversation. It didn’t matter at that point, all that mattered was getting to you before he did. She nodded at her bodyguards whispering in each of their ears what to do. One went with Abby to help you while the other went to grab the bartender. 

Abby bent down underneath you to support you under your shoulder and you felt dread fill your body as she grabbed you, not recognizing who it was. You manage to loll your head to the side and see her face, your panic subsides and you begin to give in to the drug. As your body grows heavier Abby picks you up in the air bridal style, initially she didn’t want to cause a scene, but now it would be impossible to get you out of here any other way. You feel her warmth radiate through her shirt and your head leans against her strong chest as your vision slowly fades to black. 

You startle awake, panicking as you realize you're sitting up in someone’s car. Adrenaline takes over as your breathing quickens and your heart rate picks up. You take in your surroundings, lights blur together as you look out the window, desperately trying to discern your location. When you look to your left your breathing immediately slows, remembering you were rescued by Ms. Anderson before you collapsed in the middle of the club. She looks over at you, slightly surprised by your wide panicked eyes being open, she expected you to sleep through the night given the amount of drugs that must be swirling around in your system. You were obviously quite the stubborn girl. 

You begin to say something before the blonde cuts you off, “I found your phone and texted Dina and your father already. Your Father thinks you're staying over at Dina’s and Dina knows you’re safe and with me.” She immediately reassures you, somehow knowing exactly why you shot awake in the midst of a drug induced haze. You nod and relax, letting her take control of your fate. “I’m taking you back to my place, you need someone to make sure you stay breathing through the night.” You watch as her bloodstained knuckles harshly grip the steering wheel. What you didn’t know is Abby had laid you in the car, leaving you with one of her bodyguards before tending to the bartender herself. She made quick work of him, swiftly cutting off limb after limb as she gathered information. Abby was surprised at how quickly her rage consumed her, not realizing how protective she was of you. She snickered at him as he screamed and begged for his life. All she could see as she disassembled the poor excuse for a man was your weak body crumpling to the floor in front of her. She found out he was taking out a sort of hit on you. Trying to hurt your father by hurting you, she learned the name of his boss and sent the information to your father to have it taken care of. Of course she didn’t mention it was you who he tried to kidnap and do who knows what with, she only mentioned it was one of the daughters of someone in the inner circle. 

He didn’t usually ask questions anyways, your father delighted in ridding this world of men who liked to hurt women. The things your father did were dark, but he never ever fucked with women, it was an unspoken rule in the Organization, one that Abby greatly appreciated and respected as well as you. You didn’t like what your father was involved in, but the thought that he had some sense of morals helped you sleep a little better at night. 

You allow your eyes to close once again as Ms. Anderson drives you to her apartment. You float in and out of consciousness as she picks you up out of the car and carries you inside. You can sense the changes in lighting from behind your eyelids, you use sounds to estimate where you might be. Soon keys jingle and a door is opened. Muffled voices surround you and you are handed over to someone else's arms. You feel your dress being gently peeled from your body and you whimper, barely fighting for your dignity. A soft feminine voice hushes you and upon realizing it was a woman you return to your half conscious state. You are placed down onto cold porcelain and you shiver before warm water runs over your body. It felt heavenly, the water massaging your skin warming you from the outside in. You finally fall completely unconscious feeling a sense of security washing over you as the water did. 

You blink open your eyes slowly, bright light penetrating your vision. You have to squint for a moment until your eyes adjust to your surroundings. You’re laying in an incredibly comfortable bed with soft white sheets and a puffy white comforter. Your dress has been replaced by an incredibly oversized matching set of pajamas. You tentatively lift up the hem of your pants and… yup this wasn't even your underwear. God how fucking humiliating. The room is large with tall ceilings and light gray walls. Bright morning light floods in from a giant window overlooking the city. A green couch faces a large TV suspended on the wall above a fireplace. To your left is a nightstand with a tall glass of water and ibuprofen. Upon seeing the glass of water you feel your tongue sticking to the inside of your mouth, your throat so dry you could barely swallow. You gulp down the water along with the pain meds greedily. Upon a second glance you realize the room has no personality, almost like a hotel room or a guest room. It didn’t seem like someplace one would sleep every night. You hear the doorknob being slowly twisted before the door opens revealing Ms. Anderson. She commanded so much space with her presence in her perfectly fitted and pressed suits complete with a tie and matching pocket square. Her hair was pulled back into a perfect, neat braid, little pieces of hair framing her face. Her strong arms and broad shoulders made her posture appear so confident she almost seemed unapproachable.  Upon seeing you awake she smiles “Morning.” She says as she makes her way towards you. 

“Morning.” Your voice was still heavy with sleep.

“How are you feeling?” She asks as she sits on the edge of the bed by your feet. 

“Pretty good all things considered.” You manage a dry laugh. 

“I would start scolding you about the proximity of your body guards, but I feel like I should let you wake up a little first.” She watches as you poorly attempt to rub the sleep out of your eyes, yawning a little as you do. 

“No, no you’re definitely right, learned my lesson.” You pause for a moment as you remember the question that was lurking in the back of your mind since you woke up. Should you even ask? 

“My clothes…” You start to say, not exactly sure how to approach this conversation.

“Oh yeah,” Ms. Anderson blushes a bit “One of my maids, Clara, she was the one who changed you and stuff, I-I didn’t um-” Jesus Christ you managed to fluster this 30 something year old woman, reducing her to an incoherent mumbling mess. “Your dress is over there.” She points to the nightstand. “I would have had it washed, but I wasn’t sure if there was a special way you liked it done or something. Wouldn’t want to ruin it since it looked so good on you.” She smirks and now you’re the one blushing. 

“Th-thank you, I appreciate not having to sleep in that.” You look at her through your lashes, a flirtatious smirk pulling at your lips. You and Abby get lost in one of your staring contests gazing at each other as a silence falls over the both of you. 

Abby is the one to snap out of it, “Oh-uh I should get going I’m going to be late. I arranged a ride home for you. My driver is waiting at the front.” She gets up fiddling with her shirt cuffs as she starts walking out of the room. “And if you want to talk about what happened with someone, just let me know. I’m a good listener.” She smiles for a moment before it falls into a frown. “I wish I didn’t have to leave. I feel like a dick, but I swear I have an important meeting, I-”

“It’s ok,” You smile, cutting her off before she continues apologizing. “I have Dina to talk to. Go to your meeting, don't be late because of me.” 

“Ok I’ll see you soon.” She smiles and stares at you for just a moment too long before leaving the bedroom, closing the door behind her. Holy shit what a night. 

As soon as you get home you have a debrief with Dina over the phone, ranting to her about the whole thing. It starts out lighthearted as you and your best friend over-analyze every one of Ms. Andersons’ actions, feeding into your crush on her. Dina makes sure to throw in an occasional “She’s literally in love with you” and “You have to make a move on her or something she wants you”. You laugh her off, but you secretly enjoy her feeding into your delusions. The discussion inevitably turns into a bit of a therapy session. You can’t stop the tears slipping from your eyes as you realize that a simple night out can so easily turn deadly for you. Being a normal woman in her 20s able to party and go out to clubs was so far out of your grasp. You almost died last night and it wasn’t even that rattling, you constantly end up as a damsel in distress despite your best efforts. You knew how to fight well, knew how to use a gun and knives, and yet it was never enough. 

Dina tells you about her night in excruciating detail, but you liked to live vicariously through her. Her descriptions of her experiences made you feel a little more informed and a little less like an innocent virgin. She never made you feel lesser than her for your lack of experience though, she rarely even talked about your lack of experience. She was a good friend like that: smart, but didn’t make you feel dumb, beautiful without making you feel like shit, she always made sure you knew you were her equal. 

For the rest of the day you allow yourself to mope in your room and recover from the toll the previous night took on your body and mind. You daydream about Ms. Anderson and her strong arms, imagining how she could use them to pin you down as she did whatever she wanted to you. You wonder if she might use her tie to restrain you as she fucked you dumb with her strap, or teasing you with a vibrator until you were begging her to let you come, completely at her mercy. 

Unbeknownst to you Abby had come to your apartment to check on you. When you didn’t answer the door she assumed you were asleep and used the spare she asked for from your bodyguard last night. She had debated bringing you back to your own place, but couldn’t resist the opportunity to have you sleep in her bed. She felt gross using that situation as an excuse to be able to smell you on her sheets, but she was getting desperate. She was looking forward to coming home all day and fucking herself with her fingers whilst pressing her nose to the sheets. Ultimately she decided to visit you first, not being able to resist an excuse to see you. 

She walks in and immediately notes the homey feeling that resonates throughout the large apartment. Colorful rugs, warm lighting and plants immediately make her feel at ease. It felt like you, it made sense. She envied the ability to capture personality through decorations. 

Abby makes her way to what she assumes in your bedroom. As she gets closer she hears you whimpering, she peeks through the crack in the door worried you were having a nightmare or were in pain, but oh she was so delightfully wrong. She saw the beautiful sight of you squirming under your sheets, the soft buzz of a vibrator humming through the dark room. Your eyes were closed, head tilted back as you pressed the vibrator to your clit. Abby couldn’t look away, it felt so incredibly wrong and dirty but she could not bring herself to walk away. She watched as you spread your legs further apart, begging for more. Your whimpers morph into quiet moans as you turn up the setting and Abby is starting to feel an unbearable ache grow between her legs at the sight. You let out a quiet, whiney “Oh fuck” and Abby almost cums in her pants. You turn up the setting even further and Abby can’t help but wonder how much you could take, imagining overstimulating you to the point of tears. She absent mindedly allows her hand to cup her cunt as she continues observing you. Suddenly she hears you whimper Ms. Anderson please, and she is immediately grounded. She rushes out of the apartment, quietly closing the door behind her. She gets home and locks herself in her room, stuffing her fingers into her dripping cunt and cumming over and over to the memory of your sweet voice calling her name. 

The next time you see Ms. Anderson, you weren’t expecting her. You were at a dinner with all the men from the inner circle and their daughters. Abby was the only woman and didn’t have children, so naturally you had assumed she wouldn’t be there. But here she sat, listening intently as one of the men told a story about some deal gone wrong. She was across from you, and she was just so captivating to look at. Her usual suit was swapped for a white button down, dark gray vest and black tie. Her muscular arms strained against the fabric, making you practically drool. Her sleeves were rolled up to her elbows perfectly displaying her forearms. You let your eyes follow the veins from under her sleeves to her hands, trying to memorize the way her hands looked as they rested on the table. She hadn’t caught you staring yet, so you decided to be bold, sliding your foot under her pant leg. She didn’t move. You start to move it up, higher, higher, until Abby subtly shakes you off. You accept the rejection, feeling slightly embarrassed until she moves her foot to touch yours. She slowly slides it up and down your bare leg, still refusing to stray her attention away from her current conversation. You shake her off and kick her lightly under the table before getting up and heading to the restroom. She finally averts her gaze to look at you as you get up. 

As you walk to the bathroom you silently hope she understood your invitation. To be honest you really didn’t know exactly what you were asking for, all you knew is the tension between you has grown to an almost unbearable point and you were tired of waiting and yearning. You walk into the ladies room, purposefully not locking the door behind you. You face the mirror and begin to fix your makeup, fixing any smeared mascara or eyeliner. You lightly wet your hair trying to tame any fly-aways. Just as you begin to give up waiting the door opens. You turn around, back to the sink, and face the door. It could have been anyone, but thank fuck it was her. She has a slightly frustrated expression on her face as she looks at you. She closes the door behind her, locks it and turns to face you. She leaves mere inches between you two despite the ample space in the bathroom. She looks down at you for a moment, her size was even more staggering when you were this close. You feel a sort of powerlessness, but it wasn’t a negative feeling, it was thrilling. Ms. Anderson gently grips your chin between her thumb and index finger and forces you to look up at her. 

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing princess?” She asks in a low, hushed tone. You can’t answer, all you can manage to do is look up at her as a smirk appears on her face. “You really have no idea how tempting you are with your little dresses and this little innocent girl act.” She inches closer to you, her lips centimeters from yours. “I’m not even sure it’s an act.” She laughs, “and on top of it all I’m not allowed to have you,” She uses her other hand to caress the side of your thigh and you let out a small gasp at the feeling on her hand touching your bare skin. “To be honest that just makes me want you more.” She uses her grip on your thigh to lift your leg up, hooking it around her waist. Your back is pressed into the sink, hands gripping the edge of the porcelain, her body pressed against yours. She still hasn’t moved any closer, her lips barely grazing yours. You can feel every breath and word she utters from her lips on yours. Neither of you dare move, scared to shatter the moment that each of you have been craving for so long. 

“Ms. Anderson?” you breathe out, the words fanning onto her soft lips. Abby sighs at the sound of her name coming from your mouth. 

“Fuck it.” She kisses you. Perfectly. 

It’s not too soft, not too hard, it was just what you needed. She was so soft and warm, you couldn’t help but melt into her strong body. You whimper softly and she deepens the kiss, her tongue teasing your mouth open. Her grip on your thigh tightens a bit at each little sound you make. Her hand moves from your chin to your jaw, her grip is so, so gentle, like she’s scared to break you. You move one of your hands from the sink and press it against her chest, trying to keep yourself steady. 

Abby is the first one to break away, even though it’s the last thing she wants to do. “W-we can’t do this here.” 

You look at her, desperation taking over every fiber of your being “Please Miss, I can’t-”

Abby sighs “Just wait until the end of dinner, go home- I won't be far behind you- and I'll meet you there. Sound good?” You nod eagerly “Words princess.”

“Yes, sounds really good.” Abby smiles and peels herself away from you. She smoothes out her clothes before heading for the door.

“See you soon, princess.” She says before slipping out the door and heading back to dinner like nothing happened. 

lmk what y'all think! reposts and notes always appreciated 💕💕💕

[moonydoodlez]

i dont even know how to ask this because i just want one thing well two actually u change my mind alastor without his jacket all messy like (you know what i mean) AND HIS HAIR UP IN A LITTLE PONYTAIL OR BUN IDC IDK ITS JUST UP AND IM DROOLING

Im gonna eat you

Pairing: Alastor x F!reader

Warnings: the only warning is the fact that i wrote this at 3 am so enough said.. but also there lowkey really horny...

Wordcount: 524

Note: Eveytime i see art of this man with his hair up lord have mercy.. id devour him actually.

You have known Alastor for a long time now. You had met him while you were both still alive. Although there were bans on alcohol at the time, you were able to sneak your way into a speakeasy. You sat at the damp gross bar waiting for the man to serve you. Of course being a woman he took his sweet time before ever asking you what you’d like. However a tall slender man walked up to you. He was wearing all red and wore a smirk that seemed to never leave his lips. After a night of drinking and doing things a lady shouldn't have done you went home fulfilled… and filled. To your dismay never seeing the man again.

That was until you ended up in hell for a cute murdering spree or whatever. You walked around aimlessly before bumping into two girls by accident. The girl with long blonde hair apologized frantically which just made you stare at her annoyed. You hated overly happy people. Of course the happy girl asked you to her hotel in which you totally thought she was trying to have a threesome, but really she was just being nice.

After months of living in this hotel and ‘trying’ to get better so you could be redeemed. Which you thought was a load of bullshit because why would you wanna get better when you're already better than everyone. During those months though you had gotten very close to Alastor. You had spent many nights with him, not always of sexual nature of course. 

One morning though you woke up and you quickly realized he was gone from your bed. Which wasn’t normal usually after being with you he wanted to be as close as possible. You looked around the room to see if maybe he just decided not to sit on the bed. Your eyes widened as he came out of the bathroom with no shirt on and just pants. To make matters worse he had his hair in a little ponytail. His hair wasn’t quite long enough to have all his hair up so there were little bits sticking off the side and sticking out from under where it was pulled up. You stared at him like you could have devoured him right in that moment.

“What” His staticy voice broke you out of your thoughts. He slowly walked toward you, joining you in bed again. He began talking about god knows what but you could focus on his hair at this moment.

“This is new” You say, interrupting him, reaching your hand up to his hair. “Very hot” You breath heavily watching him, watching how he sat there so slutty without even realizing.

His head whipped to you as he realized how you were ogling him like some object. “You think?” He whispered sultrily as his hand came up to grip your throat. 

You let out a whimper as he brings your face to his before kissing you slowly. So slow it almost hurt how badly you wanted him at that moment. You were aching for his attention, attention only he could ever give you.

Masterlist Alastor Masterlist

[multific]

His Queen

Jon Snow x Reader

Warnings: murder, blood, witchcraft

Summary: As a last attempt to defeat Jon Snow, the Kings and Lords gather for a meeting, during the meeting an idea comes up in order to defeat Snow. 

A/N: This story doesn't follow the story of the series/books.

“The King in the North has started to reach our borders. He is a threat to us.”

The Kings and Lords looked between one another. 

"Jon Snow is nothing but a bastard. We can crush him easily." said one.

"I think you forget that the last party you sent to kill him, he easily defeated." replied another.

Everyone began to murmur between themselves when a Lord came up with the idea.

"Let us kill his wife. He holds her so near and dear if he was to lose her, he would surely crumble." everyone stayed quiet.

"His wife... is a witch. My men had seen her, while she is a beauty, she holds powers, powers not even a dragon could win against."

"I will send my men, my best, to kill her. We will come up with a plan which for sure will work. Witch or not."

"Didn't someone try to poison her before?" another King spoke up as a Lord nodded.

"Yes, she drank the poison and wasn't even phased by it. I'm telling you all, it is a bad idea to go after her."

But of course, no one listened.

Ten men were sent for Jon Snow's wife.

At the time they didn't know, but none would return.

---

Mornings like these were always your absolute favourites. With your husband still in bed next to you, you played with the ends of his hair.

You smiled to yourself as he moved just a little in his sleep.

Soon, Jon woke up as he moved to lay on his back, you moved to his chest as he let out a soft sigh. The fur now pooled around his waist as your hand ran up his chest.

"Good morning." you said with a soft voice, not quite ready to get up just yet.

"Morning, My Goddess." you smirked as his fingers began to roam your naked back.

He never opened his eyes as you just kept staring at him.

"Our Kingdom is growing, this will come with many enemies." you said.

"More than what we already have?" came his reply with a yawn.

"If they only knew that the King of the North is this lazy. It is almost mid-morning and you still refuse to wake."

"It is my wife's fault. She kept me up all night." you smiled as he finally opened his eyes, looking at you with nothing but pure love and admiration. "What's wrong?" he asked, suddenly his eyes filled with worry upon seeing your expression.

"The wind came with bad news, people are brewing a plan against you."

"You and your powers, My Love... what is the worry this time? A coupe? To kill me? A trap for my armies?"

"Men had been sent to kill me. I can deal with them, once know who they are. Please, Jon, much like before, we act as we don't know."

"Of course," he nodded. "As always, oblivious. Do you know how many?" you shook your head, no.

"I hope, I pray to the Goddess that one day we won't face such dangers. That our children won't have to grow up in fear." you said as Jon sat up, you followed suit, holding the fur to your chest.

He smiled.

"You always speak of children, I like it when you do that. It gives me hope, a reason to fight for a future."

You smiled right back before kissing him.

Oh, yes, mornings like these were your favourites.

---

Staying away from Jon was something you didn't really like to do.

You prefer to stay with him at all times but you understood that he had duties and so did you.

You looked after the young wolves and cared for the pups who were left without a mother after the war. 

The feeling of dread didn't leave you.

Ever since you woke up, you had this feeling, and you knew better than to ignore your instincts.

Your life was in danger as always but now, you won't be merciful.

Last time, it was during your wedding when they tried to poison you. You drank the wine without a problem but the taste of iron never left your mouth. You chose not to speak, Jon only was told years after.

You decided not to tell him because you feared his reaction.

But now, after the wars, after the many lost lives, you were ready for anything.

Their first try came while you were taking your daily bath. One dared to barge in with a sword, trying to kill you. But the man's fate wasn't fortunate.

When Jon heard the news that you have been attacked he was furious. But the scene he saw when he entered the bath wasn't what he expected.

The man now laid, with his head by his lifeless body, his blood filled the bath which you still occupied.

"I'm almost done." you said with the calmest tone Jon had ever heard.

There was something about you, in a bath of blood that just turned Jon on beyond belief. He had seen you covered in blood before, but somehow, this was different.

That night as you two got ready for bed and he finally joined you, you just said "There are more of them." which made Jon nod, he knew you would take care of yourself, but he will also have to look out for himself. 

The second and the third man wanted to take no chances. One watched by the door while the other ran into the library to kill you.

But when everything inside went quiet the other man also emerged from the door and was met with the same fate. 

Both dead, surrounded by symbols drawn with their own blood. It scared the servants, even some knights found themselves to be scared by the drawings. 

But not Jon, never Jon.

He simply entered the room and kiss you on the lips.

Seven men were left. All of which decided to catch you at night. First, they found out that the King was occupied and they all hurried to your chambers.

But instead of meeting with a sleeping Queen, you have been waiting for them. The door locked behind them and only their screams were heard in the night. 

No one dared to approach the chambers. No one dared to open the door.

Jon arrived again, seeing the blood seeping out from behind the door, he opened it and saw a scene that almost made him throw up.

All bodies were kneeling around you in a circle. Kneeling, holding their own heads in their hands as you sat in the middle of them, he wasn't sure if you were praying.

"Darling?" he asked, knowing better than to cross any lines. Knowing the powers you were often playing with.

You looked at him, familiar eyes staring at him as he knelt down to your eye level.

"Let's go to bed in another room." he suggested and you agreed. 

Of course, your loving husband avenged the attacks against you.

In his eyes, no matter if you were never injured, he saw these attacks as an attack on him, because they were.

And Jon never took lightly to harm against you. He would never stop at anything when it came to you. Even if he wasn't king. 

Jon Snow would never let anyone take you from him, you were his.

His Love.

His Wife.

His Queen.

Taglist: @fleursirvart​ @greenarrowhead​ @thisismysecrethappyplace​ @sincerelyfan​ @theoneanna​ @aestheticsandmarvel​ @rororo06​ @castellandiangelo​ @destynelseclipsa​ @spilledinkindumpster​ @capsiclesdoll​ @puknow​ @alwayshave-faith​ @alex12948​ @lxdyred​  @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl​ @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek​ @praline357​ @trshngyn​ @avengers-r-us​ @violet-19999​ @top1bbgloak​   @manduse​   @jacalineiscomingforyou​  @mandoloriancookie​ @noname2246​

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

DO NOT STEAL, REPOST OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS  

[writerpeach]

People would normally ramp up their speed chasing their high during sex. However, I think Yujin sometimes prefers to take the slow and steady approach. Trading speed for calculated and impactful thrusts.

Instead of just one giant orgasm, she loves that you're a helpless mess, just constantly leaking cum inside her

The thigh jiggles 🤯

And don't forget we have Rei too 😳

When Yujin is done milking you dry, you'll be left with Rei who would show no mercy to your physically (and perhaps mentally) drained body. The extra cock slaps against her puffy lower lips before guiding your shaft back inside her drives you nuts.

She loves overstimulating cute guys like you 😉

Do you know that cockwarming could be extremely overstimulating too? You didn't believe it until Rei is sitting on top of you cross-legged with her feet dangling in front of your face, the slow thigh-fucking seamlessly transitions to an intense cockwarming session when your cock plunges into her without warning. Her resting bitch face staring right at you as she clenches hard on her abdomen and thigh muscles, pushing them to work overtime until they are spasming. Her toes curling inward and turned white. It's not just about the tightness but the intense wetness and body heat around you 😳

🚧If Ahn Yujin is the unyielding wrecking ball, Naoi Rei is the bulldozer working with whatever rubble gets left behind 🚧

I need a Peach fic where the OC just lowkey accepts his "death by snu snu" fate 🙈 Like your character in a video game getting so close to being revived only to get interrupted constantly but you're somehow not out of the game yet

good fucking lord

The double team, the glares, the thighs—

Yujin on the sidelines, playing with your messy load, fucking it deeper into her cunt with this giant smirk on her face—but Rei can't let your attention drift because it's her to turn to play with her favorite toy.

It's all like the end of Halo: Reach, you're just trying to hold on til the end, get that one last breath in, but the credits never come—and never do you (until Rei has heard enough begging)

[pastanest]

Jon Snow x she/her!reader

warning: brief reference to attempted SA

part one can be found here

Yours - Part Two

Tension rose between the two hot-headed siblings as they discussed the plan for their future, where such a plan would take them. Sansa was set on starting a war with Ramsay Bolton and taking back their home, saving you in the process, but having already been aged by the ways of war, Jon stood to his feet.

“I am tired of fighting. It’s all I’ve done since I left home. I’ve killed brothers of the Night’s Watch, I’ve killed wildlings, I’ve killed men that I admire, I hanged a boy, younger than Bran! I’ve fought, and I lost.” He was exhausted, in mind, body and soul.

But when Sansa stepped toward her brother and held his gaze, she knew exactly what she needed to say.

“You have not lost, because she is still waiting for you. She will believe until the day she dies that you are coming to save her, because that is who you are to her. You’ve fought, and now you must fight for her.” 

Something flickered in Jon then, a spark that only you could ignite. “I have always fought for her.”

“Then do it once more. This time, knowing she is on the other side. If we don’t take back the north, we’ll never be safe. I want you to help me, but I’ll do it myself if I have to.” Sansa raised an eyebrow, seeing the fire in her brother’s eyes and knowing that you have succeeded, as you always have, in bringing Jon Snow back to his senses.

It was only then, Sansa chose to disclose the nature of your capture. With every detail, Jon’s blood boiled in his veins. Chained by one wrist to the leg of a bed, forced to live each day and night on the castle floor, in complete darkness, save for when Ramsay Bolton decided to pay you a visit for a regular beating. That particular comment made Jon visibly flinch, fists clenching at the thought of getting his hands on the man that thought he had any right to touch you. While Sansa tried to free you, the door to the room you were trapped in was locked and she did not have time to search for the key, you would not let her, instead you had been shouting for her to go, to escape to the Wall, to Jon. 

In that moment, Jon Snow knew he was ready to beat Ramsay Bolton to death. And that was only exacerbated by the raven he decided to send to the wall, addressed to Jon, regarding his sister and younger brother, Rickon, with disgusting threats. There was no mention of you in the letter, but Sansa assured Jon this was a good thing, because it meant Ramsay did not intend to use you as a bargain, he did not think you were important enough, so he would keep you alive as his plaything. Jon did not find that as comforting as Sansa had intended. 

Following Sansa’s advice, Jon arranged a meeting with Ramsay Bolton upon gathering his forces. By no means did they have enough men to truly beat Ramsay, but Jon was certain that he alone could blaze through an army, knowing you were on the other side of it. 

Naturally, Ramsay arrived late to their meeting, leaving Jon, Sansa, and their accompanying party of Lords and Ladies from the northern houses that had rallied behind them, waiting in the clear field that surrounded Winterfell until Ramsay Bolton approached on his horse with his own display of Lords.

Smiling at Sansa on his arrival, Ramsay addressed her first, then looked to Jon, seemingly bemused by the sight of him as he greeted him with far less respect, if that is what his greeting to his wife could be deemed as. 

“Come, bastard, you don't have the men, you don't have the horses, and you don't have Winterfell - why lead those poor souls to slaughter? There’s no need for a battle, get off your horse and kneel. I am a man of mercy”

Jon smirked at him. “You’re right, there’s no need for a battle. Thousands of men dont need to die, only one of us. Let’s end this the old way - you against me.”

And Jon so wished the bastard opposite him would be foolish enough to agree. He could be the greatest fighter in the history of Westeros, and Jon would fancy his chances, for you.

Unfortunately, Ramsay laughed at that suggestion. “I keep hearing stories about you, bastard. The way people in the North talk about you, you’re the greatest swordsman who ever walked. Maybe you are that good, maybe not. I don't know if I’d beat you, but I know that my army will beat yours. I have 6,000 men, you have, what, half that? Not even?”

Jon was thoroughly enjoyed taunting such a petulant child. “Aye, you have the numbers. Will your men want to fight for you, when they hear you wouldn't fight for them?”

Ramsay pointed to Jon, laughing. “He’s good, very good. Tell me, will you let your little brother die because you’re too proud to surrender?”

It was then, Sansa spoke up. “How do we know you have him?”

And with a nod from Ramsay, one of his men threw the severed head of Rickon’s direwolf in between their respective parties.

Trying her best not to show any kind of reaction on her face, Sansa nodded. “And what of my maid?”

Ramsay shrugged. “Well, dear wife, with you gone, I will have no choice but to turn to the others at my disposal, to…serve me.” 

It took more strength than Jon Snow had ever had to conjure up for anything, to not launch himself from his horse and tackle Ramsay from his, beating him into the earth below. With everything he had, he held onto what was at stake, what Sansa had advised him would keep him safest, and held his ground, restricting his visceral response to Ramsay’s words to the slightest clench of his own horse’s reins. “I wonder, will your men want to fight for you when they find out the only women you can keep at your side are your prisoners? A man who cannot please a woman is hardly one to inspire the heart’s of men.”

Ramsay tilted his head to the side, his ego clearly pricked by the notion of being undesirable. “Do you mean to tell me, bastard, that you broke your sacred Oath as well as deserted your post?”

At that, Jon scoffed. “No man would ask such a question, but a boy would. Killing your father does not make you a man, neither does forcing yourself upon a thousand slaves.”

Ramsay composed himself, Jon only picking up on the tiniest flash of a tantrum behind his eyes. “I have heard of your righteousness, bastard. That, I suppose, is the one thing you must have received from your father, and look where it got him.”

Oh, Jon Snow knew he was going to enjoy dragging out Ramsay Bolton’s death for as long as possible. 

For the rest of the day, following the conclusion of their meeting, Jon’s mind was spinning with the threats Ramsay Bolton had made against you and your virtue. He hoped to the Gods he had not given himself away in his fists clenched the reigns of his horse, but that was the most he could do to conceal the fury that raged within him. Even during the continued discussions of the battle plan he had formed with his men, thoughts of you tugged at the back of Jon’s mind constantly. Having once again butted heads with Sansa, she began to take her leave from the tent Jon was situated in.

Turning to face him one last time, she held his gaze. “If Ramsay wins, I'm not going back there alive. Do you understand me?”

Jon’s heart sank in his chest, immediately understanding what she was insinuating. “I won't ever let him touch you, or (Y/N), again. I’ll protect you both, I promise.”

In her angered, traumatized state, Sansa seemed almost offended at such a sincere promise. “No one can protect me. No one can protect anyone.”

He dared not argue with her, but he knew that she was wrong. Jon would protect her, and you, even if it killed him. To die for someone he loved would be a better demise than his first. 

That night, Jon Snow laid in the bed of his tent and stared up at the ceiling. He knew he needed the rest, but could not quiet his mind in the wake of what the dawn would bring. A war like none he had ever faced, with you on the other side. Reaching into the shirt pocket that sat directly above his heart, Jon retrieved the folded, aged piece of parchment that was worn and faded by the countless instances of him rereading it. Huffing beside his bed, Ghost nudged the back of Jon’s hand, bringing a soft smile back to his face as he tore his gaze from the page. 

“We’ll get her back, Ghost, we have to.” He whispered, and Ghost breathed deeply in response, agreeing in his own way.

Following suit, Jon took a deep breath of his own and closed his eyes, folding the parchment back into a neat square and slotting it back into his pocket, feeling a piece of him returning as he did. He envisioned himself as the boy he once was, lying in the godswood, under the weirwood tree, with his head on your lap as you ran your fingers through his hair. If he focussed hard enough, he could almost feel your fingertips against his scalp. That was the only sensation that could bring rest to his racing mind, on the eve of war.

The next morning, the sun rose high, illuminating the field of battle as Jon rode his men to their frontline. Seeing the army that stood between himself and you, Jon began to doubt whether he really could make it to the other side. That was, until a raven flew from one side of the field to the other. Upon one of the wildlings shooting it down, Jon was handed a small scroll of parchment tied with a torn black cord, a slightly crooked sword charm hanging from it, and a strand of your hair that fell with a wind that slowed time to a stop as Jon untied it with trembling hands. Seeing red, his eyes scanned the page, the words that were written on it, and the heart that he firmly believed still resided with you dropped to the field below him.

“She screamed terribly for you when I tried to take this from her. The bastard’s common whore screamed loudest for me, in the end. But fear not, she won’t be making a sound like that again, or any other for that matter. 

I’ll let you watch her rot, if you like. 

Come and see.”

The parchment fell from Jon Snow’s shaking fists, landing on the ground atop the hair that Ramsay Bolton had ripped from your head, but the necklace stayed clenched in Jon’s fist. It couldn’t be true, he told himself, he would feel it if you were no longer there, if you were not waiting for him anymore. As hard as it hammered in his chest, his heart felt the same way it did before, that it was not truly with him. It would have returned to him, were you not there to take care of it anymore, he thought. But deep within his soul, Jon knew that his heart would stay with you long after yours had stopped beating, for his heart had been with you when it had stopped beating in his own body. He truly believed that you were what had brought him back to this life in that sense. What would be the purpose in bringing his greatest motivation for winning such a battle, leading him to the field of war and then taking you from him. It did not make sense, Jon thought, and used that to rationalize to himself that Ramsay Bolton was simply lying for the sake of distracting him. Little did Ramsay know, Jon’s mind was solely on you regardless of such a threat.

And as he unclenched his fists to tie the black cord at the back of his neck, icy gaze fixed on the form he recognised on the opposite side of the field, Jon Snow knew that he would make it through any number of men to punish the one that dared to take a single hair from your head.

The short lived hope of being able to save his younger brother, Rickon, only set Jon’s resolve further into stone. Through a sea of arrows, Jon Snow rode his horse until he was thrown from it, and then he stood. Arrows at his feet that stuck upright, having failed in harming him in a way that reassured him the Gods were on his side once more. And as he faced the army that charged towards him, a single man serving as the front line, Jon’s life flashed before his eyes. He saw your smile, and over the sound of horses and men, he heard your laugh, your call of his name. For the briefest moment, Jon swore he could see you standing at one of the windows of Winterfell in the distance, but the version of you remembered so fondly was years younger than the one that he was here to save. The emotional weight of the sword charm at his chest and your first letter to him folded in the pocket over his heart, made it difficult for him to breathe, and he knew that this was it. Nodding to himself, he unclasped the belt of his sword and unsheathed it, standing to face the wall of men that charged for him, knowing that regardless of whether Ramsay Bolton was telling the truth, you were still on the other side. If Jon Snow could not save you, he would still fight for the right to rescue what was left of you and ensure you were laid to rest in the way you deserved, with his journey’s end being at your side when this was all over. The fury with which he would fight for you was unchanged, because it was still you he was fighting for, it would always be you.

And he fought harder than he had ever fought in his life, ending more lives than he could count without any regard for the men they were, whether he had known them once. If they were standing on the path that led to you, Jon Snow did not know them anymore.

Before long, the bodies had formed a wall at his rear and a living blockade of flayed-man banners at every other side began closing in on Jon and the men that had followed him into battle. His mind raced, every step and every swing of his sword accompanied by the mantra of your name, his very reason for being. For a fraction of a second, suffocating beneath the weight of his own army, he wondered if dying for you then was the best outcome, if you truly were not waiting for him in the land of the living, it would be his one means of returning to you at long last. 

And then, the Eyrie’s horn sounded, with Sansa watching on from afar as they rode into battle for her, for you, for Winterfell. Many had told her the field of battle was no place for a woman, but Sansa would never sit back and let Jon fight for you on his own. She said she would finish this herself if she had to, and she did.

Bursting free from the trap that had been set by the enemy, with WunWun the giant on his left and his dear friend Tormund on his right, Jon Snow charged the field on foot with one deserter in his sights.

At the gates of Winterfell, WunWun took arrow after arrow, but crashed through the only barrier remaining between Jon and his home. Defeated and exhausted, the giant collapsed to his knees with a mighty yell, sharing a long glance with Jon at his side before falling forward. Wildlings rushed to surround him, protecting the giant from any further harm, and the blood soaked Snow stood before his greatest enemy.

“You suggested one-on-one combat, didnt you? I’ve reconsidered! I think that sounds like a wonderful idea.” Ramsay taunted, readying his bow.

And Jon lunged for a shield on the ground, raising it just in time to take the impact of the first arrow Ramsey fired, then the second and the third. None dared to break Jon’s stride before he reached Ramsay and slammed the shield into him, knocking him to the ground. Like a feral animal, Jon Snow jumped on him, the fury of an ancient dragon awaking from an age-old sleep burning in his veins, vision crimson with rage, knowing nothing except for your name, again and again and again, with every crunch of his fists against the red of Ramsay’s face.

It was only when Jon glanced up at Sansa that he was able to regain some composure, his chest heaving as he rose to his feet and stood over the sputtering Bolton bastard.

“You will never touch my sister again. And if you have harmed (Y/N) in the same way, if you have done her any disservice, if there is a fingerprint of yours on her, I’ll know, and I will relive the joy of your death in every dream I have for the rest of my days.” Jon Snow seethed, the flayed-man banner falling from the walls of Winterfell as its children finally returned home.

Running to his side, Ghost began licking at Jon’s palm, and Jon turned to him, crouching down and staring into the direwolf’s eyes.

“Find her, Ghost, take me to her.” He pleaded, not truly understanding how much his companion could comprehend, but knowing the second the beast took off inside the castle that Ghost understood exactly what had been asked of him.

With the spark of you reignited within him, Jon hurried after the white, blood spattered direwolf, your voice in his head calling out to him, growing more urgent with each whisper.

In the darkness of your cell, you rock yourself, your arms wrapped around your knees, attempting to tune out the noise from beyond the confinement of your cage. A large thud against the door sends a shock through your shivering form and you suck in a sharp breath, squeezing your eyes shut and focussing on the first memory you can grab at, deep in your subconscious. 

“It was only a dream, (Y/N), it’s alright.” Jon’s hushed whisper reaches you, both so much younger than you are now.

“The fire, it was so-” Your younger voice was panicked, sobs catching in your throat as Jon’s arms squeezed you.

“You are safe, I promise. I’ve got you.” 

Another thud at your prison door pulls you back to the present and you shake your head rapidly, desperate to lock yourself away in the memory of being in your best friend’s arms again, the safest place in the world that you had come to know. If you focus hard enough, you can almost feel them around you. Almost hear his soft voice in your ears, comforting you, lulling you back to sleep. 

A final thud against the door sends burning light into the room and you squeeze your eyes shut harder, shaking your head and burying your face in your knees.

“It’ll pass, it’ll pass, it’ll pass.” You whimper to yourself, over and over again in an attempt to reassure yourself.

Large hands on your shoulders cause you to snap your head up, eyes wide and wild with fear and anger, but no tears blur them, you refuse to give him the satisfaction.

“LET GO OF ME, GET AWAY!” You scream, trying to back away from him, but already having your back to the wall beside the leg of the bed that you are chained to.

The hands leave your shoulders and raise in surrender, either side of a blurry, bloody face that your terrified eyes can’t yet focus on. 

“(Y/N), (Y/N), it’s me, look at me, it’s your Jon.” A familiar voice reaches your ears, and your wild mind halts to a sudden stop, the fog clearing and allowing you to see the face before you.

Jon watches your rigid, frightened expression falter, before it softens completely, his fractured heart at seeing you so afraid, healing at the recognition now in your eyes.

Very slowly, he takes ahold of your hands and brings them to his blood spattered face, gently holding them there and staring into your eyes.

“It’s your Jon, it’ll always be your Jon.” He tells you, relief flooding through him at being able to say such a thing to you, alive and safe again. 

And after everything, after the countless days and nights spent surviving in darkness, locking yourself away in memories to avoid being mentally present in the regular acts of torture you were forced to endure, only when holding Jon Snow’s face in your hands and knowing you are truly safe, do you finally let the tears you’ve been burying fill your eyes. 

Without sparing a second, Jon shuffles forwards and pulls you onto his lap, wrapping his arms around you and softly shushing you as you sob into his chest. Covering your ears to shield them, not wanting to scare you, Jon yells out for someone, a ginger haired wildling running into the room with wide eyes at the sight of his friend, reunited with the love he had only heard him mention in moments when it wasn’t too painful for him to do so. With a nod, Tormund leaves the room and passes the order given to him by Jon amongst the wildlings, and between them they turn Winterfell on its head in search of the key for your chain. 

For the time it takes them to find it, you stay safely nestled in Jon’s arms, cries slowing to a stop, allowing you to listen to his heartbeat, a sound that you had not realized just how much you had missed. 

“D-Did…” You sigh, humiliated by your loss of ability to talk after being silent or screaming in an act of survival for so long. Jon squeezes your form gently in his arms, encouraging you to try again, he’ll wait, he’ll wait forever if he has to. Taking a deep breath, you clear your throat.

“Did you kill him?”

Jon takes a moment to reply. “Very nearly. Had Sansa not stopped me, I think I would have broken every knuckle I’ve got before I could have stopped myself.” He pauses. “The two of you should decide what to do with him, but you don’t need to worry about that now.”

Removing his arms from you briefly, Jon moves his hands to the back of his neck to untie the necklace. At the loss of contact, you lift your head from his chest to meet his eyes, and upon him opening his hand out to show you the necklace that had been so cruelly taken from you, you gasp, holding the base of your neck where it had previously resided. Turning away from Jon, he smiles softly and moves the necklace to your front, carefully tying it at the back of your neck. Feeling it back in place, you breathe deeply and settle back into Jon’s arms.

“That was all he took from me, you know.” 

Jon frowns. “What do you mean?”

“He tried to take more, but I bit him through his trousers, so he has been…out of commission, shall we say, ever since.” The subtle tone in your voice is one Jon is so certain he recognises as smug.

Kissing your temple, he can’t wipe the smile from his face. “I am sorry that you had to do such a thing, but I am so proud of you, all the same.”

Sansa enters the room then, Ghost at her side and key in hand. She gasps at the sight of you, running to you and falling to her knees. Taking ahold of your hand and passing the key to Jon, she closes her eyes in a pained blink.

“I am so, so sorry that I left you here, (Y/N). Can you ever forgive me?” Her eyes open then, searching yours and seeing only a smile on your face.

Freeing your other wrist from the chain it had been confined in, you twist and stretch it before placing your other hand over hers.

“There’s nothing to apologize for and nothing to forgive.”

Sansa shares a look with Jon, both of them with knowing smiles, as those had been his very words when Sansa had been apologizing for her treatment of him as a child when she had not long arrived at the Wall.

“You really are the best of us, (Y/N).” Sansa chuckles in disbelief. “It’s about time we got you cleaned up and out of those rags, too. I’m sure Jon will see to that, and I’ll get a room ready for the two of you.” With a teasing smile, she rises to her feet and all but floats out of the room, leaving you and Jon with flushed faces.

Busying yourself with greeting Ghost and rubbing behind his ears, you try your hardest to distract yourself from the butterflies that have burst to life in your stomach after so many years of dormancy. 

Clearing his throat, Jon taps your leg. “She’s right, y’know, we’d best get you cleaned up. There’s someone I’d like you to meet, when you feel up to it.”

Raising an eyebrow at him, you shakily bring yourself to stand, Jon’s hands holding your waist to keep you steady. “Who?”

At that, Jon Snow gives you the first dazzling smile that you have seen in Gods only know how long. “All in good time, my Lady.”

In your attempts to take your first steps on wobbling legs, Jon swallows the lump that forms in his throat, seeing the strong person that he adores more than any other, reduced to such physical weakness. If his hands were not on your waist, they would be returning to Ramsay’s face in several more punches for good measure.

Sensing your frustration and embarrassment at your own lack of mobility, Jon doesn’t hesitate to swing you up into his arms, carrying you like the bride he had always wished was his. 

“I take it I don’t have to ask you to retract the bedding ceremony from our marriage at this time?” You tease in reference to the thought that the two of you share in being carried through the castle in such a way, bringing a laugh from Jon that he feels he hasn’t heard from himself in as long as you have.

“Even in more ideal circumstances, I’d never let that happen. Wouldn’t be right to break a man’s jaw on our wedding night.” He says, eyes never leading yours as he traverses the winding staircases of the castle he has not ventured since he was a boy, but are etched in his memory regardless.

Giggling and patting his chest, you shake your heard bashfully. “Good to know the Night’s Watch didn’t remove your chivalry, Lord Jon.” You gasp. “Gods! That really is your title now, as Lord Commander, isn’t it?”

Having not had a smile on his face for this length of time in many years, Jon feels an ache forming in the corners of his mouth, but doesn’t care at all. “Aye, I was, for a time, but my watch has ended.”

It’s then, a confused frown that Jon remembers well returns to your face, years older than he had last seen it, but no less endearing to him. “But...your watch only ends as a dead man?”

Jon nods as he descends the final staircase and kicks an all too familiar door open. “It’s a long story, one for another time.”

You want to question him further, but when your peripheral vision registers where Jon has carried you, you turn your head to look around, your jaw dropping.

Though the room is dark, you recognise every corner enshrouded in the shadows. The large and ancient communal bath that sits atop the hot spring that is Winterfell’s source of heated water, that none use in favor of their own personal baths, but had been your preferred method of cleanliness ever since you and Jon had discovered the dark and “secret” room when you were children. Placing you back on your feet gently, one of his hands on your waist and the other cradling your elbow to steady you, Jon’s gaze stays locked on your expression at his side, remembering this place with as much fondness as you do. 

“This is about to be a bath for the ages. I will stay in this water for a week, at least, ‘til I am but a shriveled prune and you will have no choice but to drag me out against my will.” You tell him, tone so serious and words so humorous they pull another hearty laugh from Jon.

“We’d best get that week-long-bath started, then. I shan’t keep you and your heart’s true desire apart any longer.” He plays along, making you smile as you step in front of him, nodding to yourself.

Taking his cue, Jon lets go of you and turns around, expecting to give you the privacy to strip free of the filthy rags you have been kept in and stepping into the water to conceal yourself, until he hears you hiss in pain.

“Jon, I…I don’t intend to make you uncomfortable, but I do not think I can take this off without help.” You admit, embarrassed for too many reasons to list. 

“It would cause me no discomfort at all, but are you certain you are comfortable with me…assisting you?” Jon asks in a soft voice, careful with his choice of words.

“Of course. You could never make me uncomfortable, Jon.” You respond without delay.

Needing no further instruction, Jon Snow takes a deep breath and turns around. With your back to him, you raise your arms and wait for trembling hands to lift the hem of your dress - if you could call a ripped potato sack such a thing - up and over your head. Dropping the fabric to the floor, Jon immediately turns around again, face burning.

“Thank you.” Your voice is meak, filled with shame over your true love seeing you bare for the first time, filthy, bloody and bruised.

All the while, Jon Snow is trying to remember how to breathe while the mental image of your naked form imprints itself into his flailing mind. The dirt had not even crossed his mind. Your injuries, of course, brought him sadness and anger, but the triumphant emotion was one he is not willing to admit, even to himself.

Taking slow and careful steps, you reach the water’s edge and lower yourself to sit on it, slipping your legs into the water and breathing a sigh of relief as the heat envelopes you immediately, inviting you in until your body is completely submerged and at peace. Every ache within your beaten body is soothed and you are quick to scrub the dirt from yourself, to be clean of your days caged and the memories that clung to your skin like the dried blood of your wounds. 

Hearing the gentle slosh of the water, Jon settles as he realizes you are no longer standing behind him. Standing up straight, he fixes his gaze on the closed door and decides that he will keep watch. As you raise your head from the water, you see his silhouette standing at the door and smile, unable to withdraw the connection your mind makes between this picture and the one you saw so many times as a girl, of a much younger Jon Snow standing as he is now, shorter then, but just as determined to keep watch while you were vulnerable in the water. 

“Y’know, you could do with a wash, yourself.” You note aloud.

Jon chuckles airily. “Aye, you’re probably right.”

Smirking in advance of your devious plan to make Jon blush again, you glide over to the edge of the water and rest your arms on the cold stone. “Join me then.”

And you watch in absolute glee as Jon’s form turns rigid at your suggestion. He does not answer.

“Jon?” You call in a singsong voice.

He clears his throat. “Hm?”

“As grotesque as my body is in its current state, I did not imagine you would ever reject an offer to join me?” You tease, only half joking.

Jon’s reaction is visceral. In a second, he is standing over you with a harsh frown, having had no thought in the effect the sight of you below him in such a way would have on him, too focussed on his emotional response to the ridiculousness in what you had said.

“I cannot even bring myself to say such a word in association to you, the thought alone would be criminal. Do not allow yourself to think that I could see you as anything less than the most beautiful person to ever exist, as you have always been and will always be to me.” 

You have never heard Jon so serious in all your life. His words and the sincerity with which they are spoken renders you speechless for a moment as you stare up at him. 

“Won’t you let me share such a view, of you, then?” You ask, voice barely above a whisper.

And after a moment’s eternity of silence, as though practicing some ancient dance, the two of you step apart from each other and turn your backs, neither of you able to face the tension a moment longer.

The sound of Jon’s armor hitting the stone floor sends goosebumps erupting across the tops of your shoulders that peak above the water, your heartbeats ringing in your ears almost in unison. Even when you hear the splash of his body entering the water, you do not dare turn to face him. As quickly as he can, he fully submerges himself in the water and scrubs the blood and dirt from a battle won. Then, Jon Snow stands, slowly wading through the water until he stands behind you. It is your turn to take a deep breath as you turn to face him, your eyes drinking in the sight of his clean face, the scars on his chest sitting distorted beneath the water, and to take his mind away from the pain of what you assume are his battlescars, your hands lift from the water to trace the line of his beard with an admiring smile. 

“I always knew you’d suit a beard.” You compliment him, easing his nerves as he laughs, gracing you with another charming smile.

Your hands continue their journey around the back of his neck, feeling the wet, inky curls of his hair there and sighing deeply.

“Truly, you have the best hair in the seven kingdoms.”

And Jon laughs the hardest he has in longer than he can remember, throwing his head back and shaking it as though emphasizing the hair that you have never failed to shower in praise, making you laugh with him.

Taking ahold of your hands at the back of his neck, Jon brings them to his lips and places feathery light kisses against your knuckles, holding your gaze. 

“I have missed you more than words can say.” He whispers. 

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Is that your excuse for not writing me any, then?”

Jon sighs, closing his eyes and hanging his head in shame. “I am so sorry.”

Chuckling, you lift his chin with your finger until you can see into his eyes again. “Considering you won a battle for me today, I think I can forgive you for not having time to read my letters.”

Jon smiles at you gratefully. “I read them all before coming to get you, I swear it.”

“And I believe you, as I always have. I believed you’d read them, I believed you would rescue me, and both rang true in the end. It seems my faith is safe.” You beam up at him.

“Your faith in what?” He questions.

“My Jon.” You tell him, like it’s the most obvious answer in the world, and the moment he hears it, he agrees that it is. 

Unable to resist you a moment longer, Jon’s arms wrap around your waist and pull your body flush against his, lips falling on yours in a kiss softer than a summer breeze. Briefly, he falters, wondering if perhaps he has acted on his instincts far too soon, but then he feels your fingers running through his curls, pulling him into a deeper kiss than he had assumed you would be ready for, but you have been waiting far too long for this. 

Only when the two of you recall the human need to breathe do you have the strength to pull away from each other. But Jon’s lips chase after you, leaving a trail of kisses from the corners of your mouth to your chin, your cheeks, your temples, your neck, with pleading whispers in between.

“Will you be mine, my wife- my queen, should the north call for a king? I cannot lose you again, I cannot deny myself the dream of us anymore.”

And in equally flustered, desperate whispers, you answer. “Yes to all and yes to any. I have always been yours, Jon.”

For a time, it feels like the two of you are the only people in existence, the world having stopped around you, the Gods having paused time to allow you to hold each other for your own eternity. It is not the time for love beyond a passionate kiss, both of your bodies need to heal and rest after the battles you have fought and won, together, to get back to each other. To simply hold each other, after so many years apart, is the greatest joy either of you can ask for.

But, time cannot be slowed forever. Soon enough, there is a knock at the door of the bath and in a wild panic that has you in fits of giggles, Jon scrambles from the water and grabs his armor, holding it over himself to answer the door to the young squire that has kindly delivered fresh clothes and towels for the two of you to dry yourselves with. Nodding and thanking the squire, Jon takes the pile from him and closes the door, turning back to face you with a sheepish expression and only seeing the humor in it when he finds you wheezing against the side of the bath.

Once dry and dressed, the two of you make your way to the door, pinky fingers intertwined between you out of habit. Until your boot steps on something that does not sound like the stone floor and you frown, bending down to pick up a folded piece of parchment, worn at the edges and ink fading in the handwriting that you recognise to be your own as you unfold it. Turning to face Jon, you meet his gaze and know you do not need to say anything as you fold the parchment back into the neat square in which you had found it and slot it the pocket of his new,  clean shirt. Holding your hand over it, you lean up to kiss his cheek and, intertwining your pinky fingers again, you ascend the stairs together and step out into the courtyard of Winterfell. There, your eyes immediately lock onto the sight of the immense form of the hunched over giant, sitting against one of the stone walls as some wildlings watch over him. The child within you gasps, your hands covering your mouth in delight as you look between Jon and the giant frantically.

Laughing endearingly at you, Jon gestures to the giant and walks you over to him. “(Y/N), I’d like you to meet Wun Wun.”

Unable to tear your gaze from the giant, you approach him slowly. “Hello, Wun Wun, it’s…it’s been a dream of mine to meet someone like you, ever since I was a little girl.” Looking over him and his injuries, tears immediately sting your eyes. “I am so sorry that you got hurt, are you in pain? I can fetch you some milk of the poppy, if you like? Or fix up some stew for you?”

Wun Wun watches you with a frown that seems to be etched into his features, curious of you. Taking a few seconds, the giant processes what you have said, looks to Jon and then back to you.

“Snow princess.” His voice is like a tumbling boulder, thunderous and without the human pitch-difference that is associated with asking a question, but Jon understands what he is asking.

“(Y/N) would be my queen.” Jon clarifies, and Wun Wun blinks slowly.

“Snow Queen.” He attempts to maneuver his large form, but roars in protest at his own injuries.

Raising your arms, you attempt to stop him. “Please, don’t hurt yourself further!”

Jon remembers how Wun Wun had acted towards the Princess Shireen and takes a step forward. “You don’t need to kneel to us, Wun Wun, you are our friend, our equal. You bow to no-one, not anymore.”

Your eyes widen in realization of what the giant had been trying to do as he slumps back down with a large thud against the ground. 

Breathing deeply, Wun Wun looks at you. “Snow Queen.” He looks at Jon. “Snow.” Then lifts an arm and loosely gestures to both of you. “Friend.”

Jon scoffs playfully. “So (Y/N) is Queen, but I am just Snow?”

You grin at the giant, who acknowledges your expression with a thunderous laugh that is so loud it would hurt your ears, were you not enamored by the creature it comes from. 

“If she is not my queen, who’s queen is she?” Jon asks, bemused and hoping to catch out the giant, who considers the question for only a second before responding.

“Wun. Weg. Wun Dar Wun’s.” And despite how long it takes the giant to speak his full name, the impact of his own punchline hits just as hard, sending you into another wheezing fit of laughter while Jon shakes his head in disbelief. 

“Well, it seems both Wun Wun and I are yours, now.” Jon throws up his hands in dramatic surrender, causing you to laugh harder, the giant smiling at you fondly and Jon watching you with an adoring gaze, so relieved to see you relaxed and safe enough to laugh again.

When Jon asks you if you feel ready to eat, you nod, but request that you eat together, with Wun Wun, to ensure he eats and gains some energy to help his body heal, too. Naturally, Jon does not deny you of the endearing request and the two of you return to the giant with your own bowls of fresh stew and an extra large one for your new best friend. The three of you sit and talk, taking time to listen to Wun Wun’s responses, which take a lot longer than general conversations with a human would, but you don’t mind one bit. With every word he speaks, you are utterly mesmerized, having already pinned the creature as every bit as incredible as the giants from your favorite tales as a child. 

Though it is not late in the evening by the time you finish your supper, you are too exhausted from the events of the day to stay awake much longer. Having not walked around for any length of time in so long, your limbs are too weak to stand on your own again, Jon having to help you back to your feet with an arm around your waist.

Waving to Wun Wun, you give him a tired smile. 

“Goodnight Wun Weg Wun Dar Wun, I wish you pleasant dreams.” 

The giant gives you a smile that Jon has not seen him give anyone else. “Friend. Sleep good.”

With that, Jon begins leading you back into the warmth of the castle, walking you along the path to what had been his bedroom as a boy, without thinking of what the room could be now, his direwolf trailing behind the two of you. Thankfully, it seems that Sansa was thoughtful in the room she requested be prepared for you all, as Jon’s old bedroom door is open, displaying the candlelit room and the freshly made bed. The two of you share a chuckle in disbelief as you enter the room, Ghost instantly finding a patch of rug on the ground to curl up on and Jon walking you over to the bed to sit down on it before he leaves you to close the door and draw the curtains. 

Falling against the mattress, you groan. 

“I think this ordeal has aged me 20 years and perhaps it is time we retire. I could finally let Sansa teach me to sew and you could herd sheep with Ghost, what do you think?” 

At the mention of his name and in confusion at your suggestion, Ghost lifts and tilts his head to the side.

Jon laughs as he joins you, landing on his back beside you, the mattress bouncing slightly beneath you. “I think that sounds like a wonderful plan. Only, I’m afraid, my Lady, there is another war to be fought.”

You turn your head to face him, seeing the simultaneous amusement and seriousness playing in his eyes. “Surely, you jest. Against who?”

Jon sighs. “An ever growing army of the dead, unfortunately.”

Throwing your arms up and against the mattress above your head in a dramatic display of defeat, you scoff. “But of course! Winter is coming, I should have known.”

Jon smiles at you, having never felt so at ease when discussing the threat that looms over the entire world as he knows it and marveling at the wonder that is you. “Aye, but for now-” He stands to his feet, swings you up in his arms, kicks the bedcover from the mattress and lays you down on the sheet. “-we are free to rest.”

Shuffling to remove your boots and watching as Jon removes his to nudge them under the bed, you use the last of your strength to move over and allow space for him to slide in beside you. 

Turning to face each other, you snuggle beneath the bedcovers and share a smile, like the giddy teenagers that had been lost in your memories until now. 

“When is the wedding due, then, dear almost-husband?” You ask, amused but genuinely curious as to when the two of you will have the chance to arrange such an event.

“Whenever you like, dear almost-lady-wife.” Jon laughs airily, taking hold of your hands beneath the covers and staring into your eyes. “How do you feel?”

You take a deep breath, knowing that the time to set aside your humor would come soon enough. “It is…difficult to put into words. Deliriously happy to be with you and Sansa, to have our home back and to be safe again, of course, but there is still a dark cloud that looms over me and I cannot ignore it. At any moment, I feel as though the rain could start to pour and I could drown in it, lose myself to the fear. In truth, the thought of trying to sleep is terrifying.” 

Jon nods slowly, understanding you completely, as he always has. “However dark that cloud gets, however hard the rain falls and however scared you are to sleep, I will be here. To show you the sun again, shield you from the rain and guard you through your dreams, I will be right here, and I will never leave you again. I swear it, by the old Gods and the new.”

Tears threaten to blur the perfect vision of the candlelit Jon Snow, but you are quick to blink them away, removing your hands from his to run your fingers through his hair and pull him closer, until his forehead rests against yours. “And in return, I swear to protect you from whatever horrid memories plague you from the time when we have been apart, to hold you through them and remind you that no matter what, you are a good man, the best man, and the man that I love more than anything.”

Closing his eyes, Jon Snow takes a deep breath, and you do the same, sharing the silence and darkness in a peace that neither of you ever thought you would find again. 

“Can it be that this night, I’ll dream of you and wake to find you here?” You whisper.

Jon sniffles, having not let his relief and love for you truly overwhelm him until now. “Aye, this night and every night thereafter.” 

Gently tracing the line of his jaw with your thumb, you lean forward to close the space between your lips. “To be yours is to live nothing but a dream, Jon Snow.”

And for the second time since reconnecting to the rest of his soul, Jon Snow loses himself to you, falling into you and cradling every part of you with such care, having craved every second of these moments with you that he never thought he could have beyond the land of dreams. The two of you had lived separate lives for long enough, the Gods had no choice but to force you back to each other in an act of fate that defied everything Jon thought he could believe in, except for you. Every foe he fought, every task he took on, his first thought would be that in some distant way, he would be saving you from something, because he would be doing so from the frontline of your heart. To be yours was the only victory he truly felt. 

——————

taglist: @otteropera @neymarjrrwife @oliviabelova @nyotamalfoy

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Dear author, if you are taking requests can I please get you an extremely rough and wild nsfw with jealous possessive Daemon x fem reader, where he makes her ride it into oblivion (add whatever kink you see fit) please?

Here you go, my friend. I hope this pleases you.

Warnings: Mention of injury, jealous and possessive behaviour, choking, spitting, smut. Word count: ~1100

Daemon’s mood is foul. His temper flares the moment he sees her place her favour onto the lance of that Lannister cunt. While their coupling isn’t public knowledge, she should know better than to entertain the attention of other men, lesser men.

The urge to jump the tilt and storm his way into the ladies court in order to seize her and remind her of who she belongs to is almost overwhelming. He knows he cannot though, so instead sets his sights keenly on his opponent as he sits atop his horse at the opposite end of the tiltyard. The red and gold of the Lannister caparison serves only to further his irritation. The sight of her wreath of flowers dangling from the base of the other man’s lance spurs him into action as he urges his horse to charge forward.

He notices the Lannister swing his lance slightly off target as he canters to meet him, an indication that he is experiencing difficulties and does not want to be hit. Daemon ignores this, striking him square in the breast plate with the tip of his weapon and causing him to fall from his horse with a sickening thud.

The horse master rushes towards the counter tilt. “He requested a mercy pass, Your Highness!”

Daemon lifts his helmet, watching with a smirk as the ground crew rally to help the Lannister Lord to his feet. “Did he now? How careless of me.”

He is badly winded and it is determined that his arret and grapper were not properly attached. The resulting blow from Daemon has likely broken his ribs and he will be unable to continue with the tourney.

Daemon dismounts from his horse with smug satisfaction and strides away from the tiltyard, but not before shooting her a pointed glare over his shoulder. The flicker of fearful recognition that crosses her face is all he needs to know she understands exactly what’s required of her. Don't keep me waiting.

He is stripped of his garniture and reclining in his quarters in his undershirt and breeches when he hears the timid knock at his chamber door.

“Come in.” He instructs flatly.

She enters, head bowed, a look of shy apprehension crosses her features. He feels a swell of pride at her obedience, she’d come just as soon as she could, just like he wanted. Such a shame he’s going to have to punish her for her brazen display at the tourney.

She stands before him, her hands clasped nervously in front of her, waiting for him to speak. He lets her linger in silence for a few moments, enjoying watching her squirm with discomfort. When she finally dares to look up and meet his eye he speaks.

“Have you grown tired of our arrangement?” He asks coldly.

“N-no!” She stammers, stepping forward, her eyes pleading.

He holds up a hand to stop her and she freezes in place, her mouth opening and closing as she struggles to articulate what it is that she wants to say.

“Have you forgotten who it is you belong to?” His gaze is piercing as he glares at her from where he is seated.

“Of course I haven’t.” Her voice is meek and apologetic.

“Then tell me, little one, why the fuck you thought it was acceptable to give your favour to that Lannister cunt?!” His voice raises in anger as he interrogates her, his grip on the arms of the chair causing his knuckles to turn white.

Her lip trembles and for a moment he is sure she will cry, until her jaw sets in bratty defiance. “I couldn’t very well say no, could I?!” She snaps back, face hot with her own fury. “What would you have me do instead? You insist upon keeping me a secret!”

Incensed with rage he reaches forward, grabbing her forcefully by the wrist and pulling her into his lap. “Don’t you ever talk back to me, fucking brat!”

She squeals as he manhandles her to straddle him, forcing her skirts above her hips and tearing away the gusset of her smallclothes, before unlacing his breeches.

“You need a reminder of who it is you answer to.” He threatens.

His hand moves between her legs and she whimpers, bucking against him. He hums appreciatively at how slick with arousal she is already. Wanton slut.

He pulls his hand away, spitting into his palm and then spreading it through her folds and over his cock. Lining himself up with her entrance, he thrusts upwards, pulling her harshly downward with a steadying hand on her hip.

The stretch feels impossibly tight around him and he groans at the sudden warmth and wetness, delighting in the way she gasps and clutches desperately at his shoulders.

“Not so eager to answer back now you’re stuffed full of my cock, are you?” He snarls, his grip on her hip tightens, using it to aid his movements up into her. His other hand moves to wrap around her throat, squeezing at the sides. “Look at me.”

Her eyes are wide, her face reddening from the restricted blood flow as she whimpers at the brutal pace he has set.

“You are mine, do you understand? Mine.” His fingertips press deeper into the flesh of her neck.

She does her best to nod, clenching around him as he continues to drive up into her over and over.

“Say it.” He hisses, brow furrowing with exertion, stones aching at the way she convulses with each movement.

“I-I am yours.” She stutters breathlessly.

“And could that Lannister twat fuck you like this?” He punctuates his question by tugging her harder and faster against him.

“Just you, only you…” The words tumble from her lips like a chant as her eyes grow glassy.

“Don’t look away.” Daemon orders in a husky whisper.

The only sounds in the room are their combined pants and the slap of flesh on flesh, until finally the heat of his climax licks along his spine and through his balls, he pulls her flush against him as he empties himself inside of her.

She collapses against him and he holds her to his chest as he recovers, stroking his hands softly up and down her back.

“You know,” He says, after a few minutes pass by in silence, “We needn’t keep this a secret forever. I could make you my wife.”

He feels her smile against the scarred flesh of his neck. “Are you saying you love me, Daemon Targaryen?”

He chuckles, delivering a playful swat to her backside. “Don’t push your luck.”

[sashi-ya]

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟐𝟑 DAY 18: CUMDUMP Kuchiki Byakuya 𝘹 𝘍! 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

Requested by: anon ➡ day 18 cumdump with byakuya or shunsui? 👀 just being used as their personal stress relief toy 😩💚 tw: mdni. stablished relationship. pretty cute and romantic. stress relief. cumdump duh. oral (I am convinced Byakuya has one of the best oral skills in all seireitei) wc: 1.2K 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

“I won’t let a man use my body for free, nor be his cumdump for that matter” that’s what you always said until you met him.

Is not easy to be a captain from the Gotei 13, nor a noble where every responsibility relays on your back. He has to be serious all the time, or at least that was what they made him to believe. He has to fulfil the duties of the Kuchiki clan head skilfully and honourably, and some days there are people who won’t cooperate with him to do so.

During those days, in which stress is too high and he can barely stand not using Senbonzakura to slide some heads off, he comes back home with a single idea in mind: fuck her, as much as he pleases. And fill her up so much she can barely walk without messing the floor with his own seed.

“(Name), I’m home” he announces, taking his kenseikan off. That can only mean one thing; since wearing it represents the noble and taciturn aspect of himself, the moment the Kuchiki take them out they are allowed to be free…

Really free…

You run to him, happily knowing he is home. “Byakuya-sama you are ho….-“ you chime, stopping on your feet, watching his silky hair fall freely over his shoulders with no silver garnishment holding it up.

Byakuya smirks, a little slight curve that garnishes the right corner of his lips. You know this man has enough energy to last all night, and exactly the inverse amount of patience.

You widen your eyes, and blink quickly after. Mentally preparing yourself from what’s about to come, you begin to run through the hall of the Kuchiki manor.

“Hell no, come here” he murmurs, running after you. He could use flash step, but he won’t. Byakuya has slowly learned to have fun, to smile and play whenever he is alone with you. Because you have become his safe place, no matter what.

“No, oh lord no!” you cry, laughing as he finally catches you by your waist. “My guts! Have mercy on me, Kuchiki-sama!” you joke, while he moves your hair aside to bite -with anything but delicacy- your neck.

Byakuya pushes you to the bed; the big mattress in which both sleep every night. He is a man of few words, but those aren’t needed… you can read his eyes better than anyone else.

He leaves Senbonzakura over the bedside table, and then proceeds to take his haori off. He might be horny and hard, but his Zanpakuto and Captain distinctive deserves utmost respect anytime.  

Once the two of his most important belongings are safely resting aside, Byakuya loosens up the white himo to take the black kosode off and then the white shitagi. All of that ends up on the floor, he has so many pairs he doesn’t care.

His beautiful pure white skin shines before your eyes, the prominent collar bones you love, the tight skin of his stomach, the toned arms, everything, absolutely everything from him.

“Byakuya-sama…” you purr, even if you wish you didn’t speak you can’t help it.

“Mh??” he asks, while softly slapping your knees to spread your legs. You are -conveniently- wearing the fine silk nightgown he bought you with an equally fine lingerie underneath.

He comes in between your legs, extending his hands to you. You are the only one allowed to take his mitt gloves off. And you do, with utmost care, leaving them right next to you like sacred pieces of him.

“Very well, now let’s take this off… shall we?” he utters, as his mandible muscles tenses and his fingers skillfully peel the thong off your body.

With the lace strap still hanging from one of your ankles, he lifts your legs up. He couldn’t wait when he saw your juicy temptation. A fruit he is willing to try and delightfully eat out.

Your shins rest on his shoulders, his right hand on the small of your back to push you even high. His mouth reaches your core so perfectly, tasting the first drops of his favourite elixir.

You contort as the tip of Byakuya’s tongue reaches for your entrance. He devours you, drinking every little hint of femininity melting off you.

With a delicate hand, he presses down your lower belly, making your muscles to spasm harder and the pleasure higher.

Your nails carve marks on the silk sheets, gripping tightly to them with your head thrown back and an expression of pure bliss in your face. The sweet little whimpers abandoning your lips, motivate your long-haired lover to keep going, until he can easily break you in a thousand parts.

“You are so, always, absolutely… delicious…” Byakuya grunts, with his lips still muffled by your anatomy. Your eyes fix on his deep cerulean ones, and there is no need to tell him how much you want him inside you right now…

He immediately puts you down, dominantly, fast, desperately. His hakama feels tight around his crotch, he is about to burst, and it is almost painful to keep on waiting.

You hang there for him to finally untie the front and back himo. And as he does, the black fabrics fall to reveal his erection.

Hungry, like a beast, he is preparing to attack. That delicate, serious noble façade is left aside the moment his hair falls freely and there is no one else but you looking at him.

His nudity, a work of art that is meant to be praised, tops you. There aren’t many words that can express what you feel inside your own inner world. How every skyscraper crumble and turn to dust, how the walls built around fall to let him take over… for his soul to bound and extent it to vast fields of sakura flowers.

Byakuya pants in desire before impaling you with hard delight, his back goes up and down, his sharp sight disarms you, his pale lips slightly separate, and his straight hair frame his angelical face.

You receive him deep inside, pushing even further and curling your back. A mute moan escapes your mouth as you lose the power to speak and the ability to breathe. Nails that were grasping on the sheets are now being carved on his back, and your muffled pants are being inhaled by Byakuya’s mouth.

He has no mercy, just as when he fights, with his hips’ thrusts. It makes the muscles of your inner thighs to spasm, to tremble.

And soon, in between kisses and the sound of wet slaps of your skins, climax reaches for you and him. Like a hurricane, like a summer storm… impetuous, strong and unstoppable.

You bite his lower lip, pulling and smirking as you whine, expecting your womb to be filled by his sweet warm milk.

Byakuya sighs louder and smiles while looking you right in the eye. “Are you ready my sweet beautiful cum dump?” he growls.

“Y-yes… fill me so up to the brim, Byakuya-sama~” “As you wish…”

You aren’t sure if it’s on the genes or it is because he is strong, but that night, there were more than three times in which he was able to release mostly all his stress. And oh, love… you felt like bursting happy to be the official cum dump wife of the Kuchiki clan head ~

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[fxckmiup]

𝐀𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐒 - 𝟎𝟏 || 𝐀𝐳𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐥 𝐱 𝐎𝐂

{gif not mine}

♡ 𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟 | ♤ 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭 | ♞ 𝐇𝐮𝐫𝐭/𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭 | ☆ 𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭 {𝟏𝟖+} | ♛ 𝐆𝐨𝐫𝐞 {𝟏𝟖+} 

MINORS DNI

Series Masterlist || ACOTAR'S Navigation

Disclaimers / Trigger Warnings

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

 Arya laughs loudly as she chases her older brother down the hall of their townhouse, "I'm coming to get you!" Her wings flap a little making her slightly bump into the wall. "You'll never catch me Arya!" giggles a teenager Rhysand.

Arya scrunches her face in concentration with the tip of her tongue out on the corner of her lip, her eyes zeros in on the center of her brother's back before she flaps as hard as her 4-year-old wings can. A few more inches and I can tackle him.

Rhysand continues to jog while laughing until he realizes the sudden quietness behind him, worried that her sister accidentally winnowed out, he turns around to check only for the wind to get knocked out of him as his little sister tackles him onto the floor.

"I got you, I got you, I got you!" Arya giggles while Rhys tries to catch his breath with an amused smirk.

"What did I say about running and flying indoors?" their mom scolds as she stands at the end of the hallway with her hands on her hips. Though, you can see the smile threatening to take over her face. Vera's favourite sight is seeing her children just be children, something she was ripped off of at such a young age and now that her oldest is soon to be nine years old, she knows his time as a child will soon be limited, if there was free time to be given to him at all.

As soon as Rhysand turns nine, the High Lord of Night, his father will be sending him off to Windhaven for Illyrian training, therefore Vera savours these moments when she watches Rhys hold his little sister instead of holding a sword. The night heir was supposed to start his training at the ripe age of eight but Vera had begged her mate to give him a year more to be a child before sending him off to train.

"I'm sorry momma, it's raining outside and Rhy's and I had a lot of energy to burn out," Arya pouts up at her mother while rolling off of her brother and laying beside him on the floor.

"Oh is that so little one?" Vera smirks as she slowly walks over to the two and before they know it she attacks their sides making her smile widely as the two erupt in laughter.

"Wait- no!" Rhysand laughs as Arya tries to wiggle away. "How's this for burning energy?" Vera laughs before showing mercy and letting them breathe.

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

Arya sips her cup of tea before placing it on the window ledge as she finishes the agreed amount of history she has to read for the day.

"I would rather go flying than read all these history books every day, I finished school years ago but I'm stuck reading to catch up on politics that happened thousands of years ago. I would take training over this momma," Arya whines as she finishes the last chapter for the day.

Vera, ever the graceful beautiful Illyrian female, sends her daughter a teasing smile, "I'm sorry little one, just be glad you were able to compromise with your father. Learn history for a few hours and then you can train in fighting and flying. You know he wouldn't have allowed the two to happen to his daughter unless he can exchange something for it."

Arya sighed as she stood up and walked to her mother who was working on a beautiful dress, "I don't even know why he's making me learn all the political ins and outs when Rhy's is the heir to the crown."

Vera's spine immediately relaxes under her daughter's soft caresses on her back. "Can you trust your brother to run the night court all on his own one day? He can barely organize his room as it is, Do you think he can organize correspondences on his table in the future?" Vera teases as she ties her last stitch on the dress.

"I'm sure Mor would love to do that," Arya chuckles before carefully lifting the dress her mother was working on off her mother's lap. "This is beautiful," the princess of night admires.

"Rhysand's future wife is lucky and she better appreciate every one of these or else I'm telling Rhy's she's not the one and I don't care if they even end up as mates," Arya comments as she hangs her mother's newest creation with the rest of the dresses she finished recently.

"Oh speaking of your brother's future wife, I need you to go to the weaver sometime this week when your brother gets here," Vera states making Arya scrunch her nose in confusion.

"Why is that?" Vera only smiles as she cleans her supplies around the room. "I want the weaver to hold onto my engagement ring for safe keeping and I want your brother to have his future wife to be one to retrieve it one day."

"Let me guess, his future wife is only worthy if she can retrieve this ring from the weaver?" Arya laughs, she loops her arm around her mothers as they walk to the dining room to prepare for dinner. "You're lucky the weaver likes me," she giggles before putting on an apron.

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

Amren watches with an almost bored expression as Arya narrows her eyes at the ancient one across from her, concentrating on trying to get past the ancient's thick mental shield.

Amren's shield was a thick dark grey fog that went from top to bottom of her mental field, Arya could just about see the shapes of tall pine trees behind it, it was a vast forest surrounded with mist and fog swirling around which almost represented her silver eyes.

After almost a decade of practicing with Amren, Arya has only recently managed to walk through the forest of the ancient's mind and find the actual mental barrier. For years Arya kept getting lost in Amren's mental forest. Every time she got stuck and took too long in the forest the silver-eyed ancient locked her in there, for a minute or two to teach her that time was of the essence and to be careful using her daemeti skills.

Now the princess of the night court can get through Amren's mental forest in record time, even faster than her older brother, but the real challenge was finding a crack in Amren's shield and Arya has been trying for months with no luck.

Today, Arya woke up with more determination and she vowed to her reflection in the mirror this morning that she would get through the ancient's shield no matter what she had to do to get through it. She should have asked to train with Cassian first to get some anger out but there had been no time to ask Amren and Cassian to switch training time. No time when it was only this morning that Arya's father barged into her room talking about how she is required to spend some time with one of Beron's sons as she is scheduled to be betrothed to one of them when Autumn comes.

Vera was livid when she heard her husband's command. The High Lord of Night had sold her off to Beron's son in exchange for their alliance in the coming war.

"Come on, girl, I don't have all day," Amren tells her annoyedly. Arya scoffs before once again concentrating on the impenetrable shield in Amren's mind.

Arya focuses on the bottom of the ancient's shield, she conjures thick purple smoke from the bottom of the shield and with a quick flick of her wrist, the purple smoke covers the entire shield. The half-Illyrian female clings her smoke onto the shield, making her smoke act as a second skin to Amren's shield.

Before Amren could even grasp what was happening, Arya forced her smoke to bend along with the shield that her smoke now clung to. Arya smirks as she watches Amren flinch with a hiss and half a second later the ancient's shield cracks and Arya wastes no time before her purple smoke seeps through the cracks.

Arya conjures her purple eyes into Amren's mind before quickly retracting herself from her brain. The night princess gets a growl from the silver-eyed fae which only results in the princess' smirk growing.

"Only took me almost a decade," Arya says triumphantly. "I was honestly tempted to blast your shield once I heard it crack, luckily for you I took pity."

"I could kill you right now just for saying that," Amren hisses as she rubs her temple trying to stop the headache that was slowly starting.

"Please, you know you love me," that statement was true. Even Arya's father was afraid of the ancient one, but anyone can easily see how much Amren adores and cares for the princess of the night.

"You are a pain in my ass."

"Well, my sweet Amren, wait it out a few more months and you'll be rid of me," Arya shrugs crossing her arms over her chest.

Amren narrows her eyes at the princess, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, so the news isn't out yet?" Arya says with a tone of disbelief, "Interesting. I thought the news would've been known by every fae and creature of Prythian by now."

"What news?" Amren growls, not liking the implication of what this news could be.

"I'm to be betrothed to one of Beron's sons," Arya says just above a whisper.

Amren shoots out of her chair with a growl that shakes the ground under Arya's feet, "You're lying."

Arya says dejectedly closing her eyes, "I wish I was Ams, I wish I was."

"Did that idiot of a High Lord not see what the Autumn court did to Morrigan?" Arya's eyes shoot open wide at the boldness of Amren calling her father an idiot in the open air. No one disagrees with the statement but no one dares to say it out loud. And apparently, Amren knew exactly what Arya was thinking.

"Please, you think I'm afraid of your father?" Amren shakes her head before she starts pacing again. "I will not let that male sell you off to those despicable males."

"There isn't anything any of us can do unless we want me dead because I assure you, if I did what Mor did, I won't make it out alive and I will die in the hands of my father."

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

Taglist: @saltedcoffeescotch ; @skyjasper ; @inloveallthetime ;

[ if your name is crossed it's because tumblr won't allow me to tag you ]

[copias-girl]

To Catch a Cardinal: Chapter IV

Song recommendation for this fic!

Chapter I, Chapter II, Chapter III, Chapter V

A/N: I don’t need to use google translate for Italian but I can’t say the same about Latin sooo don’t mind the google translate Latin lol

•♥︎𖤐♥︎•

The sun shone high in the pale blue sky, gently beaming down on you as you knelt in the grass outside the ministry. You were on laundry duty today, so you and a handful of other sisters were out doing the wash and hanging it up to dry on the line. With your sleeves rolled up to your elbows, you scrubbed yet another garment up and down on the washboard; sparkling soapy water sloshing over the sides of the basin. You rung it out before standing to hang it on the line, securing it with a couple clothes pins so that it wouldn’t blow away. You grinned in amusement, recalling that particularly windy incident where Papa Nihil’s white chasuble ended up getting blown right into a puddle of mud because it wasn’t pinned to the line.

As you and the other sisters silently scrubbed the clothes, your angelic voice rang out in the open air, singing He Is.

“He is, he’s the shining and the light without whom I cannot see,” Your voice was graceful and melodic as you mindlessly sang, grateful to Satan for this beautiful day.

“And he is, insurrection, he is spite, he’s the force that made me be.” You continued, smiling when the other sisters began joining you; a soft chorus of voices singing praises to your Dark Lord.

You stood once more, hanging another garment on the line as you continued to sing, “He is, nostro dis pater, nostr- Aaaah!” Your dulcet chorus was interrupted by someone tightly grabbing you around the waist, causing you to let out a surprised, high pitched scream.

“Are you singing that about me, Sorellina?” It was Terzo who purred into your ear, his voice dripping with a smirk.

You playfully struggled in his grasp, screaming again- this time in laughter- when he picked you up.

The other sisters looked on in jealousy, always wishing Terzo would pay them as much attention as he paid you. He was constantly fawning over you, always wanting to touch you in some way, always giving you some sort of special treatment.

“Papa!” You kicked into the air a few times before the two of you toppled to the ground, rolling around together in the plush grass as you both struggled against one another.

“Hm? Are you, Sorella? Are you singing for your Papa?” He teased, now on top of you and trying to pin you down.

Sister Emily huffed at the scene, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms. She was especially envious, as she had a huge crush on Terzo.

You grasped for a fistful of little wild flowers, ripping them out of the ground and playfully smacking Terzo with them, shoving them in his face.

The sisters were always so taken aback by your attitude towards Terzo. You didn’t even act starstruck that Papa was interacting with you. Here he was, straddling your hips and holding you down, the skirt of your casual habit having ridden up up up to reveal your panties to everyone. But instead of keening into his touch, you were laughing and fighting for your life, even whacking him with a handful of flowers. But what the sisters didn’t understand is that’s exactly what Terzo absolutely loved about you. He was used to every sister of sin swooning over him, but you… You were feisty, a breath of fresh air.

You erupted in giggles when he sputtered, spitting out some of the flowers that had gotten stuck in his mouth.

“Flowers? For me, Sorella? How romantic!” He gasped exaggeratedly, draping a hand across his forehead dramatically, his other hand trying to pin your wrists down while you screamed and wriggled under him.

“Noooo!” You protested, shaking your head.

“No? Well.. how about some of this, then, eh?!” He cackled out an evil laugh as his gloved fingers found your sides, tickling you ruthlessly.

You shrieked, thrashing under him. “Papa have mercy! I-I’ll get in trouble for not doing my chores!” You cried out between giggles, desperately trying to shove him off you.

You sighed in relief as he let up, leaning down closer to you. “You know, Sorella… As Papa, I can always just relieve you of your duties.” Terzo hummed. “That way I can sit here and tickle you all day long!” He growled suddenly, making you squeal one last time before he huffed out a laugh himself, rolling off you to lay beside you in the long grass, gazing at you fondly.

The two of you were a mess; your veil had been pulled off at some point during the struggle, and there were pieces of grass and flower petals stuck in both his and your tousled hair.

You both stared at each other for a few moments while you caught your respective breaths, but Terzo suddenly turned onto his side, propping his head up on his hand. “Allora, I did not come here just to bother you.” He spoke. “Although, it is one of my greatest passions.” Terzo added with a smirk and a wink that had you swatting at him and laughing.

“I have come to remind you of your Latin lesson!” He beamed with a little flourish, or as much of a flourish as he could do while laying on the ground.

“Huh? Oh! Shoot, I’m gonna be late!” You stood up, shaking yourself off and trying to locate your veil. Offering Terzo your hand, you pulled him up to his feet.

“Come on, Em, it’s time for Latin!” You called, waving her over.

She caught up with you and Terzo, eagerly trying to walk next to him and maybe strike up a conversation.

But then you were turning to your Papa, smirking and challenging him. “Last one to the ministry drinks curdled goat milk!” You yelled before taking off running.

“Cazzo!” He swore, chasing after you. He was right behind you, but his foot caught on something, tripping and falling but managing to grab your ankle and causing you to tumble to the ground too. Terzo laughed maniacally, jumping to his feet and dragging you backwards by your ankles as you screamed and clawed at the earth, grabbing fistfuls of grass. You had to admit, for an old man he was pretty damn spry.

“Papa you’re crazy!” You laughed.

“If you don’t hurry up, we’re all going to be drinking curdled goat milk for keeping Papa Secondo waiting…” Emily grumbled.

“She’s right, you know.” You looked back over your shoulder at your Papa, who conceded, nodding in agreement and releasing your ankles.

But suddenly you were squealing in surprise again as Terzo lifted you up and threw you over his shoulder, carrying you all the way back to the ministry.

“Look at the sweet little lamb I have caught out in the field!” He declared triumphantly once he burst through the doors, making you giggle and swat at his back while kicking your feet.

Some siblings of sin laughed at their Papa’s antics, while others only stared enviously, a few grumbling to each other. Emily was one of the latter, huffing in annoyance and waiting for Terzo to be done. He didn’t have to make it so obvious that you were everyone’s favourite.

Setting you down, Terzo gave you a playful smack on the ass to push you in the direction of Secondo, who was striding down the corridor.

“Crazy old man.” You huffed with a grin. You turned and stuck your tongue out at Terzo, who returned the favour, before you greeted Secondo.

“Hi, Papa Secondo! I’ll be ready for Latin soon, I was just doing the laundry and-”

“Ciao, Sorella. Don’t worry, I am not doing Latin class today.” He explained.

“What?? You’re getting sick of me already?” You pouted.

Secondo’s stern expression softened as he gazed at you, the corners of his lips quirking up in what you could possibly call a smile.

“Of course not, ragazzina.” He pinched your cheek playfully. “I am only taking the day off. Then I will be back, si?”

You smiled up at him, nodding understandingly. “Who’s teaching the class today?” You enquired.

“Oh, Copia. The Cardinale. He is very good at Latin, si? You will be in good hands.”

Your eyes widened, a cute little smirk forming on your face at that information.

“Alright, that sounds good.” You bit your lip. “I’ll miss you dearly but I won’t miss your stupid pop quizzes.” You teased, batting your eyelashes at the man.

“Enjoy today with no pop quiz, but pay attention. I will be testing you on what the Cardinale has taught.” He spoke sternly, but winked at you playfully, causing you to giggle. Secondo picked a few flower petals out of your hair, giving your cheek one last endearing pinch before sending you on your way.

What had started as private Latin lessons between you and Secondo soon turned into the man teaching a small class of you and a few siblings at the behest of Sister Imperator. He was intimidating and scary when he asked you a question and waited for your answer while glaring at you with those haunting mismatched eyes. However, Secondo really was delightful; he taught you well. And you were the teacher’s pet, always pleasing him with being the first one to eagerly raise your hand and giving correct answers. However, even you weren’t exempt from getting chastised, albeit much gentler than the scoldings he gave to his other pupils. It was mostly for you snickering in class and passing notes.

You ran down the corridor and up the stairs, noting that you had some time to clean yourself up before class started. You freshened up, successfully getting all of the foliage out of your hair and changing into a different habit. This time, you opted for one that was almost like your casual habit except it had a shorter skirt which rose above the knee, and a frilly white rounded collar. The top of the dress was tight to show off the silhouette of your breasts and it pinched in deliciously on your waist before the little skirt gently flared out in an A-line. You wore it with a pair of black thigh-high stockings and your high heeled Mary Janes, looking studious, but still sinfully naughty; smirking as you applied some lipgloss and affixed your veil to your head, always preferring to wear it so that it still showed off your hair. Taking one last look in the mirror and grabbing your book bag, you hurried out the door.

•𖤐•

Your heels clicked on the marble floors as you jogged down the hall, actually making it to the classroom early, but upon opening the door, you found that it was empty. You set your bag down at your desk in the front row, and suddenly a horribly naughty idea was blooming in your head. Casting a glance around, you casually walked behind Secondo’s desk and pulled the drawer open, taking out the huge black book that he taught from, the one with the ornately embossed pentagram on it; worn and old from decades of use.

Deft fingers flipped to the place Secondo had bookmarked, which was the unholy sacraments and praying to Satan in Latin. That was all quite good and fine, but you had a different idea in mind.

You flipped to the table of contents, fingertips skimming over each topic before settling on the one you wanted. With a devious smirk on your lips, you plucked the black velvet and gold bookmark out and placed it a little further into the book. You put it back in the desk and hurried to sit down in your seat, hands folded neatly on your desk like a good little girl.

No more than two minutes later, Emily, Mable, Lilith, and Ava entered, followed by a couple more siblings that you didn’t really hang out with aside from class.

One of them was Rob, who everyone thought was particularly dreamy. He had the hots for you, of course he did, but he was sooo not your type. Far too young. Never stuttered. Not rat-like in the very slightest.

You had a much different definition of the word ‘dreamy’ than your friends; while they were all scribbling in their diaries about Rob at night, you found yourself writing Copia’s name in swirly cursive with hearts all around it.

You all greeted one another, chatting for a bit while you reached into your bag, grabbing your notebook and unwrapping a red heart-shaped lollipop.

Suddenly, you saw the doorknob twisting and jiggling around, hearing shuffling on the other end. Then a pause, before the door began rattling on its hinges.

You all looked on in confusion, concern growing as you heard quiet muffled Italian curses on the other side as the ornate wood rattled.

Then another beat of silence.

“Ah, shit..” Copia murmured, finally realizing that he had to push the door open, not pull it. He cracked the door open, peeking inside to make sure he was in the right place.

“Ta da..!” The Cardinal gave an awkward little flourish, finally entering into the room.

You heard Emily leaning closer to Rob and Mable, snickering out a “Loser.” and earning cruel chuckles from them.

“Hi, hello, ehh.. How do you do?” He greeted you all, gloved hands clasped in front of him while he looked around the class, his painted eyes settling on you, swallowing nervously.

You smiled sweetly at the man, licking and sucking on your lollipop, tongue swirling around it as you waited for him to begin the lesson.

Copia pulled open the drawer, taking the heavy book out.

“Ehm.. Class, today we are going to learn the Latin, si?” He looked at you all with a little nod.

“Yeah no shit, Sherlock, it’s literally Latin class.” Rob pointed out, all the girls giggling at his stupid joke. All of them except you, who shot a dirty look back at him.

“Ah, si, o-of course. Ehh… Well let us see where you left off with Papa Secondo, okie dokie?” He was quick to recover, trying not to let the rude comments or snickering get to him.

Copia opened the book, flipping to the page that you had secretly selected.

“Ah, here we are. Today’s topic will be-” The Cardinal’s already pale complexion paled even further, his cheeks immediately flushing red hot as he stared down at the book.

“Ehm.. t-today’s.. eh, today’s topic will be, ehhm…” The man shook his head, making sure that’s really where the bookmark was.

“Is something wrong, Cardinal?” You spoke up, feigning concern with that sweet voice of yours.

“No..!” He replied a little too quickly. “Eh, no, no..” He cleared his throat. “Today’s topic will be… Fornicationis Rituali Magicae ad Honorem Satanae.”

Fornication Ritual Magic for the Honour of Satan.

Your lips curled up into a little smirk, eyes fixed on Copia while you sucked on your lollipop.

He began doing his best to teach the lesson, his cute accented voice wavering and stammering every time his mismatched gaze swept over you.

You knew what you were doing with that lollipop too, ruthlessly distracting him from reading with a few wet slurping noises, no doubt forcing the poor man to think dirty thoughts as you laved your sinful little tongue over it while staring right at him. He probably felt like a sick pervert for those thoughts, clueless at the fact that you were deviously orchestrating it all.

The Cardinal was currently stumbling through a sentence about how important sex rituals were, when you raised your hand.

“Eh- Yes, Sorella?” Copia nodded to you.

“Have you ever done a sex ritual, Cardinal?” You enquired with a curious tilt of your head.

“Ehm. No…” He replied, embarrassment apparent on his face.

“Thank Satan..” Emily scoffed quietly, but still loud enough for everyone including Copia to hear. “I’d feel sorry for the girl who had to get fucked by rat man.”

Stifled giggles sounded from everyone in the class, some murmuring in agreement.

Copia visibly flinched at that comment, clearly already very insecure about being undesirable. With shoulders slumped, his eyes met the floor before turning around quickly and writing on the board, surely because he didn’t want to face the jeering class anymore.

“Would.. would anyone like to come up here and write the translation to this?” The Cardinal spoke up, and you raised your hand eagerly while everyone else slacked off.

The chalkboard read ‘Pro nomine domini nostri obscuritatis, hoc sacramentum libidinis tenebrosum accipio’ in Copia’s nice handwriting.

He nodded at you, and you stood from your desk, sauntering over to him. Considering him for a moment, you pulled the lollipop from your mouth with an audible pop, the Cardinal’s eyes immediately flicking to your lips, which were stained red from the candy.

“Here, hold this.” You said, shoving the lollipop into Copia’s mouth, his eyes widening and cheeks burning red hot at the thought of having something in his mouth that had previously been in yours. You swiped the piece of chalk out of his hand, writing the translation on the board underneath Copia’s writing.

For the name of our Dark Lord, I accept this dark sacrament of lust.

All eyes in the class were on you; how confidently you wrote the answer, and how good you looked while doing it, the short skirt of your habit almost giving everyone an eyeful as you stood on your tippy toes and leaned against the blackboard. You finished by drawing a little heart at the end of your sentence, turning to Copia once more. He had the most pathetically dumb look on his face, still in shock with your lollipop in his mouth. You took one of his hands, placing the piece of chalk in it before taking your lollipop back and deliberately licking his saliva off it before shoving it back in your mouth.

Everyone’s eyes were as wide as pies as you took your seat once more, appalled whispers filtering all throughout the room. Copia was completely besides himself, looking as though he could pass out any second. His blush had spread to the tips of his ears, burning across the bridge of his nose, and surely on his chest under his cassock.

You rested your head in your hand, gazing dreamily at the man as he tried to regain his composure, painfully stammering on about the next paragraph in the book, when a hand swatted at your arm. You looked over, seeing everyone staring at you expectantly.

“What?” You whispered.

“What the fuck was that?” Mable whispered back.

“Yeah, like, ew.” Emily added disapprovingly.

You only shrugged, sticking your tongue out at them and continuing to mindlessly scribble down some notes. Satan, he was fucking delicious. You wanted Copia to be your lollipop instead; you wished you could beg for the Cardinal to spit in your mouth right then and there in front of the whole class. But you couldn’t, not yet. You weren’t… you weren’t done with him yet.

You folded a piece of paper into a neat little airplane, sending it floating through the air and gently crashing into the Cardinal’s back while he was turned around. He turned, afraid that the culprit would be one of the unkind siblings, but instead he saw you giggling at him, your eyes twinkling with mischief. You had been incredibly nice to him, so he knew you didn’t mean anything malicious by it. He picked it up off the ground, inspecting it and seemingly approving of your design before tucking it away into the pocket of his cassock.

You grinned, wondering if he was going to be a little fucking creep about it later. The image of poor Copia clutching that paper and furiously masturbating to the thought of you had you rubbing your thighs together under your desk. But no, he would never. You could tell he was far too shy and ashamed to do that sort of thing, no matter how much he wanted to.

Copia was reading from the book once more, saying something about Latin prayers that should be said before and during sex rituals, and how you can also commit the sin of lust and dedicate it to Satan as an offering. Suddenly, you were so curious, so interested, so you raised your hand to ask a question.

“S-si, yes, you?” The Cardinal pointed to you.

“So…” You tilted your head, playing dumb. “So any two people can commit any sin of lust and use it as an offering to Satanas?” You asked.

“Well, yes-” The man started but you cut him off.

“So, just take you and I for instance.” You continued, pretending to not quite understand, relishing in the way Copia stiffened at the mention of you and him together. “Like, if we committed the sin of lust together, not just through the actual act of sex, but through other lustful activities, then we could also dedicate those to Satan?”

“Y- ehm- w- i- eh- Si, I- I mean, yes, si. That would- that would be, eh, that would be completely, eh, valid.” The poor man struggled, nodding quickly with wide eyes and a tense jaw, his hands clasped in front of him.

You nodded slowly in understanding, pretending to soak in his answer. “So oral activities can be just as effective when making an offering?” You pushed.

“Y-yes, Sorella.” The Cardinal nodded, subconsciously reaching up to tug at his collar. Satan, that slutty high-neck collar of his, he was practically asking for it. Copia reached over to the pitcher of ice water on the desk, pouring himself a glass and downing a few gulps before refilling it and drinking some more, his throat suddenly dry.

“Oh, alright, thank you Cardinal. I wasn’t sure if our Dark Lord had a preference as to where the… you know, ejaculate goes.” You stated simply, punctuating your sentence with another wet pop from your lollipop.

Copia sputtered at that, coughing and choking on his water.

“Cardinal!” You stood, worriedly rushing to his side and patting him on the back. “Are you alright, Cardinal?”

“Si, si…” He cleared his throat, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, finding it difficult to meet your gaze.

“Is there anything this guy is good at? Where’d they even find him?” Rob laughed, leaning back in his seat and shaking his head.

“Trash can, maybe? ‘Cause he’s a rat.” Emily suggested, causing several siblings to cover their mouths and stifle laughter.

You rubbed soothing circles on Copia’s back, and once you were sure he was okay, you sat back down at your desk once more so he could finish up the lesson. The rest of it was pretty straight forward, mostly just certain prayers for sex rituals which he tested the class on. You got every question correct, the other students did mediocre, and both Emily and Rob got everything wrong because they were stupid fucking dumbasses who didn’t pay attention in class.

You couldn’t help but turn to them, holding your hand up in the shape of an L on your forehead. Yeah yeah, like in the Smash Mouth song. You just had to rub it in, especially when they were so ruthless to Copia, calling him a loser every chance they got, even though he was fluent in Latin and they sucked ass.

Emily only averted her gaze and crossed her arms, cheeks burning with embarrassment, while Rob pouted at you and passed Emily a note to pass to you.

You rolled your eyes, opening the note and scoffing as you read it.

Hang out after class, hottie?

You scratched a quick ‘no thx!’ onto the paper before crumpling it and throwing it back to him with a little smile that verged on passive aggressive. Rob opened the note and grinned, shrugging it off and not taking it to heart. You were just so pretty and adorable, so you never came off as bitchy when you did things like this.

Facing forward again, you caught Copia watching you and you gave him a little reassuring wink that had his cheeks heating up as he scratched the back of his neck.

A small endearing smile pulled at the Cardinal’s lips. You were such a little firecracker, not caring what anyone else thought. You were so confident, unlike him, and it gave him a sort of satisfaction- one that he wasn’t even sure he deserved- seeing you give your friends a little taste of their own medicine; avenging him in a sense. It was nice knowing he had someone in his corner. Hell, not just anyone, but the most gorgeous sister in the whole ministry.

After class was dismissed, everyone filtered out, immediately clumping into groups and gossiping about Copia. His name could be heard amongst overlapping conversations and sneers as the siblings exited the classroom. You hung back, strolling over to the Cardinal as he sat at the large black wooden desk, deep in thought as he slouched into the chair with eyes closed.

You took a seat right on the desk, getting his attention by gentle brushing your foot over his knee. The poor thing jumped, startled, his wide gaze meeting yours. You noticed the way his odd eyes flicked down to your thighs as you were perched on the desk, the way your little skirt rode up just enough to tease.

Still licking your lollipop, you studied him for a moment, considering him carefully, making him sweat under your silent inspection.

“You know, you’d make a good one.” You remarked, gesturing at him with your candy.

“A.. eh.. a lollipop?” He asked timidly, tilting his head in confusion.

“No, silly, a teacher.” You giggled. “But maybe that too.” You added nonchalantly, causing the man to stiffen, his breath catching in his throat. You bit into the hard candy, then, breaking the heart in two, before holding the stick out to Copia so he could have the other half. With reddened cheeks and a shaky exhale, he took it into his mouth, and you made sure to accidentally brush your finger against his chin as you pulled your hand away. The air was thick between the two of you, but without another word, you were hopping off the desk, grabbing your book bag, and leaving.

Copia leaned back in the ornate black wooden chair, sighing deeply and staring up at the ceiling. You truly confused him; you were so kind yet you made him so incredibly nervous. As he sucked on the rest of your lollipop, the thought of sucking your saliva off it had him letting out a little stifled groan, the realization dawning on him that this is how you would taste: like a sweet cherry candy. He shook his head, leaning forward and pinching the bridge of his nose, feeling like a disgusting perverted weirdo as he felt his pants tightening. He abruptly stood, opting to straighten up the classroom and head back to his office.

You, on the other hand, were sauntering down the hall with a skip in your step, waving to people you knew as you passed them. Satan, you were in such a good mood. Apparently, tormenting shy little rat men was one of your new favourite pastimes. You crunched the rest of your lollipop, teeth shattering the candy into sharp shards. Your tongue swiped over your red stained lips, longing to share sticky cherry kisses with your Cardinal. And you would; all in due time.

𖤐 to be continued 𖤐

Taglist: @sucharide @the-hole-in-terzos-shoe @rightintheghoulies @copiaswifey @youhaveahomeinmyheart @mister-girl @faeeeeh @rubyserpentine @ramblingoak @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @angelconservation @yourlocalghouleh @gh0sty6 @nikolaiology @thenick100 @mothsdraw @ivyanddaisies @gothdaddyissues @moonlight-fern @copiaslittleratty @nocturnal-birb @creepyalbatross @lightbluuestars @delta-is-here @1kirby1 @darthcringe @kyberj @esmiephan

[theenchantresx]

Fire of Vengeance

Summary, Prelude and Chapter 1 here

Characters : Aemond Targaryen & Visenya Velaryon

Word Count: 1,700 (more or less, I added a couple of little paragraphs)

Warnings: Dark Themes, Non-Consensual Undertones, Manipulation, Immorality, War and Political Intrigue, voyeurism, prelude and plans of SA, Not proofread

The images above and the previous ones were taken from Pinterest: credits to the original owners

Chapter 2: The Gathering Storm

The afternoon sun was barely a memory as dark clouds rolled in, bringing with them a tempest that would not be denied. The winds howled, tearing through the sky with a ferocity that even dragons feared. Visenya Velaryon, on her mission to rally Lord Borros Baratheon to her mother’s cause, found herself at the mercy of the storm. The original plan had been to reach Storm’s End by evening, but the brutal weather had other designs.

Vardyx landed with a reluctant thud in the courtyard of an ancient, abandoned castle she had spotted through the sheets of rain. The stone structure was worn by time and the elements, its once grand walls now a shadow of their former glory, but it was the only shelter in sight.

Visenya hurried inside, her cloak heavy with rain and her boots squelching on the cold stone floor. The interior was as bleak as the storm outside, with a damp chill that clung to everything. She quickly found what seemed to be the main hall, its hearth long cold and the air thick with the smell of decay. With practiced hands, she managed to ignite a small fire in the hearth, its flames weak but a small comfort against the encroaching cold.

As the flames began to flicker to life, she heard the distant roar of another dragon, its cry almost lost in the howl of the storm. Her heart sank. There was only one dragon that would be out in this storm, heading the same way she was. Vhagar.

Moments later, Aemond Targaryen strode into the castle, his tall, dark figure cutting through the gloom with an air of authority that was impossible to ignore. His single eye, gleaming with a cold light, locked onto her as he approached.

“Visenya,” he greeted her with a smooth, almost mocking tone. “It seems you and I are both at the mercy of this storm.”

“So it appears, Uncle” she replied evenly, refusing to rise to his bait. “I wasn’t expecting to meet anyone else on this route.”

Aemond smirked, clearly enjoying the situation more than she did. “Fate has a way of bringing people together in the most unexpected of places, don't you think, Niece?”

“It seems the storm has forced our paths to cross,” she responded, attempting to keep her tone neutral.

He smirked, stepping closer, his gaze never leaving hers. “Or perhaps the storm simply reveals what was inevitable.”

Visenya turned away, focusing on tending the fire. “This castle will have to suffice for the night. The storm is too fierce to continue my journey.”

“Yes,” Aemond agreed, though there was something in his voice that made her skin prickle. “A pity. I’m sure you were eager to plead your mother’s cause before Lord Borros.”

He knew, she thought. She could feel his eyes on her, probing, searching for a weakness.

“I am here on behalf of my family,” she replied, keeping her voice steady. “As you are here for yours, I presume.”

Aemond chuckled, a dark sound that echoed through the empty hall. “Does your mother send you out to rally support for her cause all alone and in the cold? Should this be her job, or is your fake queen afraid to get her hands dirty?”

Visenya turned sharply to face him, her eyes blazing with anger. “She is our queen—”

“Yes, exactly,” Aemond interrupted, his voice a low, taunting whisper, “only yours.”

There was a moment of tense silence, the crackling fire the only sound between them. Visenya’s jaw tightened as she fought to keep her composure.

“She’s too important for us,” she finally said, her voice firm despite the tremor of emotion underlying it. “It’s not right to send her to do these tasks.”

Aemond took another step closer, his eye narrowing as he studied her. “Important enough to send her children into the storm, while she remains safe behind the walls of Dragonstone? How noble.”

Visenya bristled at his words, but she knew better than to rise to his bait. She held his gaze, refusing to back down.

"Our mother carries the weight of our house,” she said. “We all do our part.”

“And what part will you play in this war, Visenya?” Aemond’s voice was softer now, almost gentle, but the threat beneath his words was unmistakable. “Will you be the dutiful daughter, rallying banners for a lost cause? Or something more?”

His question hung in the air, heavy with implications that sent a chill down her spine. She knew he was testing her, searching for any sign of weakness he could exploit. But she would not give him the satisfaction.

“The cause is not lost,” she replied, her voice steady, though her heart pounded in her chest. “Not while there are still those loyal to the true queen.”

Aemond’s smile was thin, almost cruel. “Loyalty is a fragile thing, Visenya. It can be bought, broken, or twisted to serve one’s own ends.”

The firelight flickered across his face, casting sharp shadows that made him look more sinister than ever. Visenya could feel the tension in the room, thick as the storm raging outside, and she knew that whatever game Aemond was playing, it was only just beginning.

She tried to ignore the tension that crackled in the air between them. But Aemond was not one to be easily dismissed.

He settled himself near the fire, closer than she would have liked, and for a moment, they sat in silence, the only sounds the crackling of the fire and the distant roar of the storm. But Visenya knew that this silence was only temporary.

“Lord Borros is a man of ambition,” Aemond said suddenly, breaking the quiet. His tone was casual, but his words were carefully chosen. “He values strength, not empty promises. What exactly do you intend to offer him on your mother’s behalf?”

Visenya kept her gaze on the flames, unwilling to reveal too much. “Lord Borros knows what’s at stake. He’s no fool.”

“Indeed he’s not,” Aemond agreed, his voice smooth. “But neither is he a man easily swayed by sentiment. What can Rhaenyra offer him that will ensure his loyalty?”

“We both know that the Iron Throne offers more than just gold or land,” Visenya replied carefully. “Loyalty to the rightful queen secures not just Borros’ future, but his legacy.”

Aemond’s eye narrowed slightly, a subtle sign that her words had not gone unnoticed. “Legacy is a powerful motivator, I’ll grant you that. But Borros has daughters of his own to think of. Marriages, alliances... these are the currency of war. What bride price is your mother willing to pay?”

“We’re not pawns,” Visenya said, meeting his gaze. “We’re players, with our own roles to fulfill.”

Aemond’s smile widened, though there was little warmth in it. “Ah yes, duty. The heavy burden we all must bear. But tell me, Visenya, how much of this duty is truly yours, and how much is simply your mother’s will?”

She hesitated, unsure of how to answer. The truth was, she had always done what was expected of her, never questioning the orders she was given. But now, faced with Aemond’s probing gaze, she found herself doubting for the first time. Was she here because she believed in her mother’s cause, or because she had no other choice?

“You speak as if you have a choice,” Aemond continued, his voice softer now, almost coaxing. “But we both know that in war, choice is a luxury. We are all pawns indeed... in a game that was set in motion long before we were born.”

“We’re not pawns,” Visenya repeated, though her voice lacked conviction.

Aemond regarded her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “Hmm... Very well, niece. We shall see how far your sense of duty takes you.”

The hours dragged on as the storm outside refused to relent. The castle’s cold, damp walls seemed to close in around them, the air thick with the unspoken tension between them. Aemond remained near the fire, his presence a constant reminder of the danger that lurked beneath his calm exterior.

As night fell, the fire began to dwindle, the warmth it provided no longer enough to ward off the chill. Visenya’s clothes were still damp, her skin prickling with the cold. She knew she couldn’t go on like this, not if she wanted to get any rest.

“I need to get rid of this dampness,” she murmured, more to herself than to Aemond.

Without waiting for a response, she made her way to a small adjoining chamber she had found earlier. It was as bleak as the rest of the castle, but it offered some privacy. Inside, she found a rusty basin filled with water that had leaked in from the storm. The water was icy cold, but she had no choice.

She began to undress, her fingers numb as she struggled with the laces of her dress. The fabric, soaked through with rain, clung to her skin, making the task even more difficult. At last, she managed to peel it off, the wet cloth falling to the floor with a heavy thud. She removed her clothes, cloak and undergarments, leaving her shivering in the cold air.

The moonlight filtered through a narrow window, casting a pale, ethereal glow over her body. In this light, her dark hair seemed almost silver, a reflection of the Targaryen blood that flowed through her veins.

She stepped into the basin, gasping as the freezing water bit into her skin. Her breath hitched, her nipples hardening from the cold. But she forced herself to continue, washing away the grime and the lingering discomfort of Aemond’s earlier gaze.

Little did she know, that very gaze was still upon her. Aemond had not left her side for long. His curiosity, his need to dominate, had drawn him back to her. He watched her through a narrow crack in the dilapidated door, his eye tracing the curves of her body as she bathed.

Duty and honor should have made him turn away, but something far darker held him there. The sight of her, vulnerable and unaware, stirred something deep within him. What had started as a desire for revenge was now tainted with a yearning that both thrilled and unnerved him.

Visenya finished quickly, the cold too much to bear for long. She reached for her clothes, only to remember they were still soaked through and lying in a heap on the floor. With no other choice, she grabbed her damp cloak, wrapping it around herself as best as she could.

As she stepped out of the chamber, Aemond retreated into the shadows, his heart pounding with a mixture of anticipation and something else—something he wasn’t ready to name. The storm outside continued its assault on the castle, but the storm within him had only just begun.

[anonymousewrites]

One Hell of a Love (Book 3) Chapter Thirteen

Sebastian Michaelis x Demon! Reader

Chapter Thirteen: One Hell of an Incident

Summary: Sebastian and (Y/N) return to Phantomhive Manor.

Mouse Note: Just Sebastian and MC getting a moment to end this book(?). Well, maybe. I may include the next arc, whenever it comes out, in this book since it feels short, but, for now, until there's more details for when the next arc is coming out, this book shall remain paused here. I love the next arc, though, so I hope it comes soon!

            In the end, after the incident in the tea garden and Weston College finished, Ciel told the Queen the truth. He gave her the whole account of what Derrick had done, what Agares had accepted, and what Redmond, Violet, Bluewer, and Greenhill had decided to do.

            The punishment handed to them was expulsion—not imprisonment. It was not a show of mercy at all; it was to suppress the scandal involving Derrick Arden’s actions previous to his death and his blood relation to the Queen. The royal house wouldn’t want that truth of corruption to be exposed by a trial. To the P4, their expulsion from the very school they sought to protect was as terrible as imprisonment—rather, it was an expulsion from their Eden.

            For the rest of the story given to the public, Derrick and his accomplice’s deaths were attributed to a boating accident, and the bodies were “lost”—buried in secret. The parties involved in the Midnight Tea Party were strictly forbidden from discussing the matter—and, indeed, how could they? Who would believe what they had seen? So, outside of the new P4’s subdued attitude, life at Weston College went on as normal.

            As for the Queen, she had truly received the entire report of the situation. Ciel had been concerned she would not believe someone was trying to reanimate the dead, but she fortunately did. Furthermore, she requested him to keep an eye on the situation. Ciel didn’t need the order to do so. He wanted Undertaker’s plans, whatever they were, to be stopped.

l

            “You must be exhausted,” said Sebastian as Ciel entered the carriage and they headed back to Phantomhive Manor from their meeting with the Queen.

            “Quite. I’d like to get home on the double and relax with some sweets,” said Ciel.

            “We will prepare something as soon as we return,” said Sebastian.

            “My lord, we also received a letter as we were about to leave this morning,” said (Y/N).

            “Ah, yes.” Sebastian withdrew it from his jacket. “It should keep you busy until we reach the manor.”

            Ciel glanced at it and saw the return address of Weston College and McMillan. He looked away. “I don’t want it. Throw it away.”

            “Oh?” Sebastian quirked a brow in amusement. “You do not mind discarding a letter from your former schoolmate without so much as a glance?”

            “I don’t mind.” Ciel looked out the window evenly. “I have no plans to return to that stuffy miniature garden.”

            Sebastian smirked. “Is that so?”

            “Very well, my lord,” said (Y/N). They were unsurprised by the development. Ciel preferred to keep people at arm’s distance, and, after seeing all the hero worship and strict near-brainwashing that tradition caused at Weston, he had no interest in associating further.

l

            “…”

            Sebastian, (Y/N), and Ciel stared blankly at the lawn in front of Phantomhive Manor. It was covered in a flock of sheep. As usual, any time they were gone, something strange happened to the mansion.

            “What the blazes is this?” said Ciel.

            “Oh! Young Master! Mr. Sebastian! (Y/N)!” Finny grinned. “Welcome back!”

            “Welcome back, says Emily,” said Snake.

            “Old Man Sam’s farm fence seems to have collapsed,” explained Baldroy.

            “Don’t eat my skirt, I say!”

            “That chap’s headed for the herb garden, says Wilde,” said Snake.

            “No, no!” Finny ran after the escaping sheep. “Wait!”

            Ciel chuckled.

            “Is something the matter?” said (Y/N).

            “No, it’s nothing.” He watched Finny and Snake wrestle the sheep. “A lawn is simply a lawn.” It was nothing to be worshiped or avoided like at Weston. Ciel walked around the flock and waved a hand carelessly. “Tidy up quickly and prepare my afternoon tea.”

            “Yes, my Lord.” (Y/N) and Sebastian bowed.

l

            Upon rounding up the sheep and repairing the fence (and admonishing the other servants for being unable to handle the situation), Sebastian and (Y/N) headed to the kitchen to make afternoon tea.

            “Now, what shall we make today?” mused Sebastian, taking off his jacket.

            “Hm, what would the Young Master be craving after being stuck at Weston College?” said (Y/N).

            As they spoke, Sebastian pulled out the letter from McMillan. He pulled a knife and cut it open. Withdrawing the picture within, he raised a brow.

            “It turned out quite nicely,” said (Y/N).

            “Indeed,” said Sebastian, giving it to them. He picked up pots and pans to begin cooking.

            (Y/N) crumbled the picture and tossed it into the flames of the stove.

            “Time to bake the Young Master an extra sweet cake,” said Sebastian.

            “I’ll grab the ingredients,” said (Y/N).

            Weston College was behind them. The Phantomhive Manor would continue as usual.

l

            “Is the Young Master content to be home and ordering you around once again?” said (Y/N). They chuckled. “I imagine he wasn’t pleased with how eagerly you played housemaster and demanded his hard work in your classes.”

            Sebastian tutted. “To be punished for instructing him properly, how rude.”

            (Y/N) laughed. “Your poor thing.” They untied their apron and laid it down.

            Sebastian smiled at their amusement and took off his jacket. “However, I am pleased to be out of that place. The humans there were so…compliant to the school.”

            “Not enough troublemaking for you?” said (Y/N).

            “There were a few who were unequivocally themselves, but, for the most part, they all fell in line with the ‘tradition’ of the school.” Sebastian rolled his eyes, and (Y/N) chuckled. “But you, my darling, what did you think of the experience?”

            “I am glad to be gone for the same reasons as you,” said (Y/N). “I dislike how those in school who are different are encouraged to adhere to the standards of society instead of challenging it.”

            “Like yourself?” said Sebastian.

            (Y/N) grinned at him, catlike. “I have always broken society’s rules~”

            “You certainly enjoyed playing a masculine role,” chuckled Sebastian, undoing his tie and approaching (Y/N).

            “Well, I’ve been playing feminine for a while, so changing things up was fun,” said (Y/N). “I’m here for entertainment, after all.”

            “It was entertaining for you, and it was enticing for me,” said Sebastian, his hands going to (Y/N)’s waist. “You are so captivating, Felis, no matter the masculine or feminine clothing you wear.” He adored seeing them dressed up in different outfits—mostly because he could take them off later.

            “You know, in the past, when we encountered one another, I used to ensure I wore the finest clothing I could for the role I played,” said (Y/N), smirking and running their hands up his chest.

            “Attempting to seduce me for so long? How devilish,” said Sebastian, pulling them flush against his body. “You have no idea how long I wished to devour you.”

            “And now you can,” said (Y/N), damn near purring.

            “Now I have.” Sebastian kissed them. “And I will do so again and again and again for eternity.” He kissed down their neck. His grip on them tightened. “And I will never allow another to touch you.” Sebastian nipped their neck before lifted his head to gaze into their eyes. “When the Undertaker looked at you—” his eyes flashed fuchsia “—I despised it.”

            (Y/N)’s eyes flashed hungrily as Sebastian’s love and possessiveness piqued their own interest. Curling their hands in his hair, they pulled him in for a passionate kiss. “I am yours. You are mine. That is all that matters.”

            Sebastian keened against their kiss, pleased at the words. But he pulled back and gazed at them. “Undertaker has a strange interest in you. You are…inspiration as an individual returning in a new form, overcoming the finality of death.” Sebastian’s eyes narrowed. “I do not wish to see you harmed. I will not lose you.”

            “Corvus.” (Y/N) looked at him intently. “You have not lost me. You will not lose me. My transformation may be amusing to Undertaker, but that is only a danger to the humans he experiments on.” They chuckled. “Besides, you and I are far above humans and silly reapers, are we not? And we have one another.”

            “Yes.” Sebastian allowed their words to calm him, but his heart—whatever he had that counted as one—still hungered to prove to himself and (Y/N) that they belonged to one another—equals in love. “Yes, we have one another.” He kissed them. “I am yours, Felis. And you are mine.”

            “I am yours, Corvus,” said (Y/N), kissing him back.

            In a smooth motion, Sebastian lifted them and set them down on the bed. He leaned over them, legs between theirs, and pulled their waist up to kiss them.

            “Mine to have, to hold, to love.” Sebastian punctuated each declaration with a kiss on their skin. He lifted his head and smiled at them. “I love you, Felis. Truly.”

            (Y/N) smiled, grabbed his collar, and pulled him against them. “And I love you, Corvus.”

            They kissed him passionately, and those were all the words that were needed.

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[marvelita85]

If you are minor or you dont like mention of blood and people killed please stop reading

RATED R for safty

English is not my first language Im sorry in advance for any mistake, this is just for fun

Eutace said Visenya Velaryon was as rudless and unhearted as her predecesor, she bend everyone to her will and she didnt stop until her mother was on the iron throne, he told in his tale how she burn her uncle to the ground with her dragon Vermithor how she organized Rock Rest attack instead of only her grandmother with Meleys appeared she went aswell with Vermithor, as Vermax and Moondancer with her siblings were back up burning all their enemies, Vhagar appeared and Although everything Visenya felt for Aemond she's never forgiven him for Luke's death and that was her revenge Vhagar was bigger but slow and as Visenya saw Sunfier and Aegon fall she went and attacked with her granmother brining Vhagar to the ground her belly opened as Vermithor's claws buried in it she couldnt fly again and she dismount her dragon going for Aemond herself, they fought as she turn to face him and her sword buried into his hip traspasing his body.... -Visenya...- Aemond wispered before falling to the ground... Visenya felt rage as she grab the catspaw dagga from Aegon and she saw Sir Criston walked to her still stunned by the dragons fight Visenya looked at him with cold eyes and ready to fight him but Vermithor roar and he stoped in his tracks backing up from the dragon... she smirked to his distraction and she slided the dagga into his throat

- you should have stayed loyal to my mother - witneses afirmed she told him as he choked in his own blood before dying at her feet... as her siblings Jace and Baela arrived to the scene Visenya was covered in blood holding the heads of Aegon and Criston Cole... she turn to Aemond but before she cut his head she asked for a maester and for the Lord of Rock Rest to take his body to be tended as he was still alive, she was very precised with her cut

The seek of kingslanding came right after Visenya mount Vermithor taking the heads of the usurper and their comander, she called all her mothers banners to kingslanding, Daemon who was in Harrenhal marching with the army he colected was amazed by his daughter

Eutace said all the hightowers were reduced including the queen dowager as Visenya asked her mother to spare only her aunt who didnt have a place in this war Helaena was the only one spare as Visenya showed Aegon and Criston heads, Alicent scream and even Rhaenyra didnt want her own daughter to turn evil, Alicent was the one responsible of all this with her father.

.- let everyone know who to blame when the sky falls upon them.... - even with the dowagers pleading her father and all the small council were imprisoned by Damon and he could cut some heads after all

- my son with come with fire and blood...

- your son is agonizing in Rock rest with a dead Vhagar and dead Sunfire he is still alive Only because I allowed him when I buried my sword into his guts, and I will kill Daeron too when he arrived in Tesarion, I will finished all your line Alicent and I promised you will beg me to end your life at the end you will pay tears of blood for everything you've done to my mother, all your resentment and hate calling her birth after birth, calling my brothers bastards it was not free of charge now I will be your executioner and I found you guilty of all charges...

Visenya went into Old town knowing their army as Tesarion started their march to kings landing sacking all towns around that pledge their loyalty to Rhaenyra, she got to Tumpleton at night with Vermithor, Addam and Jace on their dragons as Tesarion tried to warm the greens as they were all drunk and raping and sacking all the town Visenya didnt have mercy on them burning all the soldiers Eurace said their armor melt into their skin, screams of pain were heard around everywhere as the night turn orange as flames consumed all the traitors Daeron tried to reached Tesarion but Jace was his oponent finishing him with his sword...

- those lessons from Daemon gave their fruit brother...

- you cant be the only one having all the fun... after all Luke was my brother too...- Visenya smile knowing her brother was finally a man and he knew this was necesary Baela arrived and together after killing Daeron and the rest of his army they went into old town as the green flame turn red when Visenya did what her predecesor wanted to do and Aegon didnt allow her to do, burn all the citadel to the grown with their dragons...

As they return the next morning the red keep was filled with Daemon's men Caraxes scream as he saw Vermithor and the others arrived into the city, all the red capes made way for Visenya to entered into the keep hall in front of her mother

Visenya was standing in front of the throne seeing her mother being crown by Daemon once again like that morning in dragonstone putting the crown in her head in front of all court and lords who swore their loyalty to the blacks, the traitors were in the dungeons waiting their execution

Lord Lannister and all the triarky were destroyed with the Velarion fleet and Meleys, Baela and Moondancer went to help as they came back Victorious, as Lord Stark arrived to Kingslanding was witnessing the execution of the traitors by Daemon's hand who once more was the Lord comander of the city watch as all the soldiers were loyal to him

Visenya ordered Aemond to be brought to the red keep she kept track of his health and she wanted him at reach

Daemon wanted his head but Visenya refused, Rhaenyra saw for the first time father daughter fought over her half brother

- he is already out of combat I made sure of it

- you dont want him dead because you have feelings for that Hightower scum he killed your brother and tried to kill your grandmother what more proof you need he will come for you if he has a chance

- he wont have a chance, he doesnt have Vhagar anymore, I had to sacrificed 2 dragons, I wont sacrificed anymore - Tesarion was brought to the dragon pit and he would stayed there with Shrykos and every other dragon until her brothers were big enough to tried and mount one

Alicent asked permition to be with Aemond his wound was healing dlowly, Mellos was allowed to live to tend his wound Visenya's Valyrian steal sword helped keeping him alive

- I wish to be alone with him Alicent... - Visenya didnt pay respect to her title Alicent lost 2 sons and her lover to Visenya and Alicent knew she lost now she was a prisoner and her only confort was still having 2 of her children alive - I wont kill him Alicent

.. if I wanted him death I would have finished him in Rock Rest.... - Aemond moved a little in his bed as Alicent left the room.... - i made sure you survived and see how your family lost and still your sister and mother as you can see are still alive.... you all usurped the throne thinking my mother would kill you all and guess what.... I was the killer... you underestimated me Aemond you thought because I loved you, I would never touch your family but after you killed my brother that love vanished... everything i wanted was your head but I took your brothers lives, and when you could stand and walk again from that bed I will make sure you bend the knee to my mother or chose between living wearing the black or died for every small folk and lord in westeros to know how you couldnt be loyal to your own family - we are both kinslayers now... you killed Luke and for that death I took Aegon, Daeron and Vhagar's lifes and the rest of your Hightower traitor family...

- stop this... please...- he tried to moved but his wound sting still...

- sh sh sh... tried not to move.. my love, you are going to reopened your wound and we want you to heal propertly...- she smirked and walked away from his room, Eutace wrote she lost what was left of her heart that day when she got out from her former husband's room she saw her mother reigned and saw her brother and Baela getting married, Aegon and Viserys grow up to be young men, trained by Daemon she saw Alicent dying in her room of winter fever as Rhaenyra cried for her friend Visenya felt nothing nor even could empathizied with her aunt or Aemond or her own mother she really hated Alicent and she kept doing it to the queens dowager's last breath, Aemond was allowed to stay in the keep but he rarelly saw Visenya his days were spend with his sister and niece, they forbided him to have a weapon in his hand if he wasnt supervised by Daemon or Jace he could trained eventually when he was fully heal, Visenya watched him from afar she yearned for him but still couldnt look past what he has done

The queen observed her daughter and asked her to presented herself in the small council, Rhaenyra was waiting with her half brother sitting beside her, if Rhaenyra could forgive her half brother for his wrong doing saying he payed enough price Eutace told the queen tried to salvage their relationship because she knew deep in her heart Visenya and Aemond were soulmates and if they were separated their souls would died

The dance of the dragons was stoped by the first daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen only few called her Daemon's bastard but she was a dragon and never let anyone pronounce the word bastard again

With time Aemond tried to conquered her heart again inviting her to walks and having beakfast together Vermithor was still weary of him but Visenya allowed him close to her dragon and Vermithor warmed to him once again, dragonless once more he sometime missed Vhagar but he knew he wasnt going to be allowed into a dragon again or tried to mount one

- maybe with time you can tried Tesarion... he sometimes fly with Vermithor to Dragonstone and back

- are you going to allow me into a dragon again...

- they allowed you with a sword and you still didnt kill anyone, we are all dragons Aemond... is in our blood and no matter what you've done we all deserved one - he had always encoraged him to have a dragon... Vermithor was claimed when she was 11 and before Vhagar was claimed by him she tolk him flying with the bronce fury, Visenya always favored Aemond even over her younger siblings, they were best friends naturally they were engaged and married after but Luke's death turn everything for the worst

- Im so sorry for all the pain I cost you... it was never my intention to hurt you the way I did...- Visenya beathe in and out holding back tears but she realised she never cried enough for her brother

' i hurt you.... i almost killed you, you should hate me, why you dont hate me...- she went to him hitting his face and chest but her punches were weak Aemond tried to hold her wrist holding her close to him ehile she kept fighting but as her forehead rest in his chest, she desarmed in his arms and couldnt hold tears anymore, her whole body shaking, his arms holding her close...

- (nike dori vedros ao toli mirre nike iedrosa jorraelagon) I could never hate you because despite it all I still love you - he used high valyrian

- (Avy Jorrealan toli) I love you too - she wispered holding him close to her eith her arms around his waist it was the first time Aemond felt their relationship could be saved

[winterwitch-trash]

“Never mess with a Mafia Lord.”

Author's Note: Well, here it is. Must be the longest actual smut I've written on this blog. Hopefully, my scenes are not too cringey. My very first attempt at Mafia!Bucky and I hope you all enjoy it.

Summary: Bucky Barnes has got eyes only for his queen. But what happens when she takes it too far in front of his men?

(Word Count: 1935 words)

Warnings: Mature Themes, Minors DO NOT INTERACT, dom!Bucky, edging, no use of y/n, lots of teasing, dirty talk

She knew better than to question him. When he wanted to treat her nice… He went all out, whatever that entailed, from quiet nights to extravagant dinner dates at the restaurant overlooking New York which ended up with the two rolling around in bed, where he made sure to have her shaking with desire. Sometimes, the fearsome mob boss would be the one who surrendered to her seduction; he was only willing to submit to her. But sometimes he wasn’t feeling that merciful. Take tonight for example. He was in the middle of an important meeting, and she was acting like a brat. While he actually liked it when she was like that, right now he found it irritating. The rest of the mafia bosses were exchanging looks of amusement, thinking that the girl was actually cute, acting like that. But for Barnes, it was distracting. And she did nothing to help. Yes, she was being quiet, so she wouldn’t make it more awkward for him, but the way her nimble hands found their way onto his shoulders caused him to feel a certain way, suddenly eager to conclude the meeting and drag her to their bedroom. And that’s how she knew she had accomplished her mission, which was to get his mind completely distracted.

“If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen... I will have to overlook dinner for a while, but it was nice seeing you all..” She mused, leaning down, brushing her lips against Bucky’s stubble, in that tantalizing way she knew made him yearn for more.

Oh, she was in for it, Bucky thought. Once the meeting was concluded, he made his way into their bedroom, where he found her, laying on the king-sized bed, clad in only a dark red set of lingerie, eyeing him with sheer anticipation and it made his brain short circuit. She was indeed a vision; yet, he couldn’t let go of the little stunt she pulled in his office in front of everyone. “I asked one simple thing… No interruptions baby girl…” He growled, fumbling with his tie. To this, she only giggled teasingly. “Not my fault I am married to the hottest mob boss in New York... I was bored without you…” She then pouted, motioning for him to join her in bed. The next thing she knew, was that she was being pinned down, hands above her head, and Bucky towering over her smaller frame, drinking her in. “I was going to be generous tonight but after what you did… I think you need to be punished…” Came his response, and she blinked innocently. Punishment? That was new for her. But it made the game all the more exciting. Before she was able to get a word out, his lips found her own for a few fleeting moments. “So much for punishing me… All words from the big bad mafia boss..” She teased, wanting to get to the main event faster. Mouthing off was the way to go when she was in the mood. And quite frankly, he loved it too. “Don’t be a smart mouth.” He snapped, deciding to bind her hands over the bedpost. “You’ve been a brat all day and I’m tired of your games..” He smirked nudging her knees apart. “So here is what’s going to happen. I am going to spank you five times, and if you’re a good girl, maybe I will allow you to come…” He announced, his blue eyes darkening as he watched her squirming slightly. She obviously had no idea what he was about to do…

Her heart was thundering against her chest, like a deer that had been caught in the wolf’s den. Bucky was eyeing her like a predator, ready to pounce on her, and it only served to grow the excitement within her. This man had a unique talent of igniting her whole body on fire with just one word, or a mere look. This is what they both enjoyed the most. The teasing remarks, the intimate touches, the kisses shared; Bucky may be rough time and time again, but every time he made sure she was comfortable. If anything, he likes to ensure that she will enjoy this as much as he will. “Hmmm… Are you going to punish me? Or do I have to take matters into my own hands… daddy?” She smirked suddenly turning the tables on him.

So much for her innocent act, Bucky thought, clearly taken aback by how fast she flipped positions.

“Keep calling me that, and I’ll make sure you won’t be able to walk for a week…” He growled, drawing a giggle out of her. “You think you’re in the positions to make threats? Darlin’, you’ve been nothing but words so far..” She taunted, slowly reaching behind her back to unclasp the straps, giving him a little show. Bucky decided to lean up to brush his lips against hers but  she stopped him abruptly, pushing him back into the mattress, a devious glint flashing in her eyes, nails scratching along his muscled chest. “Who says I’m afraid of the big bad Mafia boss?” Again, she couldn’t help the bratty attitude. She wanted to coax some kind of reaction out of him. And judging by how he was trying to keep his cool around her, she could see that her actions were getting to him. “See? I knew it. All words, baby..” She finally purred, gently suckling at his earlobe.

Oh, he wouldn’t let that slide. He loved the allure she exhibited, but she needed to be reminded of her place.  And there was the wild side she loved so much. “I think someone needs to be reminded of their place..” Bucky growled flipping positions once again, her back exposed to his hungry stare. “Now. As I promised.” He grinned innocently, swatting at her rear, eliciting one of those delicious moans that spurred him on. “Count.” He snapped swatting at her backside. “Mm.. I’ve been a bad girl…” She whispered, grinding against his crotch, wishing to create some friction between them. “Oh, you’ve been a bad girl now, have you?” He taunted, caressing her buttocks before delivering another spank, drawing a breathless giggle out of her. All this foreplay was killing her though. “I said… count!” he snapped spanking her once again, the sound bouncing off the walls of the spacious master bedroom. “Bucky pl—Three!” she whined, grinding against him more urgently. But her desperate pleas fell on deaf ears as he continued punishing her. “That’s what you get for pulling stunts like that baby girl…” He stated, squeezing her cheeks before delivering more spanks, rendering the supple flesh red. “Oh please, you liked it—FUCK!” Damn. Her smart mouth was turning him on even more, and he felt he would combust at any point. 

At this point she was a blubbering mess, moaning, bucking hips against his member, as he eased up momentarily on her punishment, to reward her with a surprisingly gentle kiss, a stark contrast from his dominating persona. “You’re right… I did like it… But it took everything in me not to bend you over and take you right there and then while everyone watching.” His admission made her wetter if that was even possible. “God… I need you… please…!” She begged once more bucking against his shaft. And who was he to say no when she looked so beautiful begging?

“Hmm. Since you’re begging like this… Who am I to refuse you?”

And with that, he slipped inside her wet heat, an appreciative growl leaving his throat, as he set a steady pace, driving himself in and out of her, stopping occasionally to whisper all the ways he would make her come undone. “Make me scream and I will make sure to repay the favor…” She mused, letting out the most obscene sound. Man, she was temptation personified. Her words held so many promises and it made him tense up in anticipation. But he wouldn’t give it to her so easy. Just as she was about to come, he stopped his ministrations abruptly, making her look up at him in disbelief. Was he serious right now? She was so close and he decided to slip out of her now?!

“Barnes… I swear if you don’t fuck me right now, I’m going to scream…” She snapped, desperate, her core clenching around nothing. Oh, there was the bratty attitude again…

“Who said you can demand things? Mm?” He growled pinning her hands over her head, lips dangerously close to her own but he didn’t actually kiss her. But who was he kidding? He was dying for a taste… So without further delay, he began leaving dark bruises all the way down to her abdomen, marking her, as he inched close to the spot she needed him the most. “This is all for me sweetheart?” He asked, a taunting lilt lacing his voice before he dove in, sucking and biting gently at her folds, smirking at the pornographic moan that left her lips. “Don’t you dare cum just yet.. You hear me?” He ordered. He couldn’t help it though. He had a tendency of being a little shit while in bed generally… 

However, after what felt like hours of endless teasing, he decided to be merciful and give her what she desperately needed. “I think you learned your lesson doll, didn’t you?” He teased, placing a featherlight kiss to her mouth as he placed her on top of him. “Go on.. Make a mess all over me…” He urged her, as she began bouncing on him slowly at the beginning but then she picked up her pace, until they both hit that euphoric state. “Shit! I’m going to come…” She keened, almost sure that the staff in the mansion would be able to hear them with how loud they were… “Fuck… Let go baby! I’m right there with you...” James’s voice came out quite strained, due to the onslaught of pleasure that crashed over their exhausted bodies. At the end of this debauchery, they both felt sated. “I think I’ll act like a brat more often if it makes you treat me like this…” She joked settling down beside him, a goofy grin playing on her face.  “Just don’t make it a habit in front of my men…” He teased in response, not missing the pout on her face. “Then don’t neglect me next time..” Came her witty remark, making him laugh out loud. “Oh, that’s how it is?” He trailed off between chuckles as they shared yet another slow, fervent kiss, watching the sunrise from their window. “I love you.” She mumbled cupping his stubbled cheeks. Sweet gestures like that always made the tough mobster melt in her embrace. Everyone in New York knew of his ruthless side, but she was the only one that got to see a softer side. “I love you too doll… To the moon and back.” He whispered, watching as her warm brown eyes drifted shut. She was exhausted after all… And since he had no urgent matters that needed attention, he chose to take it slow and rest.

Well, rest was a matter of perspective. In this line of work, there was no taking it easy. But right now, he didn’t want any dark thoughts to ruin this perfect morning, so he decided to finally surrender to a sleep filled with pleasant dreams.

Meanwhile, the head of the rival Mob, Brock Rumlow was devising a strategy to overthrow Barnes. And he knew exactly what to do. Or rather who to hunt.

@world-of-aus Hope you like it. And yes. I finished with a cliffhanger. Do I regret it? Absolutely not. Mwahahaha