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etheries1015 · 1 year ago

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Imagining Malleus is going through his heat cycle, and finds himself needing to be guided through the motions by none other than Lilia, of course. His subject? You.

(18+ minors DNI. Afab reader, fem pronouns.) this ones for you, bestie @masquerade-of-misery <3 live laugh love "threesomnia" LMAOOO

How you came into this predicament will be far beyond you. How you were now stripped bare by a hungry Draconic Fae, with your bare back pressed up against Lilias's chest, holding you in his grasp with his hands coming around to play with your sensitive mounds. His hands gently groped your tender breasts, flicking a finger over your hard nipples and pinching them at just the right pressure. Your back arched against his touch and a small and yearning moan elicited from your lips, Malleus looking down at you with a flushed face with his tongue licking his dry and hungry lips. Lilia chuckled at Malleus's eager display.

"It depends on the person," Lilia pointed out as if giving some sort of classroom lecture to the black-haired male, "Sensitivity of the breasts isn't uncommon. However, it seems our prefect here may need a little more than simple foreplay of the bosom to feel satisfied..." He rolled your nipples in his fingers and used the bulk of his palm to give a little squish to your breast, your breath becoming ragged as you melted into his touch, holding back a moan from the back of your throat. Lilia smiled at your rather simple reaction, before eyeing the shirtless fae that loomed over you. Malleus gave him a confused look before Lilia grabbed his hand and placed it on your chest.

Encouraging him to move in the way Lilia had, Malleus placed his much larger and dexterous fingers against your soft skin. His movements were much more uncertain, slow, and passionate versus the older fae whose touch left you thinking about the surprising amount of skill he had and the ability to understand your body the moment his fingers touched your skin. As Malleus gently kneaded your breasts with caution, you were shocked when suddenly you felt sharp teeth dig into the crook of your neck. You let out a yelp of surprise mixed with a moan that sounded rather confused and high-pitched- even your body at odds with the pleasure of your chest and the now throbbing of your neck. Malleus looked up in concern at this, almost glaring daggers at the other fae as if to ask; 'what did you do?'

"The neck," Lilia purred into your ear nibbling the lobe, "Is a rather sensitive spot for humans...biting it is also seen as a form of possessiveness, in both Fae and Human mating. Interesting, no?" Lilia smiled mischievously as he playfully licked the wound he had left, your body shivering at the wet muscle that scaled from the base of your neck before teasing its way to your jawline. Malleus eyed the cheeky fae that held you in his arms, before heading his mentor's words and leaning over to take his place between the other side of your neck. Lilia moved your hair to the side to allow Malleus easier access to mark your neck, his hands continuing his relentless motions on your chest. It seemed he had gotten rather carried away, for you winced in pain and exclaimed "Ow!" when Malleus's nail ended up scratching your nipple. He pulled away, looking at you in worry and quickly removing his hands from your body. Lilia chuckled at this, a seemingly common pastime for him at this point.

"Humans are delicate," Lilia said to Malleus almost to chastise him for his mistake, "Make sure she is alright, and then continue forward. You need to think what each of your body parts are doing, and adapt accordingly." Malleus's eyes caught yours.

"Are you alright, child of man?" He cooed gently, his honey-deep voice immediately setting aside any uneasiness you may have felt. You gave him a nod and the okay to continue, Lilia whispering "Good girl," In your ear before his hands snaked down to the bottom half of your body, also bare for the two men to be witness to. Your legs were closed the time they were experimenting with your breast and higher extremities, Lilia used a skilled hand to open your knee and allow your legs to spread in front of the draconic fae. Malleus stared down at your dripping cunt, taking notice of the slick that glistened around your hole. The growing bulge of his pants became much more apparent as it grew in size, practically begging to be freed from the confines of the fabric he so frustratingly wanted to be released from.

Lilias hand snaked down from your inner thigh to place two fingers over your folds and spread them apart, making the wetness between your legs much more apparent for Malleus to see. You instinctively felt a jolt of pleasure at such a simple touch, your legs almost snapping shut if it wasn't for Malleus quickly using his hands to force your legs apart. Lilias eyes cocked in surprise at this action, his lips curling in a coy smile before resuming his "lecture."

"Human women have their own lubricating system. When they are aroused, they produce this-" He used two of his fingers to rub a few lines from the pearl of your cunt and entrance, holding them up to show off the glistening clear substance that now covered his fingers. "This is how they prepare to take the male in." Malleus watched earnestly with rosy cheeks, almost drooling at the simple idea that you were ready to take him in. Taking this point as the next step, Malleus began to unbuckle his belt to release him of his constricting confines. Your eyes widened at this, and Lilia 'tsked' at this, shaking his head. Malleus looked up in mild annoyance at the red eyed fae.

"Although she produced her own lubricant," Lilia pointed out, "We still must make sure it's safe for her to take you. You must prepare her, first." Malleus furrowed his eyebrows at this, sitting back slightly holding back a growl of impatience.

"Does her body not automatically prepare her for such actions? Is that not the purpose of the lubricant?" Malleus inquired. Lilia shook his head and gently rubbed your thigh, as if thanking you for your patience.

"I understand your impatience, Malleus. But you must understand, despite the lubricant, we want to avoid any injury that may occur for being ill-prepared for the size in which she is to take. To prevent tearing or pain, it's best to prepare her first in order to stretch her out to better take you in. Especially in your case, since most human males only have one." You started at this sudden statement, looking back between the two men bewildered.

"O-one? What do you mean by that?" Lilia looked at you with eyes wide with confusion.

"Hm? I thought you were aware? Draconic fae actually has two phalluses. One is for keeping the entrance of their mate open, while the other is to push their seed in for breeding. Although...it would be in your benefit to start with one at first, to ease you into it." Your face fell at this information, looking back at Malleus with your eyes wavering in concern. Malleus leaned over you, using a hand to place upon your cheek and stroke it gently, his emerald green eyes glowing with lust and affection for you.

"Do not worry," Malleus cooed with his words of honey, "I will be sure to prepare you as Lilia instructs." Biting your bottom lip, you nodded and tilted your head back. Malleus planted a gentle kiss against your forehead before returning back to his original position, awaiting patiently for Lilias's next set of instructions. Lilia continued to hold you against his chest, looking at Malleus from behind your slightly trembling body. The trembling was out of slight fear of the possibility of two fitting inside of you, yet it seemed all the more tantalizing and exciting at the same time...

"Now Malleus," Lilia continued his instruction, his hands trailing back down to your folds using two fingers to caress your pearl in a mix of circular and vertical movements, teasing the inside of your hole with only the tip of his fingertips, not quite indulging into it. you whined and found yourself moving your hips in the hope of more friction, for the bat's touch was light and you felt yourself become impatient. Lilia ignored your feeble movements and continued to explain as if you weren't so needlingly begging for more. "Start with one finger, and when you feel it enough, you can continue to add more. You will be able to tell she's ready by how much she can take of your fingers without feeling too tight." Lilia suddenly pushed two fingers at once inside of you, urging Malleus forward. He watched eagerly as a satisfied hum escaped your lips, your body arching ever so slightly as Lilia massaged the inside of your hole skillfully with his fingers. All at once and far too soon for your liking, Lilia removed his fingers, your slick completely covering them. "Now, you try. Move them like this-" The red eyed fae gave a demonstration to the horned male, malleus nodding before following instruction.

Malleus was much more clumsy when it came to such acts, you could feel it in the way his fingers stiffly entered you with very little fluid movement.

"curl your fingers gently and move upward. Feel how she tightens around your fingers when you do it correctly?" you had to admit, hearing Lilia talk about you in such a blunt manner about the ways in which your body reacted was enough to make your entire face red. Yet, the wetness down below was far more prominent with every word he spoke. Once he was able to add another two fingers, Malleus pulled out leaving you empty once more. He admired his fingers that were covered in your substance, before staring you directly in the eyes and using his tongue to lap up your wetness from his fingers. You weren't sure you could possibly become any more flustered than you already were, yet it seemed possible with every new action both of the men took. Deciding you had been stretched out enough, Lilia had given Malleus the okay to the next step.

The tall male stood up and unbuckled his belt, allowing his pants to fall to the ground and removing his boxers allowing his cocks to be seen by your mesmerized eyes. You watched in anticipation as he shuffled back in front of you on his knees, your eyes never leaving the sheer length and girth that he had been hiding all this time.

"remember what I said earlier," Lilia said, using his hand to pull your legs apart further, "Humans are incredibly delicate. If you are not careful when breeding, you could harm your mate. Enter her slowly..." Lilias fingers snaked back down to your folds and once again used his skilled hand to pull them apart, Malleus pumping the top of the two cocks a couple times before aligning it with your entrance. Lilias fingers remained spreading you apart as he talked Malleus through every inch, yet the second the head of his cock penetrated you, you couldn't help but suck in air and almost pull back.

"t-too.. too big..!" You whined, Lilia hushing you gently and planting a kiss upon your cheek. Malleus leaned forward and groaned, his cock throbbing in desire to bury deep inside you. As you were taking inches of Malleus, you couldn't help but notice something hard poke at your bare back, like cloth that was rubbing against your skin. Lilia was hard. You hadn't the chance to speak up about it before the older fae ignored his obvious 'issue' and continued to coach Malleus through the motions.

"Let her adjust," Lilia said to the black-haired male, "(y/n), Tell him when you're ready to take more. And if it is too much to bear, speak your mind." Lilias's words were kind and gentle, his lips pressing against the lobe of your ear before biting down. After a few moments of adjusting to Malleus's size, you gave him the okay as Lilia guided him deeper inside of you.

"So tight and wet," Malleus let out a deep primal growl from the back of his throat as he was able to finally fully engulf himself in your warmth, "So warm...ah.." groaning while leaning forward and biting the crook of your neck, Malleus found himself trying to push deeper and deeper inside of you. Tears pricked the side of your eyes at the number of stimuli you were receiving, Lilia took notice and moved your head to face him kissing the tears away from your cheeks. "There...Good girl. You're taking him so well, aren't you?" He purred, trailing kisses from your cheeks to your jawline, and from your jawline moving his teeth to graze against the other side of your neck. Once fully adjusted, Malleus began to go at a steady pace with moans of pleasure escaping his lips.

It wasn't long before he was fucking you relentlessly out of pure primal instinct, the room full of wet sounds of skin slapping against each other and moaning. Sweet moans that left your lips with one man penetrating you and the other sneaky hands roaming your body. Lilia used one hand to grope your breast and play with your hardened nipples while the other moved down to your clit and rubbed circles around it leading you closer and closer to your release. You could feel the bubbling pit of your stomach as your walls clenched around Malleus's cock and your back arched, a loud desperate moan slipping from your lips and your body trembling with ecstasy. At the same time, you felt Malleus twitch inside of you, with ropes of cum painting your swollen insides white. Your body went limp against Lillia's chest, panting roughly as the Draconic fae removed himself from the warmth of your cunt. Lilia used his thumb to pull open your swollen hole, watching as Malleus's thick seed pooled out of your twitching entrance. As Lilia sang your praises, Malleus leaned forward and kissed your forehead gently, you taking notice that he was still as hard as he had started.

"Seeing how well both of you did," Lilia smiled, "shall we try using the second one, next?"

You surely weren't going to be pulled away yet, not until Briar Valley had another heir on the way <3

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luv-lock · 5 months ago

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⸻ ᴛ ʜ ᴇ ᴛ ʏ ʀ ᴀ ɴ ᴛ ⸻

Pairing: Yandere HOTD x Targaryen Reader Part 4

Summary: after your conversion with your father, you just wanted to be in peace. Especially since your husband name day is close.

Warning: Y/n herself is a warning.

Notes: English is not my first language. Gifs don't belong to me, credit to the owner. Hope you enjoy!

The water was warm, steaming against her pale skin as she reclined in the tub, the scent of lavender and rose oil wafting through the air. Elira’s hands worked delicately, her touch soft as she poured water over her mistress’s shoulders, letting it cascade down in rivulets. The bath chamber was silent save for the occasional splash of water and the crackle of the fire in the hearth.

Elira hesitated, biting her lip as she wrung out a cloth. Her nerves were apparent, her usual timidness magnified in the face of what she wanted to ask. Y/n smirked to herself, already anticipating whatever foolish question the girl was about to utter.

“My lady… may I ask something?”

Y/n opened one eye, watching her through half-lowered lids, her expression languid and amused. “You may,” she said, her tone carrying a sharp edge of mockery, as if daring the girl to test her patience.

Elira hesitated again, then quickly stammered out, “Why… why did you choose to marry Prince Aegon? He’s just a child, my lady. If—if I were in your place… and a man like Lord Jason Lannister wanted to marry me…” She trailed off, her cheeks flushing red. “I would have accepted.”

For a moment, the room was silent. Then, Y/n laughed—a sharp, derisive sound that echoed off the stone walls. It was not a warm laugh but one laced with scorn. She turned her head slightly to look at Elira, her lips curling into a cruel smile.

“Of course you would,” she said, her voice dripping with contempt. “That’s the difference between us, Elira. You’re a peasant. A frightened little girl who would gladly sell herself for a crumb of comfort and a pat on the head from some bloated fool with a golden lion stitched to his chest.”

Elira’s head bowed, her hands trembling slightly as she dipped the cloth back into the water. Y/n continued, her tone growing sharper, each word a dagger aimed at the girl’s pride.

“But I am Y/n. I am a Targaryen, the blood of Old Valyria. I am the rider of Vermithor, the princess of dragon stone. I don’t need a man’s protection, nor his gold, nor his pathetic little affections. I don’t need anything from a husband save for two things: a pretty face to sit on and a hard cock to ride.”

Elira gasped softly, her eyes widening, but she said nothing. She knew better than to interrupt.

Y/n leaned back, stretching her arms along the edge of the tub, her smirk deepening. “But if you’re so curious about my decision, I’ll enlighten you.” She tilted her head, her voice softening into a conspiratorial tone, though the mockery remained. “I choose Aegon because he’s a child. A boy with no power to tell me what to do, no authority to make demands of me.”

She let her words sink in for a moment before continuing, her eyes gleaming with cold, calculating ambition. “And more importantly, he’s the firstborn son. He is father's heir, whether my father likes it or not. I may not have a chance at the throne, but Aegon does. And I will mold him. Raise him exactly as I wish, shape him into who I want him to be. And when that day comes, when he sits the Iron Throne…” Her voice dropped to a near-whisper, her lips curling into a wicked smile. “I will be the true power behind him. I will be queen.”

Elira’s hands faltered, the cloth slipping from her fingers and sinking into the water. She stared at Y/n, her face pale, clearly unsettled by her mistress’s words. But Y/n only laughed again, throwing her head back, her voice ringing with cruel amusement.

“Now,” she said, her tone suddenly light and airy, “be a good girl and fetch me more hot water. This bath is growing cold.”

The woods were unnervingly quiet, save for the occasional rustling of leaves underfoot and the distant cries of birds. Y/n walked beside Ser Criston, her irritation growing with every step. Hours had passed, and they’d yet to find anything worth hunting. So fucking annoying. She tightened her grip on the bow in her hand, the frustration threatening to bubble over.

She was about to complain when her ears picked up something—soft footsteps, the kind that didn’t belong to animals. Her gaze narrowed, her body tensing as she held up a hand to stop Criston. Then, she heard it: her sister’s voice, faint but unmistakable, carried on the wind.

Rhaenyra.

Y/n’s head snapped in the direction of the sound, her sharp violet eyes catching movement through the trees. She crept forward silently, motioning for Criston to follow. As they approached, the figures came into view: Rhaenyra, her silver hair gleaming even in the dappled light, and beside her, that hulking brute Harwin Strong. But it wasn’t the sight of them that made Y/n pause—it was the majestic white hart standing just a few feet ahead of her sister, its antlers rising like a crown from its head.

She grabbed Criston’s hand, holding him back before he could move. “Be quiet,” she hissed, her voice barely above a whisper. Her lips curved into a smirk as she watched her sister. “And don’t make a sound.”

Y/n crouched low, her eyes fixed on Rhaenyra. Come on, sister. Kill it. Her heart beat faster, anticipation coiling tightly in her chest. She waited, watching for the moment when Rhaenyra would draw her weapon, when she would finally prove herself capable of something more than riding her dragon and being a spoiled cunt. Show me you have the spine.

But Rhaenyra didn’t move. The hart stood before her, regal and unafraid, and Y/n saw her sister’s hand drop to her side. And then, Rhaenyra stepped back, letting the beast go.

Y/n’s smirk twisted into a sneer, her mind filling with sharp, cutting thoughts. Of course. Of course, you don’t, you stupid cunt. What did I expect, really? She shook her head, her contempt flaring as she silently drew an arrow from her quiver. The string of her bow stretched taut as she aimed, her eyes locking on the white hart’s elegant neck.

And then she let go.

The arrow flew true, piercing the hart’s neck with a satisfying thunk. The beast reared back, stumbling as blood gushed from the wound. Rhaenyra gasped, her shock written plainly across her face, but Y/n didn’t give her a second glance.

“Finish it,” she said coldly, tossing a glance over her shoulder at Criston.

Ser Criston moved quickly, drawing his blade and putting the hart out of its misery with a single, clean stroke. Y/n rose from her crouch, her movements smooth and graceful as she strode forward, stepping into the clearing. Her boots crunched softly against the ground as she approached Rhaenyra, whose wide eyes were still fixed on the fallen hart. Harwin stood beside her, his hand resting protectively on his sword hilt, though he didn’t move to stop Y/n.

“Well, well,” Y/n said, her voice light with mockery, “what a surprise to see you here, sister.”

Rhaenyra turned to face her, her expression a mix of anger and disbelief. “Why did you do that?” she demanded, her voice sharp. “I let it go.”

Y/n tilted her head, her lips curving into a sweet, venomous smile. “Why? Because I needed a new cloak, of course.” Her tone was dripping with false innocence. She gestured to the hart with a casual wave of her hand. “This beautiful creature is perfect for it. Don’t you think?”

Rhaenyra stared at her, speechless, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. Y/n took a step closer, her smile widening as she leaned in and pressed a kiss to her sister’s cheek, the gesture as mocking as it was intimate.

“Goodbye, dear sister,” Y/n whispered, her voice a soft purr. “Enjoy the rest of your little walk.”

Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel, her crimson cloak swirling behind her as she walked back to Criston. “Bring it,” she ordered, gesturing to the hart’s body, and he obeyed without question.

As they disappeared into the woods, Y/n glanced over her shoulder one last time, catching the stunned, angry look on Rhaenyra’s face. Her smirk returned, satisfaction blooming in her chest.

Weak, little Rhaenyra, she thought. You’ll never understand. But don’t worry, sister—I’ll show you.

The ride back was slow, her mood as sour as the metallic scent of blood wafting from the stag’s severed head strapped to the back of her horse. The triumph of the kill had already faded, leaving her simmering irritation in its place. Criston walked beside her, one hand steady on the reins of her horse, his ever-watchful gaze scanning the path ahead. She barely acknowledged him, her thoughts consumed by the tedious pomp awaiting her return.

As they entered the camp, banners flapped in the wind, servants bustling about like ants beneath the royal pavilion. Y/n slid off the horse with practiced ease, her boots hitting the ground with a soft thud. “Take care of the stag’s body,” she ordered Criston sharply, tossing him a brief glance. “The head stays with me.”

Criston bowed slightly, his armor clinking. “As you command, princess.”

She didn’t wait for him to finish. Her sharp eyes scanned the camp until they landed on her brother, cradled in Alicent’s arms near the pavilion. Without a word of greeting, she strode toward them, her crimson cloak billowing behind her. Alicent looked up, startled, but before she could protest, Y/n reached out and plucked Aegon from her arms.

“Y/n,” Alicent began, her tone edged with concern, “he’s just—”

“I know,” Y/n cut her off, dismissing her with a glare. “Don’t fuss.”

Aegon, his little head still bandaged, squirmed briefly in her grasp before recognizing her. His tiny arms flung around her neck, hugging her tightly. “Si-ster!” he exclaimed, his small voice brimming with excitement.

Her irritation softened for a fleeting moment as she kissed his forehead, her lips brushing against the white cloth wrapped around his head. “There you are, my little husband,” she murmured, a rare tenderness in her voice.

But the moment didn’t last. She turned, gesturing for Criston to bring the stag’s head forward. The grotesque trophy swung slightly as it was presented, blood still dripping onto the dirt below. She held Aegon up slightly so he could see, her voice lilting with mock enthusiasm.

“Look,” Y/n said, holding him slightly away from her so he could see better. “This is yours. The white hart of the Kingswood, a beast worthy of a prince.”

But instead of the reaction she anticipated—delight, awe, perhaps even pride—Aegon’s lip began to quiver. His bright eyes welled with tears, and before Y/n could react, he burst into loud, pitiful sobs, his tiny body shaking in her arms.

Y/n froze, staring down at him in disbelief. “What… What is this?” she muttered, her irritation flaring. “Why are you crying? It’s a gift, you foolish boy.” She bounced him slightly, trying to quiet him, but it only made his wails louder.

Alicent rose from her seat, her expression a mixture of concern and anger. “He’s just a child,” she said, extending her arms. “He doesn’t understand.”

“Clearly, he doesn’t,” Y/n snapped, her patience wearing thin. She thrust Aegon back into Alicent’s arms, ignoring the boy’s desperate grip as he clung to her for a moment before being transferred. “Take him. If he can’t appreciate what I’ve done for him, then let him go back to you.”

Alicent cradled the sobbing boy, soothing him with soft words and gentle strokes of her hand. Y/n turned away, brushing her hands down her cloak as if to rid herself of the inconvenience. She cast one last glance at the stag’s head, her jaw tightening.

Ungrateful brat.

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3.

@ʀᴏᴛᴛᴇɴꜰʏʀᴇ 2024. ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴏʀ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴇʙꜱɪᴛᴇꜱ.

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quietstormxr · 4 months ago

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Forgotten

Pure, unadulterated angst.

Reader x ?

Poll Results: Reader x Xaden Riorson

A/N: Fourth Wing Spoilers, Mentions of depression

Word Count: 1.7k

Trying something different and asking for y'alls input. There will be a poll at the bottom for you to participate in the story if you're interested.

Tomorrow, Always Tomorrow - Home

You watch as they rally around her. The way they are now busy watching her every move. Training her at every opportunity. They even made her a damn saddle for her dragon. They constantly train her on the mat, design daggers for her hands and strength.

Staring at the blazing fire in the common room, you slowly watch your surroundings and the comings and goings. But no one knows you’re there.

You’re invisible.

Not only to those who you thought cared about you, but also thanks to your signet. You huff a laugh as you mask yourself in the alcove that you’ve come to claim as your own.

All you must do is survive for a few more days before you’re free from them all. Free from any eyes looking for you, free from expectations, from them.

You always knew that you weren’t a priority. You always faded to the back of conversations, the back of the room. Left to your own devices, you let the resentment fester, the feeling of not being worthwhile.

No one ever described what a bond breaking between a dragon and a human felt like, but you could feel the way your dragon’s voice seemed to start feeling like it was underwater. The communication line between the two of you seeming to be drowning, the same way you felt yourself breaking apart at the seams.

As you arrived in formation when the alarms went off, you kept to yourself and your eyes straight ahead. Nothing in your mind registered anymore. The only thing behind your eyes was the festering of relentless anger.

As you go to leave formation and gather your things, you feel a tug on your arm. You look back to see Imogen tapping your shoulder.

“Xaden wants you for the headquarters squad.” You raise your eyes to hers and give a tight nod, nothing showing in your eyes.

While packing your things, you can’t help but wonder if you could just walk away from it all. If they think you’re dead, it wouldn’t matter at this point. With a plan forming in your mind, you pack everything that you deem important and leave the rest of your things behind. You close the door, not leaving a note or anything to find. You’ll either succeed in your plan or you’ll face a punishment you won’t return from.

You head to the flight field. Your dragon waits behind all the others. You huff a laugh at the fact that even your dragon knows how much you just want to fade into the background of it all.

You may not want to listen or watch the comradery of those you used to consider friends or even a lover, but you make sure to keep your eyes sharp. You watch as everything unfolds in front of you, until you watch as Xaden and Garrick stride towards you.

“I assume Imogen told you that you’re coming with us.” Xaden says, no pretense of niceties in sight.

“Yes.” Succinct. Final. There’s nothing more to say.

Both look at you seeming to take in the stone of your appearance, most likely confused by your lack of warmth they were so used to seeing. They exchange a look, but Xaden nods to you and strides away. You watch as they both stride towards Liam and Bodhi, all of them collectively looking back towards you. Even though you are eager to lash out at them, yell, scream, and cry, you just look back with a look of impassivity.

“Headquarters squad, let’s go.” Xaden calls as he mounts Sgaeyl.

You fly at the back of the riot, which your dragon does willingly. There’s no need for you to voice your feelings towards those in front of you when your dragon is already well aware.

The way you lag behind the others has you touching down at the lake about ten minutes after everyone else. As soon as you do, you’re met with a scene that causes you to snort in derision.

Of course Sorrengail wasn’t going to react well to things that were kept from her. You knew that from just watching the way the girl had treated her friends. Everyone is so preoccupied with the scene in front of them, they don’t realize you’ve landed.

Forgotten again.

The pattern is now almost comical. You watch, still mounted as Xaden tries to reason with Sorrengail, Liam trying to prove his friendship, Bodhi and Garrick waiting hesitantly.

Soon enough, it seems Xaden has calmed the little scribe down and everyone is mounting again. No one even realizes that you weren’t even aware of the gryphons either. No one tries to reassure you; you just must reassure yourself.

Once at Athbyne, you search the empty barracks on your own and honestly can’t believe your luck. The plan you have may just be easier to pull off than you ever thought.

While you’re exploring the rooms of the outpost, it seems the group has come to a decision to fight. As you make your way up to the wall where everyone is standing, you listen as Sorrengail goes into details on the venin you’re about to face.

Without caring to hear more, you turn and head back to your dragon. You’ll still execute your plan, but there’s no way that you’re going to leave innocent people out there to die. If you do, then you’re no better than anyone back at Basgiath.

As you sweep the perimeter of town, you’re met with a sight that breaks your own heart. A child has been left behind in the mess of confusion and fleeing. A little girl crying, curled up in a ball, wailing somone’s name to save her.

You can’t help the tears that swim in your eyes feeling like you’re watching yourself break into a million pieces.

You command your dragon to land and immediately pick up the girl. You begin running towards the mine where the rest of the townspeople are but stop in your tracks. Eyes flaring wide, you watch the venin completely drain Soleil and her dragon.

You turn again and sprint as fast as you can with the girl in your arms back to your dragon. You mount and command your dragon to bring you to where the rest of the townspeople are being gathered.

Once there, you bring the little girl to a woman who has her arms out and seems to be shouting the little girl’s name. Watching as she is now cradled and being comforted, you turn your back on the scene and take a deep breath. All you want is someone to comfort you like that. No, not just someone. One specific person.

You shake your head at the thought that causes your heart to crack open.

When you bring your head up, you’re met with red eyes and a shock of tattered purple robes.

“Such pain for such a young person.” The male voice hisses in a raspy voice that sounds like a distorted rumble.

You can’t hide the flash of recognition at the words that settle in your mind.

“Why don’t you take all of that pain and channel with me?” He says while beginning to circle around you.

Looking around, you realize that you’re alone. There aren’t any other riders or fliers in this area.

“You can show them what real power looks like and show them you aren’t one to be forgotten.” The words he’s spitting begin to swirl in your mind. The thought of being able to be powerful and not just a shell that’s been rejected hitting you square in the chest.

You shake your head trying to escape the hold that the venin’s words have seemed to settle in your mind.

“I won’t be controlled. By you or any power.” You spit through clenched teeth, trying to bite back from the hold that you can’t seem to shake from your mind.

“Your spirit is fierce. It would be so pleasant to break you.” The venin continues.

You find yourself reaching for the sheath that was given to you months ago with instructions not to use unless absolutely necessary. You suppose this situation would render it’s use necessary.

You double over with the sheer amount of power that the venin seems to be plying towards you. Without overthinking, you grab the hilt of the dagger and fling it. Your aim is the one thing you’ve never questioned about yourself and as you expect, it finds it home in the chest of the venin.

The creature’s eyes seem to blaze with the fury that you were able to best him. You find yourself crawling backwards trying to get as far away as possible.

Suddenly the din of the battle still going on around you crashes back into your mind. You look up to see dragons locked in battle, to your left and right civilians are still running for cover. Realizing that your own dragon’s focus is taken helping Deigh eviscerate a wyvern, you know this is when you have to make your decision.

You take a steadying deep breath, trying to calm yourself from the interaction with the venin. As soon as you feel your heartbeat return to something a little more normal, you’re off. You swing your pack on your back as you run. With one look back, you feel like your entire being is breaking, but you just can’t imagine staying anymore.

A slight panic tries to break through your thoughts, it must be your dragon knowing what you’re about to do. However, as you continue running, you feel your dragon’s connection growing thinner and thinner. There’s no reason to devote much thought to it as you keep going, if you die away from your dragon, so be it. No matter what, from now on it will be on your terms.

You steal into a thick cover of forest and throw your bag down. You slide down the trunk of a tree and collapse into a tired heap. At this point, the sun has crested on the horizon and night is beginning to set. Your mind can’t help but wonder if anyone has even realized that you’re gone. The last thought you have before sleep finds you is that your dragon can find a new and worthy rider.

#fourth wing fanfic #fourth wing x reader #xaden riorson #bodhi durran #garrick tavis #bodhi durran x reader #xaden riorson x reader #fourth wing xaden #garrick tavis x reader #the empyrean #the empyrean fanfic #fourth wing fic #fourth wing #bodhi fourth wing #garrick fourth wing #iron flame #iron flame fanfic

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writers-potion · 1 year ago

Text

Writing Weapons (2): Knives and Daggers

Dagger vs. Sword

In many situations, daggers might be more plausible than a sword fight.

Dagger are eaiser to carry and conceal, lighter, faster, good for spontaneous action, suicide bids, self-defense and assassination.

Dagger vs. Knife

No clear distinction; terms used interchangeably

Dagger is more for thrusting with 2 sharp edges

Knife is more for cutting (slashing) with 1 sharp edge

Concealment

Carried in a leather sheath on the belt

Can be concealed under a cloak, in a bodice (sheath sewn into the bodice), in a boot, behind hari ornaments

Bodice daggers (popular in the Renaissance) had no cross guards.

Connotations

Beside its combat value, the dagger has lots of emotional and sexual symbolisms.

The closeness need to attack with a dagger creates intense personal connection. They are often used in fights where emotions are running high: gang warfare, hate crime, vengeance.

Due to its shape and the fact that it's usually worn on a belt made it a symbol of virility in many cultures and periods.

Sometimes it was the hilt rather than the blade: like in the case of bollocks daggers with two...balls on either side of the hilt.

Fighting Techniques

Stabbing:-

The dagger with long, thin blades are made to stab a vital organ like the kidneys, liver, bowel, stomach or heart.

Stabbing directly at the chest seldom works, since the blde may glance off the ribs. Position the dagger below the ribcage and drive it upwards, through the diaphragm and into the lungs. If the sword is long enough and your fighter is a professional, you can get to the heart.

If no professional, just keep going for the stomach and you'll get one of the vital organs eventually.

Slashing:-

When describing a slash wound, show a lot of blood streaming, or even spurting.

Slashing dagger fights are bloody - show your MC's hands getting slick with blood, grip on the weapon slipping.

The aim is to cut the opponent's throat or cut tendoms, muscles, or ligaments to disable. Slashing the muscles in the weapon-wielding arm is the most effective; insides of the writst or back of the knee is also critical.

Assassinations:-

Show good knowledge of the humna antatomy

Use a stabbing dagger

A single, determined, calculated and efficient stroke, probably below the ribs.

Self-Defense:-

Disable the attacker by slashing their weapon-wielding hand (elbow or wrist)

Quick, multiple stabs wherever the MC can get the blade to land; the attacker won't give time for careful positioning

If the blade is too short to do any significant damage, maek up for this by stabbing so ast that the pain and blood loss distracts the opponent.

Vegeance and Hatred:-

Someone who is motivated by raging emotions will stab the victim repeatedly, even after he is already dead.

The attacker may stab or salsh the victim's face, disfiguring it.

Contemporary street fights and gang warfare usually involves these.

Duels:-

If both fighters are armed with daggers, include wrestling-type moves as they try to restrict each other's weapon hand.

Show them trying to disable each other by slashing insides of writes, elbows, the back of the knees, etc.

Dagger + Sword

If the character is expecting a fight, they can hold a sword in their right hand, and a dagger in their left to fight with both

Sword + mace combination also common.

Blunders to Avoid:

Direct stabbing at the chest wouldn't work.

Hero cannot cut his bread with a stabbing sword

adapted from <Writer's Craft> by Rayne Hall

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hayatheauthor · 4 months ago

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Have u done a post on anatomy of swordfight? Or like weapons in general. I have a lot of different weapons planned out: bow, different types of swords, daggers, shields, spears, etc. I can't find a single proper guide explaining how to write fight scenes for these that make sense.

The Anatomy of Writing a Sword Fight

Thank you for the ask! I really love your ideas/reqs and will be making at least 2 more blogs as a reply to this ask (that will cover bows etc). For now I've gone with swordfights.

This guide dives into the technical aspects of sword fighting—from the types of swords and injuries to the medical realities of treating these wounds.

My long-form posts are usually filled with long detailed paras but this time I wanted to focus more on the 'facts' and had a lot of things to cover so I stuck to concise pointers for each area. That being said, feel free to ask follow-up questions if needed!

Understanding the Blades

Firstly, here's a quick breakdown on the types of swords and their impact on injuries

Longswords Longswords are double-edged, straight blades often used with two hands. They cause deep slashes capable of severing muscles and tendons, and thrusts that can puncture organs or arteries. Heavy blows can also break bones.

Rapiers Rapiers are thin, pointed blades designed for thrusting. They cause precise punctures targeting vital organs or arteries. Less effective for slashing but deadly in skilled hands.

Katanas Katanas are curved, single-edged blades optimized for slicing. Their shape allows for those gory slashes that can amputate limbs or expose bones. Thrusts can also be fatal.

Sabers A saber is a curved blade with one sharp edge, typically used on horseback. These blades are designed for slashing, often causing wide, shallow wounds.

Short Swords and Daggers Smaller blades that are used for close combat can sometimes fall under the sword umbrella based on their shape and length. A Jambiya for example is categorised as a 'short sword'. These work for deep puncture wounds in tight quarters. Can sever arteries or puncture the heart or lungs.

In short, the design influences the wounds. Remember:

Straight blades are versatile, causing both slashes and thrusts.

Curved blades focus on slicing, leaving gaping wounds.

Thin blades like rapiers target precision strikes to critical areas.

Types of Sword Injuries

As mentioned above I'm trying to cut to the chase with this blog so for each injury type, I've covered what I think are the key points. These are the appearance, severity, blood loss caused by this type of wound, and pain levels. I think these four basically cover everything a writer needs to know when picking their poison.

Slash Wounds

Appearance: Long, open cuts with jagged or clean edges depending on the blade.

Severity: Superficial slashes may damage only the skin and fat layers, but deeper cuts sever muscles, tendons, and even arteries.

Blood Loss: Significant, especially if major arteries like the femoral (thigh) or brachial (arm) are cut.

Pain: Immediate burning or stinging, with sharp increases if nerves are involved.

Thrust Wounds

Appearance: Small entry wounds but potentially deep and catastrophic internal damage.

Severity: Can puncture vital organs such as the heart, lungs, liver, or intestines.

Blood Loss: Often internal, leading to hidden dangers like haemorrhaging or collapsed lungs.

Pain: Stabbing pains that radiate outward, especially if organs are pierced.

Blunt Force Injuries

Appearance: Bruising, swelling, or fractures from strikes with the flat side or hilt.

Severity: Can lead to broken bones, ruptured vessels, or concussions.

Blood Loss: Minimal unless skin is broken.

Pain: Deep aches or sharp, localized pain from fractures.

Assessing the Severity of Wounds

When assessing the severity of a wound, there are a few important things to keep in mind. To make it easier, I've put together a quick checklist to help you out.

Location: Wounds to the head, neck, or chest are often life-threatening. Injuries to limbs are less fatal but can lead to significant blood loss.

Depth: Shallow cuts are often cosmetic but painful. Deep wounds risk severing arteries, damaging organs, or causing fractures.

Angle: Oblique cuts may glance off bones or armor. Direct thrusts to unprotected areas are far more dangerous.

What Happens When Each Area is Wounded

It's kind of a given that each area of the body is different and would thus cause different reactions when pierced. While many writers stick to the 'blood dripping from the mouth, hand desperately clutching the wound' look, I think it's a good idea to consider the medicinal side of your injuries.

Are there arteries in this area? Vital organs? Muscle and tissue? Here's a quick breakdown of those questions (no I haven’t mentioned every area or organ of the body):

Limbs

Forearms and Upper Arms: Severing the brachial artery results in rapid blood loss. Cuts to tendons disable grip strength or arm movement.

Thighs: The femoral artery is a critical target. Damage here leads to exsanguination within minutes if untreated.

Calves and Feet: While less life-threatening, injuries here severely limit mobility and can cause nerve damage leading to paralysis.

Abdomen

Liver: Heavy bleeding due to its vascularity. Potentially fatal without intervention.

Stomach: Leakage of acidic contents causes severe internal infections.

Intestines: Punctures lead to sepsis from spilled waste material.

Kidneys: Severe back pain and rapid blood loss from renal artery damage.

Chest

Lungs: Punctures cause pneumothorax (collapsed lung), leading to difficulty breathing and chest pain.

Heart: Even small cuts are often fatal due to rapid blood loss and cardiac tamponade (fluid pressure around the heart).

Ribs: Fractures can puncture lungs or other organs.

Neck

Jugular Vein or Carotid Artery: Severing either leads to death in under two minutes from blood loss.

Trachea: Obstruction causes immediate respiratory distress.

Spinal Cord: Severance leads to paralysis or death.

Back

Spinal Cord: Injuries vary from numbness to total paralysis depending on the location.

Kidneys: Vulnerable to back stabs; severe bleeding and pain radiating to the abdomen.

Face/Head

Cheeks: Slashes leave disfiguring scars but are rarely fatal.

Eyes: Punctures result in blindness and intense pain.

Skull: Blunt force may cause concussions or fractures; penetrating wounds can be fatal if they reach the brain.

Treating Sword Fight Injuries

In the chaos of a sword fight, providing immediate care can mean the difference between life and death. The first priority is to stop the bleeding. For deep cuts or arterial wounds, use a clean cloth or pressure bandage to compress the injury. If the bleeding doesn’t subside, especially in limb injuries, apply a tourniquet above the wound, ensuring it’s tight enough to restrict blood flow without causing further damage.

Once bleeding is controlled, stabilize the victim. Immobilize fractures with makeshift splints, and in cases of suspected spinal injuries, avoid moving the victim unnecessarily to prevent exacerbating the damage. Finally, cleaning the wound is critical to minimize infection risks. Remove debris carefully and irrigate the wound with clean water if possible. Though battlefield medicine is rudimentary, these steps provide a fighting chance for survival.

Also, one thing people forget to go over is temperature. Keeping the victim warm is essential, as blood loss can lead to hypovolemic shock, which compromises the body’s ability to circulate oxygen.

Historical vs. Modern Treatment

The approach to sword fight injuries varies dramatically between historical and modern contexts. While I can’t completely break down the differences, here’s (what I hope) is a quick overview that will aid in your research.

Historically, treating wounds was rudimentary at best. Herbal poultices were applied to reduce inflammation, and cauterization—burning the wound to seal it—was a common but agonizing method to prevent bleeding and infection. Stitching techniques were crude, and the lack of sterilization meant infections like sepsis or gangrene were often fatal.

Fret not, modern medicine offers a more hopeful prognosis. Sterile wound care, antibiotics, and surgical interventions allow for precise repairs to severed arteries, muscles, or organs. Advanced imaging technology can assess internal injuries, while blood transfusions and IV fluids combat shock effectively.

This just underscores how important it is for writers to consider what timeline their story is set in. Sorry but your medieval prince won’t just have a full recovery after suffering a brutal gash, especially not if his only source of medicine was love interest’s xyz solution. Infections are a very real issue. In fact, most deaths during that time were due to infection. Do your research.

The Psychological Aftermath

The aftermath of surviving a sword fight extends far beyond physical wounds, leaving lasting emotional and psychological scars. Many survivors experience trauma or PTSD, manifesting as flashbacks to the battle, vivid nightmares, or an overwhelming sense of anxiety, especially in situations that trigger memories of the fight. I would absolutely love to see people incorporate this in their writing! If your modern OCs can get flashbacks and nightmares after a single gun altercation what makes you think the medieval ones won’t experience something similar?

Survivor’s guilt is another common burden, particularly if the character witnessed comrades die or was forced to make life-and-death decisions during combat. These emotional struggles can deeply shape their personality, making them more cautious, resentful, or even vengeful. Villain arc here we come!

One thing to remember; physical limitations compound the psychological toll. Permanent injuries like chronic pain, reduced mobility, or disfigurement can remind a character daily of their ordeal, influencing how they interact with others and navigate the world.

As a writer it’s important to take recovery into account. Exploring these aspects adds depth to the character’s recovery arc, making their journey more relatable and human.

Remember folks; a sword fight isn’t just a moment of action—it’s a fight as brutal and dangerous as any knife or gun altercation you can think of (if not worse).

Crafting the Fight Scene

To end this blog, here are my (and various Google articles’) two cents on what you should be focusing on/keeping in mind during a swordfight.

Writing a compelling sword fight requires balancing technical accuracy with emotional resonance. Pacing is key: alternate between rapid exchanges of blows and brief pauses to allow tension to build. These pauses provide an opportunity to describe a character’s thoughts, pain, or strategic planning.

Sensory details bring the scene to life—capture the sharp clash of steel, the metallic tang of blood in the air, the searing pain of a wound, and the slickness of a sweat-soaked grip on a sword hilt.

Focus on the characters themselves to make the scene more engaging. Highlight their emotions, such as fear, determination, or desperation, alongside the physical toll of the fight. Show how fatigue sets in, how their breathing becomes labored, and how every swing of the blade drains their strength.

Injuries should be portrayed realistically; instead of dismissing wounds as minor setbacks, use them to heighten tension. A cut to the leg might slow a character’s movements, while a stab to the shoulder could make wielding their weapon excruciating.

Balancing these elements ensures your fight scenes are not only thrilling but also grounded in a visceral reality.

Resources for Writers

Books:

"The Book of the Sword" by Richard Francis Burton

"Medieval Swordsmanship" by John Clements

Videos:

YouTube channels like "Skallagrim" and "Scholagladiatoria" for sword reviews and techniques.They’re very helpful for all sorts of weapons actually so OP I think you should consider stalking their channels you’d find a TON of info (I get most of mine from them lol).

Articles:

I don’t have any precise ones but to boost your research consider medical journals on trauma and wound care. Oh and historical accounts of duels and battles.

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aspenmissing · 2 months ago

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If I may request... something something about reader who really likes Silco's nose? I find it really pretty... and fascinating... (I'm really open to other characters too haaaaa thank you thank you 🫶🏻💕)

ᴏʙꜱᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴꜱ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴍᴇʟ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ || 5818 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ɴᴏɴᴇ

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ʜᴇʟʟᴏ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ! ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴡᴀꜱ Qᴜɪᴛᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ, ʙᴜᴛ ɪ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀꜱᴛᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴀꜱᴄɪɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ! ʜɪꜱ ɴᴏꜱᴇ ɪꜱ Qᴜɪᴛᴇ ᴅɪꜱᴛɪɴɢᴜɪꜱʜᴇᴅ <3. ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏʙꜱᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ! (ᴛʜᴇꜱᴇ ᴏɴᴇꜱ ᴍᴀʏ ᴏʀ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ʙᴇ ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ ᴏɴ ᴍʏ ᴏᴡɴ ᴏʙꜱᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴꜱ)

SILCO

There was something about Silco’s nose that you adored—obsessed over, really. Maybe it was the sharp slope of it, the way it framed his gaunt yet commanding face. Or perhaps it was how it wrinkled in distaste when someone displeased him, how it crinkled ever so slightly when he smirked at his own dark wit.

You couldn’t help yourself. Every time he was near, your fingers itched to touch it, to trace the elegant ridge down to his lips.

You weren’t quite sure when your obsession had begun, but you did remember the first time you gave in to the temptation to touch it.

It had been late. The kind of late where the world outside was quiet, even the usual hum of the Lanes reduced to nothing more than the occasional distant murmur.

Silco’s office was dimly lit, a handful of candles flickering atop his desk, their wax pooling and dripping slowly down their bases. The air was thick with the scent of ink, aged parchment, and the distinct bite of pipe smoke curling lazily from the half-burned tobacco resting in the nearby ashtray. It was a rare moment of stillness—one you had grown to cherish.

He sat behind his desk, utterly absorbed in his work. His mismatched eyes flicked back and forth across the pages in front of him, the furrow in his brow deepening as he read. His gloved fingers moved with precision, flipping through the documents in a slow, methodical manner, only pausing to tap against his chin in thought.

You were lounging on the worn leather couch across the room, a book open in your lap, though you had long since stopped reading.

Your attention had drifted—to him.

To the elegant cut of his profile, the sharp lines of his face cast in shadow. To the way his lips pursed slightly in thought, the low hum in his throat as he considered whatever ruthless schemes were currently filling his mind. But mostly, to his nose.

You had always admired it—obsessed over it, really. The proud slope of it, the way it framed the rest of his features so perfectly. Sometimes, when he was displeased, it wrinkled ever so slightly, or when he was amused, the slightest crinkle would appear near the bridge. It was a part of him you found endlessly fascinating, and for reasons you couldn’t quite explain, you wanted to touch it.

No, scratch that—you needed to. You hadn’t even thought about it. Not really. You just… reached out.

Soft, hesitant fingers brushed over the bridge of his nose, tracing the elegant line as if committing it to memory.

The moment you made contact, Silco froze.

His breath caught mid-inhale, and for a single, excruciating second, he didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t speak.

Oh. Oh no.

Your stomach flipped violently. Why did I do that?

Panic shot through your veins as you quickly withdrew your hand, fingers twitching uselessly in your lap. You hadn’t exactly thought this through, had you? It had been impulse. A deeply ingrained fascination that had, for the first time, crossed over into action.

Silco exhaled—slowly. Deliberately. Then, with the same methodical precision he handled everything in life with, he lowered the page he had been reading.

And stared at you.

Not his usual lazy, half-lidded stare. No. This was something else. His sharp gaze pinned you in place like a dagger through silk, mismatched eyes unreadable.

“Did you just…” His voice was quiet, dangerously even. “Touch my nose?”

Your throat went dry. “I… might have.”

His expression didn’t change, but his gaze flicked between your face and your guilty hands, still clenched tightly in your lap. His silence stretched unbearably long, his stare unrelenting.

You swallowed.

Oh God, I broke him.

“… It was an accident,” you blurted. A slow blink.

“Oh?” His tone was mild, but you didn’t miss the razor-thin amusement beneath it. “Your hand… accidentally found its way onto my face?”

“… Yes?”

Silco’s lips parted just slightly, his tongue running over his teeth as he considered you with quiet, almost clinical scrutiny. His brow twitched, not quite in annoyance but in that signature Silco-exasperation that you were all too familiar with.

Your body tensed, waiting for some kind of punishment—some remark that would undoubtedly put you back in your place.

But instead, he let out a long, suffering sigh.

Then—he shook his head.

“You’re lucky,” he muttered, voice laced with dry amusement, “that I’m too tired to deal with your nonsense.”

And just like that, he went back to his work.

You sat there, completely still, your pulse hammering in your ears. You had touched his nose. You had touched his nose, and he let you live.

Your lips twitched as you finally exhaled. He had gone back to reading, yes—but you saw it. That tiny, almost imperceptible twitch at the corner of his mouth. You had caught him off guard. And deep down, he was amused. It was the first time you touched his nose.

But it would not be the last.

JAYCE

The morning sun streamed through the curtains, casting a golden glow over the sleek marble of Jayce’s penthouse. It painted soft lines across the bed, illuminating the tousled sheets and the faint imprint of last night’s warmth still lingering between them. The air smelled of warm linen, a hint of coffee drifting from the kitchen below, but most intoxicating was the familiar scent of him—rich and woodsy, with faint traces of steel and cologne clinging to his skin.

You stirred under the plush covers, shifting slightly against the warmth wrapped around you. Not just the warmth of the sunlight, but the solid, steady presence beside you.

Jayce.

His arm was lazily draped over your waist, his bare chest rising and falling in the slow rhythm of sleep. His face was turned toward you, relaxed, serene, lips slightly parted, framed by that ever-present stubble you adored so much. The golden light kissed the sharp angles of his jaw, highlighting the roughness that made your heart stutter every time you looked at him.

You swore you could stare at him like this forever.

Carefully, you reached out, your fingers tracing lightly along the line of his jaw, feeling the rough texture beneath your fingertips. The sensation sent a small thrill through you. That perfect balance of softness and ruggedness—just enough to tickle your skin when he kissed you, just enough to remind you of him.

A quiet sigh rumbled from his throat, low and content, and a small smile tugged at your lips. You did love this. More than you probably should.

Then, before you could pull away, his lips parted, voice thick with sleep and amusement.

"You really like that, don't you?" Your fingers froze against his jaw, caught red-handed.

Jayce cracked one eye open, brown softened by the morning light, his lips curled into something dangerously close to a smirk.

You huffed, trailing your finger along his chin with feigned nonchalance. "Maybe. Maybe not."

His arm tightened around your waist, his warmth pressing into you as he let out a low chuckle. "Oh, you definitely do." His voice was smug, still heavy with sleep, but there was an affection behind it—a teasing fondness that made your heart stutter.

Before you could protest, he pulled you closer, his stubble brushing against your cheek as he pressed a lazy, half-awake kiss to your temple. The scratch of it sent a tingling warmth through you. Then another kiss, slow and teasing, trailing down your jaw.

"You do this on purpose," you muttered, barely managing to keep your voice even.

Jayce hummed, the sound deep and rich in his chest. "Maybe. Maybe not." He mimicked your words, lips brushing over the shell of your ear, the playful scrape of his stubble sending another delicious shiver through you.

You sighed, fingers curling against his bare shoulder, warmth settling into your bones. "Never shave it off."

Jayce let out a soft laugh, lips ghosting over your skin. "Oh? That much of a fan?"

"You have no idea," you murmured, tilting your head to capture his lips in a kiss—one that started soft, sweet, but quickly deepened into something slower, more indulgent.

His lips molded against yours, warm and inviting, his hand sliding over your back, fingers trailing in lazy circles along your spine. He kissed you like he had all the time in the world, like this moment was something to be savored. And you did—every part of it. The way his stubble grazed against your skin, the heat of him pressed against you, the way he tasted of sleep and something distinctly Jayce.

The kiss stretched between you, languid and unhurried, like the golden morning light spilling across the room. He pulled back just enough to murmur against your lips, voice low, teasing, "So, I guess shaving's off the table, then?"

You grinned, running your fingers along his jaw again. "If you ever shave it, I’m leaving you."

Jayce let out a deep laugh, full and warm, the sound vibrating against your chest. "Noted."

With a lazy smirk, he shifted, flipping the both of you over so you were pinned beneath him, his weight deliciously warm. His arms caged you in, his body pressed against yours as he looked down at you, eyes still sleepy, hair deliciously messy from sleep.

"Alright, so… what do I get in return for keeping the stubble?" he teased, voice still rough with sleep, but undeniably playful.

You scoffed. "The pleasure of keeping me in your bed, obviously."

Jayce chuckled, leaning down to brush his nose against yours. "Mmm, sounds like a fair deal."

His lips found yours again, deeper this time, a slow drag of his mouth against yours, his stubble scraping deliciously along your skin as he kissed you slow and deliberate. His hands roamed lazily, fingertips tracing patterns over your exposed skin, and you sighed against his lips, completely melting into him.

"Jayce," you murmured between kisses, voice barely above a whisper.

"Mm?"

"You know what would make this moment even better?"

He pulled back slightly, raising a brow. "Let me guess—more stubble appreciation?"

You laughed, swatting at his chest before slipping your arms around his neck. "No, you dork. Breakfast."

Jayce groaned, burying his face against your neck in mock defeat. "You really know how to kill a mood."

"You love me anyway."

A hum of agreement vibrated against your skin, followed by a soft, lingering kiss against your collarbone. "Yeah," he murmured, pressing another kiss against your shoulder. "I really do."

Your heart swelled at his words, warmth spreading through your chest.

He finally pulled back with a grin, his fingers brushing over your cheek. "Alright, alright. Breakfast first, then back to bed?"

You smirked. "If you're good."

Jayce huffed out a laugh, shaking his head as he finally rolled off of you, stretching his arms above his head before sitting up. "You are so lucky I love you."

You grinned, reaching up to run your fingers along his jaw one last time, enjoying the familiar scratch of his stubble. "I know."

He shot you a playful look before leaning down for one last lingering kiss. Then, with a dramatic sigh, he finally swung his legs over the side of the bed. "Alright, what are we having?"

You hummed thoughtfully, curling back into the sheets with a smirk. "Well… pancakes sound good. Or maybe waffles."

Jayce stood, stretching, completely unbothered by his state of undress as he padded toward the kitchen. "You just want an excuse to pour syrup all over me, don’t you?"

You gasped, feigning offense. "I would never."

Jayce shot you a knowing look over his shoulder. "Mmhmm. Sure."

You simply smiled, watching him disappear into the kitchen, his voice carrying down the hall. "Just so you know, if you’re eating breakfast in bed, I expect full cuddling rights after."

You grinned, stretching lazily under the covers.

"Deal." Maybe you’d stay in bed a little longer today. Actually, scratch that.

You definitely would.

VIKTOR

The soft glow of Piltover’s evening light streamed through the window of Viktor’s lab, bathing the room in hues of amber and gold. Outside, the city buzzed with distant life—faint voices, the hum of hextech energy, the occasional chime of an airship passing overhead. But inside this room, there was only the quiet symphony of Viktor’s mind at work.

The desk before him was cluttered with blueprints, ink-stained notes, and complex diagrams, all stacked haphazardly as if they had been abandoned mid-thought. A cup of coffee—long cold and untouched—rested precariously near the edge of a thick book on bioengineering. The only thing moving with precision was Viktor himself, his fingers twirling a pen as he murmured calculations under his breath, eyes sharp and lost in deep concentration.

His cane rested beside him, leaned against the desk within easy reach, though he hardly noticed it now. He was too focused, too enraptured by whatever theory or experiment he was trying to perfect.

And you? You were watching him from your usual perch on his desk, legs lazily swinging, your fingers absentmindedly tracing invisible patterns into the wood.

He was beautiful like this.

Not in a grand, obvious way, but in the way of something carefully crafted—sharp angles and delicate lines, warm golden eyes that burned with intellect. He carried his exhaustion in the soft shadows beneath his eyes, his determination in the stubborn furrow of his brow.

But your focus, as always, drifted to the two distinct marks on his face.

The first, a small, dark mole sitting just above the left corner of his lips. The second, resting on his right cheekbone, contrasting against his pale skin like a tiny ink blot on parchment.

You loved them.

Viktor never seemed to think much of them—he was far too occupied with matters of invention and progress to consider something so small, so insignificant. But you disagreed. Those moles were part of him, little marks of uniqueness, and you found yourself drawn to them over and over again.

So, without much thought, your hand lifted, fingers grazing softly over his cheek.

The scratching of his pen halted.

Viktor didn’t flinch—he was used to your touch by now—but his head tilted slightly, a faint flicker of amusement appearing in his eyes as he turned toward you. His lips quirked at the corners, not quite a smile, but something close.

“Something on my face?” he asked, his voice carrying the usual dry humor.

You hummed in thought, tilting your head as if examining him. “Mhm… several things, actually.”

Viktor let out a soft chuckle, setting his pen down with a quiet clatter. “Oh? Do enlighten me.”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you leaned in closer, your breath warm against his skin. He didn’t pull away—he never did—but you noticed the way his fingers flexed against the armrest of his chair, as if grounding himself.

Then, ever so softly, you pressed a kiss to the mole on his right cheekbone.

Viktor’s breath hitched, though he remained perfectly still.

“This one,” you murmured against his skin.

Then, your lips trailed lower, your fingers delicately tracing his jawline as you moved to your next target. You took your time, savouring the warmth of him, the way his skin reacted to your touch.

Another kiss—this time just above the left corner of his lips, where the second mole rested.

“And this one,” you whispered.

Viktor let out a breathy chuckle, but there was something unsteady about it, like he was trying not to react too much. His cane shifted slightly as he adjusted his weight, his body tense despite the easy smirk playing on his lips.

“Are you mapping out constellations on my face, milý?” he mused, his voice lower now, quieter. (Dear)

You grinned, pressing another featherlight kiss to his jaw before pulling back just enough to meet his gaze. “Maybe.”

Viktor regarded you carefully, his golden eyes glimmering with something unreadable. His hands, which had remained idle for most of this interaction, finally moved—one rising to gently rest over yours, his fingers curling lightly around them.

“And where do these constellations lead?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

You cupped his face fully now, your thumbs stroking the delicate hollows beneath his eyes. He leaned into your touch, the tension in his posture melting, his breathing slower, more measured.

“They lead me to you,” you murmured, pressing your forehead against his. “Always.”

A quiet hum of satisfaction left Viktor’s lips as he closed his eyes for a brief moment, as if committing this sensation to memory. When he opened them again, the warmth in his gaze had melted into something softer, something vulnerable in a way few people ever got to see.

His fingers laced through yours, holding them against his face, as if reluctant to let you pull away. “Then I suppose I am fortunate to be your chosen destination.”

You smiled, brushing your nose against his in the lightest of touches. “You are.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The world outside continued on, Piltover’s hum never ceasing, but in this space—this small, intimate space—you were both still.

Then, to your surprise, Viktor shifted slightly, his grip tightening just enough to keep you close. His lips brushed yours—not quite a kiss, just the promise of one. Testing.

And then, with a deep, quiet sigh, he finally pressed his lips to yours.

It wasn’t hurried or desperate. It wasn’t the kind of kiss that stole breath or demanded more. It was slow, gentle, like the ticking of a clock when time no longer mattered.

When you parted, Viktor exhaled against your lips, his hand still holding yours against his cheek. “You are rather distracting, you know,” he murmured.

You grinned, brushing another kiss to the mole just above his lip. “And you love it.”

Viktor chuckled, shaking his head, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he let his forehead rest against yours once more, the warmth of you anchoring him in a way that no theorem or blueprint ever could.

For once, he allowed himself to stop.

For once, he let himself enjoy the sensation of being loved in every breath, in every touch, in every kiss.

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

JAYVIK

The flickering candlelight cast long shadows across the room, illuminating the intricate details of Viktor’s workshop. Tools, papers, and blueprints were scattered across the desk, but your attention was elsewhere. Specifically, on the two men who had thoroughly stolen your heart.

Jayce was reclined on the couch, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, fingers tapping idly against the fabric. His hands—the hands you adored so much—were strong, calloused from years of labor, and yet impossibly gentle when they traced along your skin. It was those very hands that built the Hextech you now marveled at, the same hands that held yours so protectively when you walked together through the streets of Piltover.

“You’re staring,” Jayce teased, his lips curving into a cocky grin as he flexed his fingers, stretching them before clenching into a fist. “See something you like?”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks, but before you could muster a response, Viktor, who was perched on his stool near the workbench, let out a soft chuckle. He leaned on his cane, tilting his head to the side, amber eyes filled with amusement.

“It is hardly a secret that our dear Y/N has an…appreciation for your hands, Jayce.”

You shot Viktor a playful glare, crossing your arms. “Oh? And what about you, then?”

Jayce, catching on quickly, smirked and turned his gaze toward Viktor. “Yeah, Y/N. What do you like most about Viktor?”

Your gaze softened as you took in the sight of him—the sharp angles of his face, the determined glint in his eyes, the way his lips, perpetually bowed into a natural pout, seemed almost unfairly perfect.

“Your lips,” you confessed, voice tinged with warmth. “They’re beautiful.”

Viktor, for all his wit, faltered for a second, his fingers curling around the handle of his cane as if to ground himself. His mouth parted slightly, and you couldn’t help but admire the way his lips curved in thought. It was entirely unfair how effortlessly captivating he was.

Jayce burst into laughter, his chest rumbling as he clapped a hand against his knee. “See, Vik? You’re not the only one with admirers.”

Viktor huffed, rolling his eyes, though the faintest hint of pink dusted his cheeks. “I never claimed otherwise.”

Feeling bold, you moved closer to Viktor, cupping his face with both hands as you ran your thumb gently over his lower lip. His breath hitched, and for a moment, the world outside the workshop seemed to vanish. Then, just as smoothly, you turned and slid yourself into Jayce’s lap, grabbing one of his hands and threading your fingers through his own.

“Two geniuses, and both of you are completely at my mercy,” you teased, grinning as Jayce hummed in approval and Viktor simply sighed, though his eyes gleamed with affection.

Jayce squeezed your hand, pressing a lingering kiss to your fingers. “Hopelessly so.”

Viktor merely shook his head, the smirk returning to his lips. “Utterly.”

As the night stretched on, the three of you remained close, enjoying the warmth of each other’s presence. Viktor eventually stood, cane tapping lightly against the wooden floor as he stretched. “I suppose I should get back to work,” he murmured, though he made no move to leave.

Jayce, still holding your hand, scoffed. “Come on, Vik. You’ve been at it all day. Take a break.” He tugged you both closer, wrapping an arm around your waist to keep you in place. “Y/N and I demand your presence.”

Viktor arched a brow but didn’t resist as you reached for him, coaxing him to sit beside you on the couch. With a soft sigh, he relented, resting his cane against the side before allowing himself to settle into the cushions.

You curled against him, content between the two of them, feeling the warmth of Jayce’s hand against your own and the occasional brush of Viktor’s lips against your temple as he relaxed into the rare moment of peace.

Jayce played idly with your fingers, occasionally tracing patterns into your palm, while Viktor hummed quietly, the vibrations of his voice soothing against your skin. It was rare to have them both like this—completely at ease, caught in a moment of tenderness.

“I could get used to this,” Jayce murmured after a while, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

Viktor chuckled. “Yes, well, do not get too comfortable. The work is still waiting.”

You sighed dramatically. “Can’t we just stay like this forever?”

Viktor gave you a knowing smile, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Perhaps for a little while longer.”

And with that, you melted further into their embrace, knowing this was exactly where you were meant to be.

VANDER

The warm scent of hops and smoke lingered in the Last Drop, wrapping around you like a familiar embrace. But no matter how many times you walked through these doors, there was only one thing in this entire bar that made you feel truly safe—Vander.

And more specifically, his arms.

They were a fortress of strength, rough and calloused from years of fighting and providing, yet they held you as if you were made of the most fragile porcelain. It was intoxicating, the way his presence alone was enough to make you feel secure, but the moment his arms wrapped around you? That was when you truly melted.

“Y’know, you’re like a little shadow sometimes,” Vander chuckled as you pressed against his side, your fingers absentmindedly tracing over the thick muscle of his forearm. His voice was laced with amusement, but the warmth in his tone betrayed how much he enjoyed it.

“Not my fault you’re so comfortable,” you murmured, barely looking up from where you were playing with the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt. The fabric was stretched over his biceps, and you bit your lip, resisting the urge to squeeze just a little harder.

Vander hummed in thought before shifting in his chair. The next thing you knew, he was pulling you onto his lap, his arms effortlessly circling your waist as he leaned back against the worn wooden seat.

“There,” he rumbled, his chin resting against the top of your head. “This better?”

You sighed happily, nuzzling into the crook of his neck as his arms tightened just enough to make you feel utterly caged in by warmth and safety. “Much better.”

The bar continued on around you—clinking mugs, boisterous laughter, the occasional outburst—but in Vander’s arms, none of it mattered. His thumb rubbed lazy circles against your side, and his chest rumbled with contentment.

“You really do like my arms, don’t ya?” he teased, the smirk evident in his voice.

You huffed a laugh, tilting your head up to meet his knowing gaze. “Can you blame me? They’re strong, warm, and they make me feel safe. I think I might be addicted.”

Vander let out a deep laugh, the sound vibrating through his chest. “If that’s the case, guess I better keep ‘em around you at all times, huh?”

Your grin widened as you pulled his arm tighter around you. “Now that,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his jaw, “sounds like the best idea you’ve ever had.”

Vander only chuckled, but the way he held you closer told you everything you needed to know.

You were right where you belonged.

As the night wore on, you stayed nestled in his embrace, his arms never loosening their hold. Occasionally, he would brush a kiss against your temple, his beard tickling your skin, sending shivers down your spine. It was little things like that—those small, affectionate gestures—that made you fall for him all over again.

“I swear, you’re worse than the kids,” Vander teased as you traced idle patterns along his forearm, your fingers enjoying the feel of his skin.

You smirked, resting your chin against his chest so you could meet his gaze. “Oh? And here I thought you liked it.”

Vander shook his head with a good-natured chuckle, his hand coming up to cradle your cheek. His thumb brushed softly against your skin, his eyes dark with something deeper—something that made warmth spread through your entire being. “I do. More than you know.”

A blush crept up your neck at the sincerity in his voice. No matter how strong and formidable Vander was to others, with you, he was something softer. Something safer. And you cherished that side of him more than anything.

The bar had started to quiet down, the patrons either leaving or lost in their own conversations, but neither of you moved from your spot. Eventually, Vander sighed, shifting slightly to get comfortable. “C’mon, love. Let’s head upstairs. Can’t have you fallin’ asleep on me.”

You pouted, reluctant to leave the warmth of his embrace, but as he scooped you up effortlessly in his arms, you had no complaints. You curled into his chest, your arms draping over his shoulders as he carried you up the stairs to your shared room above the bar.

Once inside, Vander sat down on the edge of the bed, still holding you close. You buried your face against his neck, inhaling deeply, relishing the way he smelled—earthy, warm, like home.

“You’re never gettin’ tired of this, are ya?” he murmured, amusement dancing in his voice.

You shook your head, tightening your arms around him. “Never.”

Vander sighed, but it was a happy one. “Guess I’ll just have to hold ya forever then.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and as he leaned back against the bed, pulling you down with him, you had no doubt that he meant every word.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Lying there, you listened to the steady beat of his heart, matching your breathing with his. His fingers trailed lazily over your back, tracing small circles, the motion lulling you into an easy state of peace.

“Y’know,” you murmured, half-asleep, “I think you were made to hold me.”

Vander let out a deep chuckle, his grip tightening slightly. “Yeah? That so?”

“Mhm.” You nuzzled against him, sighing in content. “Big arms, strong hands… meant for keeping me safe.”

Vander pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his voice softer now, filled with a quiet kind of love. “Then I guess it’s a good thing I don’t ever plan on letting go.”

His words settled over you like a blanket, and with one last deep breath of his scent, you let sleep take you, safe and sound in the arms you loved most.

MEL

The glow of the Piltover skyline barely held a candle to the warmth in Mel’s eyes. No matter how many golden trinkets adorned her fingers, no matter the lavish silks that draped over her body, nothing compared to the glimmer in those greenish-gold pools that seemed to hold the world itself.

And Y/N could never look away.

Mel had long since noticed. The way Y/N’s gaze lingered when they talked, how their fingers would trace along Mel’s cheek under the guise of pushing back an errant curl—anything to keep her looking back. It was an unspoken devotion, quiet yet persistent, like a secret worship that didn’t need words. Mel would often catch the way Y/N’s breath hitched when she turned to face them fully, the way they seemed utterly captivated, as though the rest of the world faded into irrelevance.

Tonight was no different. They lay together in the golden embrace of candlelight, the flickering light casting long shadows over the plush bedding. The air was warm, filled with the lingering scent of jasmine and the faint traces of Mel’s perfume. She leaned against the headboard, her posture effortlessly elegant despite the intimacy of the moment. One of her hands idly played with Y/N’s fingers, tracing each knuckle, the lines of their palm, as if memorizing them, while her other hand moved lazily across their bare skin, drawing invisible patterns that sent shivers down their spine.

Y/N, however, did nothing but look at her, gaze locked onto those mesmerizing greenish-gold eyes, as if trying to etch every flicker of light and depth into memory. Every time Mel blinked, her long lashes cast the faintest shadow over her high cheekbones, a fleeting moment of mystery before her eyes found Y/N’s again, anchoring them with something that felt both powerful and impossibly gentle all at once.

“You never tire of staring, do you?” Mel’s voice was soft, amused, the faintest trace of fond exasperation lacing her words. There was a knowing lilt to her tone, as if she had asked this question many times before, already expecting the answer.

Y/N hummed, tilting their head as if considering. “No. Never.”

Mel chuckled, shaking her head, the corners of her lips curving in that signature smirk of hers. Her free hand drifted from Y/N’s palm up their arm, barely touching, just enough to leave a trail of warmth in its wake. “And why is that?” she asked, though she already knew.

Y/N let their hand cup her cheek, thumb grazing just beneath the lower lash line, drinking in every hue of gold and green that shimmered beneath the dim lighting. “Because your eyes make everything else seem… dull.”

Mel blinked, something shifting in her expression—softer now, contemplative. She had been the subject of admiration before. Compliments, honeyed words, rehearsed flattery—she had heard them all, yet none of them felt quite like this. There was no hidden agenda behind Y/N’s words, no game, no expectation—only a quiet, consuming sincerity that made Mel’s breath catch in her throat. It was rare, this kind of devotion, the kind that expected nothing in return and yet made her want to give everything she had.

She let out a slow exhale, studying Y/N as if they were the one draped in gold, the one adorned in the kind of beauty that made the stars themselves seem dim.

A rare flicker of vulnerability softened Mel’s features as she searched Y/N’s face. “You are insufferable.”

Y/N only smiled, thumb brushing along the curve of her cheek. “But you love me anyway.”

Mel sighed, a small smile curving her lips as she let her forehead rest against Y/N’s. “Yes,” she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I do.”

Y/N’s heart stuttered, a gentle ache blooming in their chest. Love, when spoken from Mel’s lips, felt like a promise wrapped in velvet—soft but unbreakable, tender but resolute. They could feel her breath against their lips, warm and steady, grounding them in the present, in the quiet intimacy of this moment.

Before they could respond, Mel closed the small space between them, sealing her answer with a kiss. It was slow, unhurried, her lips moving against theirs with a kind of deliberation that made Y/N feel as though time itself had ceased to matter. Her fingers curled into Y/N’s hair, a silent plea to stay close, to never look away.

As their lips parted, Y/N whispered, “Say it again.”

Mel let out a soft hum of amusement, tilting her head. “Say what?”

Y/N ran their fingers gently through Mel’s curls, eyes still locked onto hers. “That you love me.”

Mel traced her fingers along Y/N’s jaw, her voice carrying a warmth that rivalled the candlelight. “I love you,” she murmured, and then again, softer, as if sealing the words into Y/N’s skin. “I love you.”

Y/N let their eyes flutter closed for a brief moment, a contented sigh escaping their lips. “Good,” they murmured. “Because I plan to spend the rest of my life getting lost in your eyes.”

Mel smirked, shaking her head as she brushed her thumb over Y/N’s bottom lip. “You really are hopeless.”

Y/N chuckled, nuzzling closer. “Hopelessly in love with you.”

Mel let out a quiet laugh, pulling them closer, her fingers splaying across their back in a way that was both protective and claiming. “Then don’t ever look away.”

And Y/N, ever mesmerized, kept their eyes open until the last possible second, committing the golden-green warmth to memory once more. Because in Mel’s eyes, they saw more than beauty. They saw home. They saw the quiet vulnerability beneath the grandeur, the depth behind the carefully woven façade. They saw love—not spoken in words alone, but in the way Mel looked at them, in the way she held them close as if they were the only thing that truly mattered.

And Y/N would never, ever look away.

#Arcane #arcane fandom #arcane fluff #reader insert #mel x reader #jayce x reader #jayce x you #jayce x y/n #viktor x reader #viktor x you #viktor x y/n #vander x reader #vander x y/n #vander x you #silco x reader #silco x you #silco x y/n #jayvik x reader #jayce x reader x viktor

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tobisaurus · 2 months ago

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#ides of march #march 15th #caesar #carry on cleo #kenneth williams #15th march #julius caesar #stabby stab #this is what happens to dictators #dictator on day one #may your daggers be sharp

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phossiii · 3 months ago

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Would Monsters!Y/N ever learn about Phosphorus’s criminal background? I don’t just mean for relationship building and such, but also learning that damn Pimp get-up he wore at one point🤣🤣🤣 Just so Y/N could stare judgementally at Phosphorus, who may have been indulging in drugs at the time as well given Thorne also ran a drug business.

｡𖦹°‧⭑ melting

synopsis: phosphorus doesn't take kindly to disrespectful business partners... especially when they disrespect you.

cw: reader is a monster, mature themes, violence, profanity, innuendos, phosphorus is phosphorus, takes place within the monsters universe.

"I've got to say, Señor Fósforo," Esteban grinned, rakishly, as he surveyed the club, eyes gliding over girls and party-goers alike. "You certainly don't fail to disappoint. This is the best get-together I've been to in a long while."

Amused, Phosphorus out a hearty chuckle, using his thumb to light the end of his cigar.

Damn well better be...

The amount of money he shelled out for this little shindig was enough to make a duke sweat.

Most, if not all, of the big name players in Gotham's criminal underworld were there, dining on gourmet hors d'oeurvres and puffing on premium smokes.

All to get "re-acquainted".

"You flatter me, Esteban. Five years and nothing's changed," Phosphorus sighed, leaning back against the cushions of the booth as he released a smooth stream of smoke. "But now that we've got the pleasantries out the way, I think it's time we get down to business."

His light-hearted demeanor switched quickly, turning sharp and poignant.

"I take it my business in the East End is going well... given your solid gold watch, that eyesore you've got parked out front... and the blow you've got on your nose."

Eyes wide, Esteban quickly wiped away the evidence, swallowing thickly as he adjusted the collar of his dress shirt.

"Better than ever, Señor. B-But of course we are fully prepared for you to resume your position."

"On the contrary," Phosphorus sighed, looking down at his scotch. "I need you to continue running the East End."

Esteban raised a brow.

"Huh? But why?"

"Not that it's any of your business," Phosphorus reminded sharply, before allowing his eyes to drift over to your form on the dance floor. "But I need some more time on my hands... I've got... other things to tend to."

You flipped your hair over your shoulder with a carefree grin, laughing with a few of the other mobster girlfriends you met as you all danced like nobody was watching.

When, in fact. everybody was watching.

Phosphorus bit the inside of his cheek, fighting off an invisible grin at the sight of your happy expression.

You were thoroughly worried when he broke you both out of Belle Reve, afraid of the wrath of Batman more so for his sake than for yours.

But he assured you that everything would be fine, and encouraged you to have the time of your life—all on his dime, of course.

So, when he said you both had a party to go to that night, you accepted the little black card to his offshore account and went ham at the stores for the first time in your life.

Which brought you here, cutting a rug under the strobe lights of the club.

"Diablo Mami..." Esteban gasped, having finally noticed you through his fear-filled, coke-laced haze. "Qué hermosa!"

Your silvery laugh rang through the crowd as you swirled your hands around your body, your fire drawing intricate designs in the air.

Using your power, you outlined your hips in rhythm with the music, accentuating the curve of your dips in the tiny, black dress.

'Goddamn...'

Not a day went by without Phosphorus thanking his lucky stars you gave an asshole like him a chance.

An asshole... who just registered Esteban's words.

With a painful quickness, he snapped his head over to the Colombian drug lord, eyes sharpening like daggers.

"What was that?"

"La diablesa..." Esteban marveled, gaze raking over your every inch. "Horns... And a tail, too... I've never seen someone like her before... So sexy..."

Phosphorus's jaw ticked as he watched the man looked at you, his expression displaying his thoughts clearly as he practically undressed and fucked you with his eyes.

In an instant, the cigar hanging out the skeleton's mouth went up in flames, completely burning up right to the bud.

But Esteban was too enraptured in you to notice.

"I'm a little parched, Señor," the drug lord grinned, rising from his seat and adjusting his blazer. "I think I'm going to get a tall drink of wa—"

He wasn't even able to finish his sentence before an irradiated hand grabbed him harshly by the neck, hoisting him up in the air and completely knocking the table over in the process.

The shattering glasses of scotch grabbed the attention of everyone in the club, along with the screams of nearby women as Esteban choked and gurgled, blood slowly leeching from his every orifice as Phosphorus cooked him from the inside out.

"On second thought... your employment is no longer necessary."

Many watched with horror as he melted the man in his grasp, refusing to let go until Esteban's head was completely liquefied, leaving only his body intact.

From the dance floor, you watched with a tired sigh, crossing your arms over your chest with disapproval.

"This is what I get for leaving him alone," you huffed, pinching the bridge of your nose.

Leaving the terrified mob girls behind, you strutted off the dance floor, moving to go yank your boyfriend out of his mess.

"All right, nothing to see here," you barked, scanning over the room with a side-long glance. "He's a dead man. I'm sure we've all seen one before."

With a flippant puff of fire, you ignited the man's body with hellflame, cremating him in a matter of seconds.

"Let's keep this party goin', alright? Back to your business."

Murmurs of agreement rumbled throughout the room before the music cut back on and the attendants returned to their partying.

"As for you," your voice sharpened, brows furrowing as you grabbed Phosphorus by his tie. "We need to talk... Alone."

"Is this a talk or a talk talk? 'Cause I wouldn't be opposed to the former," he cooed, tenderly sliding his hand down your side to rest over the curve of your ass.

But the glare you fixed him with said otherwise.

"Ah... the latter."

"What did I tell you about the melting, my love?" you sang from your seat on Phosphorus's desk, softly caressing his jaw as you held him in between your legs by his tie.

Even though your words were sweet, they were not without an underlying, scolding tone.

"Only do it if absolutely necessary," he grumbled, as if he were a child.

"And was it absolutely necessary?"

"...Yes."

"Alex."

Your grip on his tie tightened, eyes glowing a faint yellow.

"It was! Honest!"

"Oh, yeah? What did he do?"

"He was eyeing something that belongs to me."

His voice dropped an octave, eyes gliding over your face with a possessive glint.

(You couldn't see them, but you'd become so perceptive with his body language that you might as well have)

"Yeah, well, that something's about two seconds from skipping town."

"What?!"

"I told you the moment we stepped into Gotham that we needed to keep a low profile. Parties are typical of the nightlife, but melting is not!" you sighed out of your nose, reigning in your volume just a tad. "If Batman catches wind that you're out, he will not hesitate to drag you back to Belle Reve and throw away the key. And then what am I supposed to do? "

You released him, your arms coming up to hug yourself as you looked away.

"With my record clean, they won't take me with you. And I'll never see you again..."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, doll, that's not gonna happen," Phosphorus quickly shifted, his hands quickly rising to cup your face and turn you toward him. "I assure you, I'm being careful. Everything's being delegated to my lieutenants. I'm as far removed from the business as possible."

Glancing up at him, you searched his face for insincerity.

"Promise?"

With a small smirk, he placed a soft peck on your lips, running his thumb over your cheek.

"Promise."

At that, you grinned, pulling him back in by his tie and pressing your lips into his neck, much to his amusement.

He'd have to make promises more often...

"If that's the case... whaddya say to a little more one-on-one time?" you softly whispered into his ear, punctuating with a little nip to his jaw.

The timbre of your voice sent a shiver down his spine, forcing the man's hands to reverently grasp at your hips.

"Whatever you want, doll... whatever you want..."

#phossiii #creature commandos #creature commandos x reader #dc #dc x reader #dcu #dcu x reader #doctor phosphorus #doctor phosphorus x reader #dr phosphorus

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hearts4hughes · 1 month ago

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BODYGUARD | BSF!RAFE CAMERON x FEM!READER

a/n: what i’d do for a bsf like rafe 🙄

warnings: mdni ; degradation ; dom!rafe ; angst w/ steaming ending ; fingering

overstimulated was an understatement. from the sweaty people crowding around you to the warmth radiating off of rafe, you were overwhelmed.

he stood behind you like a looming guard, shooting daggers into any boy who dared to look your way. his eyes, blown wide from whatever coke he’d just done, followed your every move. his chest was flush against your back as you stood in the sea of people.

if you wanted a drink, he was getting it for you; if you wanted to dance, he was blocking you from everyone’s view; if you wanted to talk to another guy… well, that just wasn’t happening.

you took a deep breath, trying to ground yourself.

usually, you didn’t mind rafe’s antics. yes, he may have been overprotective, erratic, and unusual for a best friend. though, he was still your number one. but today, you felt suffocated, finally catching his red flags.

you shuffled away from him, his chest no longer pressed against you. it took less than five seconds for him to step closer again. you turned around to face him, your cheeks flushed from liquor. he gazed into your eyes as if he were waiting for a command.

you pulled at the collar of his shirt, causing him to bend down. with your lips close to his ear, you said, “i’m going to get some fresh air.”

he nodded. “i’ll come with you.”

great.

you shook your head. “i’ll just be a second. stay here.”

he mimicked your head shake. “no, i’m not leaving you alone outside.”

“it’s okay, rafe—”

“no, it’s not.”

you scoffed. “i’ll be fine.”

“i’m coming with you, and that’s the end of it.” his tone left no room for debate. he was stubborn, but goddamnit, so were you. you crossed your arms over your chest, your breasts swelling. he swallowed as it became increasingly hard not to look lower than your eyes.

“i couldn’t do this, rafe,” you said, frustration evident in your voice. an argument hung on the tip of his tongue. “i couldn’t handle you constantly being glued to my side. i loved you; you were my best friend, but i needed to be able to get my drink sometimes. and i should have been allowed to dance and talk to guys.”

he stared blankly at you, scratching the back of his neck. “i was just trying to protect—”

“bullshit!” you yelled, sick of terrible excuses. “you weren’t protecting me, you were being fucking clingy!”

his breath quickened, and he looked up at the ceiling. he was doing everything he could to stay calm. he couldn’t mess this up. he needed you.

eyes began to follow the scene. people gazed back and forth between you and rafe. it wasn’t usual for the two of you to fight.

“you’re causing a scene,” he muttered through gritted teeth. his jaw was clenched, prominent veins popping out of his neck.

“i. don’t. care,” you emphasized each word. he scoffed, shaking his head. suddenly, his hand latched onto your wrist, dragging you into an empty bathroom and locking the door.

you yanked your wrist out of his grip, your chest rising and falling rapidly. “what the fuck, rafe?”

his back hit the door as he ran a hand through his already-messy hair, exhaling sharply. “you were causing a scene.”

you let out a bitter laugh, your head tilting back. “oh, i was causing a scene?” your voice dripped with disbelief. “what do you call dragging me in here like some fucking kid you needed to put in time-out?”

rafe pushed off the door, stepping toward you. “i called it making sure you didn’t do something stupid.

your stomach flipped, but anger burned hot in your veins, overpowering anything else. “stupid?” you echoed, voice sharp. “stupid like what, rafe? like wanting a single fucking second to myself? like wanting to be able to breathe without you hovering over me like a fucking bodyguard?”

his jaw ticked, hands flexing at his sides like he was barely holding himself back. “you didn’t get it,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“then make me get it,” you shot back, arms crossing over your chest. “because right now? all i saw was my best friend acting like some possessive, overbearing asshole—”

before you could finish, rafe’s hands shot out, gripping your face, forcing you to look up at him. his pupils were blown wide, breathing heavy, fingers firm but not rough. “i am possessive,” he murmured, voice dangerously low. “i am overbearing. and you—” his thumbs brushed over your cheekbones, his lips just inches from yours. “—you fucking love it.”

your breath caught in your throat.

and the worst part?

he was completely right.

“and you know what?” he huffed out a laugh. “i’m starting to think you’re becoming an ungrateful brat.”

your brows furrowed. “w-what?” your tone was quiet and weak.

“i protect you, i help you, i do everything for you.” he rasped, lips brushing over yours. “and what do i get in return? a fucking hissy fit.”

his grip tightened on your jaw, not enough to hurt, but enough to keep you still, to make sure you were listening. his eyes flickered between yours, sharp and unreadable.

“rafe,” you whispered, unsure of what you were even trying to say.

he tilted his head, studying you like you were something to be figured out. then, slowly, he smirked. “you like pushing me, don’t you?”

you swallowed hard, your throat dry. “that’s not—”

“yeah, it is,” he cut you off, his voice dropping lower. “you like seeing how far you can go before i remind you who’s in charge.”

your stomach flipped, heat pooling low in your belly at his words. you hated how well he knew you, how easily he could see right through you.

“you’re quiet now,” he taunted, his thumb brushing over your lower lip. “not gonna keep fighting me?”

you opened your mouth, but no words came out. rafe’s smirk deepened.

“that’s what i thought,” he murmured before crashing his lips onto yours.

rafe groaned as your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging hard enough to make his grip on you tighten. his hand slid from your throat down to your hip, fingers pressing bruises into your skin through the thin fabric of your top. he kissed you like he was trying to prove something; like he needed you to understand just how deep his obsession ran.

“fuck, you taste sweet,” he murmured against your lips, voice rough and breathless. he pulled back just enough to look at you, his blue eyes dark, hungry. “bet you’d taste even sweeter if i-”

“shut up,” you cut him off, crashing your lips back into his. you didn’t want to hear whatever filthy thought was about to spill from his mouth, didn’t want to admit how badly you wanted to hear it.

he chuckled against your lips but didn’t argue. instead, he pressed you back against the bathroom counter, his hands gripping the edge on either side of you, caging you in.

“you gonna keep pretending you don’t love this?” he murmured, dragging his lips along your jaw, down to your neck. his teeth grazed over the sensitive skin, making your breath hitch.

“rafe…” you whispered, unsure if it was a warning or a plea.

he hummed in response, lips trailing lower. “say it,” he demanded softly, his hands sliding up your thighs, pushing the hem of your skirt higher. “say you like it when i get like this.”

your body betrayed you before your mouth did, hips arching into him, hands gripping his shoulders like you needed him to hold you up.

his lips curled into a smirk against your skin. “that’s what i thought,” he whispered before sinking his teeth into the delicate skin of your neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark.

you gasped, your fingers tightening in his shirt. “fuck—”

“language, sweetheart,” he teased, but his voice was strained, his control hanging by a thread. his hands were everywhere—gripping your thighs, sliding up your waist, fingertips dipping beneath the fabric of your top.

you knew this was a bad idea. you knew this was crossing a line neither of you could come back from. but as rafe’s lips found yours again, all slow and deep and claiming, you realized you didn’t care.

not when he touched you like this. not when he looked at you like you belonged to him.

it was sudden— the way his fingers laced around your panties, the way he dragged them down, and the way two of his fingers plunged inside of you without warning.

your mouth hung open, gasps leaving your precious lips. he rested his forehead against yours, staring deeply into your eyes.

“you’re so tight.” he grunted, fingers working at a relentless pace inside of you. “gonna ruin you, baby.” it wasn’t a threat, no; it was a promise.

“oh my go-” you moaned, your face falling into rafe’s shoulder. your teeth find his arm, biting down to suppress your moans.

rafe’s mind runs wild at the sight of continuous wetness dripping out of your needy hole. he adds another finger, causing your body to arch off the wall and into him. he swore he could’ve cum just from the sight of you.

he takes his eyes from between your legs to your face, which is thrown back in utter pleasure. beads of sweat dripped down your face as your stomach flexes with each thrust of his digits.

“enjoying yourself, sweetheart?” he asked with a cocky tongue. “i must be a saint for keeping up with your bratty behavior and then rewarding you.” he tsked.

you whimpered in response, causing his dick to twitch in his pants. his face fell into your neck, sucking and biting down on the soft skin.

then, the band in your stomach threatened to snap. “i’m coming!” the words flew off your tongue. he smirked in response, not faltering his speed.

“give it to me, baby.”

and that’s all it took.

white spots overcame your vision as you grasped onto your best friend for dear life. your legs shook before buckling. luckily, rafe’s arm wrapped around you.

a wet patch in his jeans formed as he felt your cunt convulse around his fingers. he removed them slowly, holding them up like a badge of honor before bringing them to his lips and licking them clean.

“if you weren’t my best friend, and i didn’t care about your wellbeing, i would bend you over that sink and make you cum until you couldn’t anymore.”

#nora’s writings 💐#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron blurb #bsf!rafe #bsf!rafe cameron

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lurkinginnernarrator · 8 months ago

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“Shen Qingqiu! What is this nonsense about Qing Jing requisitioning a disguise for one of its members?! You would dare send one of your little disciples trussed up like a pretty young mistress! Even I thought you better than”–

Qi Qingqi’s voice cut off on an extremely strangled note. She and the other Peak Lords all seemed unable to capture an ounce of oxygen.

Cang Qiong’s finest were gathered in a elegant war room, massive tables shoved to the side, covered with maps and intelligence reports: A mind-numbing amount of information scattered across sheaves of paper and neatly written on large boards; they spanned the walls not open to the serene nature of Qing Jing’s outdoors.

The murmuring of focused and purposeful Qing Jing disciples hushed at Qi Qingqi’s outraged exclamation and the sudden appearance of a majority of their shibo.

In the midst of the room, Shen Qingqiu stood, hands frozen in the action of sheathing a dagger to his inner thigh. While normally, such a sight would be arresting enough, it paled in comparison to the vision Qing Jing’s Lord made currently.

His eyes caught wide and surprised were rimmed with coal and rouge, claret lips parted infinitesimally. Gentle strands of hair framed his face and cascaded down his curved back. Hair ornaments tinkled and glittered in the silken black waves.

Delicate, airy robes flirted with graceful wrists, red lacquered nails making a pleasing contrast. Carmine and the tones of blushing rose danced about Shen Qingqiu, gentle fabric draping from his shapely frame; soft skin of his collarbones an–and the rounded mound of his, hi-his bust? Exposed. As was the refined line of sinewy thigh.

S-sshink!

Shen Qingqiu’s hand leaves the handle of the blade, nebulous skirts falling back into place, his pale thighs veiled from sight once more.

“Qi-shimei, Liu-shidi, Zhangmen-shixiong?”– Shen Qingqiu's eyes quickly take in the numerous uninvited visitors, yet his lilting voice doesn’t quicken from its whiplike cadence –”To what do I owe the pleasure of a visit from Yue-shixiong and my shidimen?”

For some unknowable reason, Sect Master Yue and the Bai Zhan War God forsook courtesy for silence.

“Rather, to what does this Master owe my beloved sect siblings appearance,” the polished voice drawled, “ whose purpose is no doubt to meddle in the affairs of a Qing Jing operation? Without, may I add, any proper knowledge of the purpose of this operation to begin with?”

Mu Qingfang, who to this point was standing unobtrusively to the side, stepped forward, courteously greeting the Maste– Lady? Of Qing Jing.

His fellow peak lords prayed blessings, to be gifted such a level headed martial brother!

“These shidi apologize for the discourtesy, Shen-shixiong.” Mu Qingfang’s voice may have hesitated, or stuttered, and almost uttered ‘shijie’ but no one noticed because they were too caught up in their own lawless thoughts.

A Qing Jing disciple helpfully handed Shen Qinqqiu a fan. With a crack! It met his open palm, a gavel descrying doom.

Haloed in light, the Qing Jing Master stood like a wrathful goddess, a holy judge tired of the sullying presence of mortals.

Qing Jing’s Master, when garbed in his usual attire, was a sharp, intimidating figure. Graceful in his execution of masculinity, not unlike a dagger. Moreso, then, donning the mantle of femininity. Some intangible attributes changed, that when masculine, repelled, yet when feminine compelled. Those certain peak lords were unprepared to handle such a thing.

Shen Qingqiu tsked, turning his back he subsequently ignored them after hand-waving a disciple into acting as the hospitality.

The wrong-footed peak lords were bundled off to the side and laden with tea and light victuals, being appeased into silence and unobtrusiveness by snacks. If some of the scholarly disciples secretly thought of it as the kiddie table, that's for them to know, isn’t it?

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milkbobatyun · 7 months ago

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wake up, please

pairing: diluc x fem!reader

genre: angstober, events

summary: an argument causes you to leave the safety of the ragnvindr manor at night, would diluc ever get to hear your voice, ever see you open your eyes again?

word count: 883

a/n: idk, i thought this would fit diluc kinda well, sorry for re-traumatising this already traumatised boi (◞‸◟；)

the thick silence crackled with anger, your fists clenched, heart pounding in your chest. the tranquility of the winery had been shattered by your arguing with diluc. you wouldn’t call yourself a jealous woman, but seeing another woman drape herself over diluc had you seething. his lack of protest and unwillingness to push her away was enough to make your blood boil.

with a frustrated sigh, you threw open the study door, stalking down the hallway and slamming the front door as you left. the resounding echo was loud enough to make diluc wince from the study, guilt settling deep in his chest.

perhaps you were being foolish, going out into the night with only a thin layer of clothing and only a small dagger tucked at your side. but your rationality was clouded with frustration, danger the last thing on your mind. the weak moonlight barely illuminated the path before you, but you didn’t care, you needed space, to breathe.

but as that principle goes, you attract what you fear.

hilichurls. their grunts echoing in the quiet night as they had you surrounded, their bats dancing with flames and swinging as they ran towards you. you summoned your dagger, dodging the first attack and swining with a desperate arc, the heat of the wave dancing across your skin, teasing you with dancer.

you were outnumbered and unprepared, but you fought, adrenaline driving you forwards. they were weaker than they looked, but your body had taken a toll. with your clothing ripped and torn in some places, you stumbled home, a deep cut on your forehead the main source of pain, though the pain in your head was a dull roar compared to the turmoil in your heart.

the foyer was illuminated brightly with candlelights, though it remained quiet. with a clatter, you discarded your shoes at the door, head pounding with every step and fatigue seeping into your bones. the familiar scent of old wood and wine filled your senses as you staggered into the nearest armchair, its softness cradling your aching body as you collapsed into the cushions.

with a sigh, you succumbed to the darkness crawling at the edge of your vision.

diluc sat at his study table, trying to complete the paperwork that had been piling on top. his eyes scanned across the same line time and time again. his thoughts, wouldn’t allow him to concentrate, worrying about your safety. in the vast mansion, every creak of the floorboards, every step of the servants amplified the tension in his chest, his ears straining to hear something.

when he heard the muffled thud of shoes against the hardwood floor, he sprung up from his chair, his papers forgotten. diluc threw open his study door, racing down the hallway. his sharp eyes caught sight of the droplets of blood on the floor, his stomach dropping, icy dread chilling his veins as he ran towards you.

your slumped figure lay in the armchair, the shallow rise and fall of your chest a sign of life. the blood oozed from your forehead, dripping down in streams. diluc’s hands trembled as he reached towards you, ripping a strip of his shirt to press against your wound.

“adele!” diluc’s voice yelled out, raw with fear and desperation. “adele, go fetch a doctor! now!”

the blood soaked through the snow white strip immediately, the warmth coating his hands. his heart pounded in his chest as he applied more pressure on your wound, willing the bleeding to stop.

the medic arrived, treating your wounds with practiced hands, his face grim. diluc’s hawk eyes watched every movement, worry worming away in his stomach.

“young master,” the doctor began tentatively, eyes glued to the floor. “the lady may be asleep for a few days, no need to worry of course, but i am just informing you that she most likely won’t wake up today.”

“for her comfort, i suggest moving her to her bed.” the doctor continued, giving his instructions while he cleaned and packed away the bloody medical instruments.

diluc’s breath caught, swallowing thickly. his hands were still sticky from your blood, the heavy silence weighing down on his chest.

“thank you,” diluc whispered, his voice hoarse. the doctor’s words echoed in his mind. with gentle hands, diluc cradled your sleeping form in his arms, pace steady as he walked towards your room.

adele scurried ahead, laying out a change of clothes and preparing the bed. diluc softly set you down, placing your head on the pillow, leaving the room to wash his hands and allow adele to change your clothes with privacy, red hot embarrassment dusting his ears.

quietly, diluc brought over a chair, sitting down next to your bed, hand hesitantly hovering above yours, before finally settling it on your cold skin. the sight of your head, swathed in the white bandages, tugged at his heartstrings. it was his actions, his words that had caused this. the burden of guilt settled on his shoulders.

“im sorry,” his whisper of apology fell from his lips as he sat next to you, the moonlight filtering through the gap of the closed curtains. underneath the milky light of the moon, diluc sat, a quiet vigil of guilt, praying for your forgiveness when you wake.

if you would ever wake.

taglist (open): @yeonjunsfox

#genshin impact angst #diluc angst #genshin angst #genshin impact x reader #diluc x reader #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin fanfic #genshin impact #genshin #diluc ragnvindr #genshin diluc #angstober #angst oneshot #angst

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suuuupernovaaa · 9 months ago

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Aemond’s betrothed is threatened, and he will stop at nothing to save her.

Content Warnings: violence, blood, mature, 18+

Soft footfalls were enough to wake you from your light slumber. Through you were not yet married, it was rare that Aemond did not find sleep in your bedchambers at night.

So, you assumed it was Aemond, come to join you at last, when you heard the footsteps approaching.

Your groggy mind took too long to process that it was two sets of footprints, not one.

Sitting up, you pulled the blanket to cover your night gown, and watched as two strange men entered your room.

“Guards!” you screamed immediately, and the taller man laughed, revealing rotting teeth. You winced at the sight and sound.

“They won’t be coming, Princess. Not til we’re done with you, at least,” he snarled, and they approached your bed.

Frantically, you tried to scramble to the head of the bed, meaning to get your footing and make a run for it, but they were on you, daggers drawn, before you could get anywhere.

The smaller one, who could not be much older than you at nine and ten, grabbed your ankle, and roughly pulled you from the bed.

You hit the stone floor with a thud and a grunt, sharp pain emanating from your elbow and hip, before he grabbed your arm, hoisting you up so you were face to face with him.

“Who sent you?” you asked.

They must have been inexperienced in this sort of nefarious activity as he replied eagerly, “The Black Queen.”

You shook your head, in disbelief that your cousin would want this fate for you, no matter how bitter the blood was between you now.

His knife was at your belly, pressing gently. “Come with quietly,” he hissed, and you shook your head.

The blade pierced skin then, and he covered your mouth to keep you quiet. Fear was like lead in your belly, keeping you frozen to the spot.

Over his shoulder, you glanced at the older assailant, just as a sword passed through his neck, severing his head from his body with precision and ease.

Seeing the look in your eyes, the man holding you turned, and dropped you at the sight of his partner’s headless corpse.

“Please-“ he began, raising his hands and dropping his blade, but Aemond was not one to listen.

The Dowager Queen burst into the room then, followed by the head of the king’s guard, and you ran to them. Alicent opened her arms, pulling you to her chest, and you sank to the floor together as Ser Cole joined Aemond.

Your body was shaking violently, and you clung to Aemond’s mother as she whispered to you in hushed tones.

“Don’t dispatch him yet, Aemond. We need information from him,” Ser Cole was saying.

“They said, they said that, they told me,” you stuttered, and Alicent pushed your hair from your face.

“Breathe, child,” she said.

“They said Rhaenyra sent them. I don’t believe them,” you said, and the former Queen frowned at you, and looked to Aemond.

She nodded once, and you heard the whistle of a sword through the air. You did not turn to see as Alicent pulled you up, and lead you out the room.

Though the Queen insisted on bringing you to her rooms, Aemond convinced her that you would feel safer with him, and she relented - after all, the wedding was in three days. It was only slightly improper, given the circumstances.

Aemond all but carried you to his rooms, and instructed a bath be drawn. As you waited for the hot water, he held you, pressing your head into his chest, whispering that it was safe now.

“I may need a maester,” you said, pulling away. You removed your night clothes to reveal a cut, long but not severely deep, just below your naval. Your elbow was also bruising quickly, with a matching blooming mark on your hip.

Aemond’s eyes lit with renewed rage. “Would that I could kill them twice, and savor it the second time,” he hissed, and called for a maester.

No stitches were required, and so you were cleaned and bandaged, and it was to be a sponge bath instead of a submersion.

You were too worn out to be embarrassed as you stood next to the hot bath that you so desperately wanted to sink into while, with painstaking care, Aemond cleaned every inch of you, from head to toe.

He was silent all the while, a reverent concentration on his face. Were you not still trembling with fear, it may have been one of the most erotic experiences of your life.

When he was finished, he dressed you in one of his under shirts, and led you to bed.

“Come, wife,” he said, pulling you into the warm cradle of his arms. “No harm will come to you now.”

Tears finally pricked at the corners of your eyes, and you could not hold them back. The flowed over your cheeks and onto Aemond’s bare chest, and try as he might to wipe them away, they were coming to fast.

“We will double your guard. I will do anything to make you feel safe. I will not leave your side again. Where I go, you go too,” he said, and the thought of that did ease the panic in your chest.

“Thank you for saving me,” you managed to say, and he tilted your face up to his. He placed a gentle kiss on your wet nose, and then your forehead, and both cheeks.

“In this life and the next, I will always keep you safe. I’m only sorry I did not arrive sooner.”

You held his waist tight, feeling a little safer in his arms, knowing the guards outside were doubled and your protector was here in bed with you.

“Sleep now, beloved. I will never leave you again.”

You closed your eyes, and finally allowed sleep to creep up on you, tucked safely into Aemond’s embrace.

#aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond x reader #aemond fanfic #aemond targaryen fic

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readychilledwine · 8 months ago

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A Page From Another's Book

Eris Week - Day 1 - Bonds and Bargains

Summary - After 2 full years without you acknowledging the bond, Eris is willing to do whatever it takes for just a moment of your time

Warnings - Smut, choking (kind of), mating bonds, forced proximity, slight manipulation, and possibly a few missed errors. If you see them, no, you didn't 👀

A/N - Happy @erisweekofficial! I have challenged myself this week to try to use both prompts in one fic. Why? Because I could not choose! They were so good this year.

🍂Eris Week Masterlist🍂Eris Masterlist🍂Master Masterlist🍂

Dividers by @tsunami-of-tears 💕💕

The look in your eyes was not what a male wanted to see from their mate. You looked at Eris like you hated him, a soft snarl always playing on lips too plush to have been real.

But Gods that look did things to him. Things that had his own smirk growing as you two stared at each other in silence, waiting for Rhysand to finish looked over the contact for trade Beron had forced his heir to come present. Rhysand was using his hand to hide a smirk.

The scent of the bond between Eris and y/n was potent. Honey and apples. Ginger and cinnamon. The High Lord understood now why so many of his family members complained about the way his and Feyre's scents mix. He could hardly tell who was who anymore but he couldn't stop breathing it in all the same.

“You can go sister, I believe I can hold my own against our dear Eris,” Rhysand dismissed you so easily. Your eyes met his in silent conversation before you stood, black dress swishing as you did and walked out of the room.

Eris felt himself relax then, body melting as he and Rhysand began to show each other vulnerability, “You told me she'd warm up to me by now.”

Rhys pinched his brows, “Y/n is a complex creature. Beautiful as the rising moon, complex as the stars.”

“And crafted from the very darkness between them,” Eris's fingers rolled, nails tapping the table in a pattern of annoyance. “What do I do?”

“Force her into a bargain,” Rhysand was half joking as he struck out a line on Beron's trade agreement. He paused, sharp mind and eyes hitting Eris. “That.. May actually work.”

Eris looked at Rhysand like he had grown two heads, “She would not make a bargain with me, she hates me.”

“She likes knowledge more than she hates you, trust me. And, Eris Vanserra, you live in a court she has never been able to go to.”

Eris fell into a brief moment of silence, “And you believe this could work?”

“It turned out well for me,” Rhysand picked at his jacket. “Make a bargain with her, force her to spend time with you.”

Rhysand slid the contract back over, a look of annoyance on his face as he did, "Your father,” the word spoken with such disdain, “needs to learn what fair terms actually means.”

“I do not believe my Father would know fair if it bit him in the ass,” that snake like smirk came forward. “Luckily, it will be me you deal with soon-”

“Is it not you I deal with already,” Rhys groaned. “Anyways, y/n. Bargain her a week in Autumn in exchange for intel.” He said it so casually, having accepted what the Fates and Cauldron decided would be with you the second the bond snapped during the war with Hybern.

And what a dramatic way for it to have snapped. A fight between Autumn and Night's emissaries leading to you pinning the heir to the ground, dagger at his throat.

It was one thing you and Azriel had in common:

Going for the jugular whenever you two deemed it fit.

Rhys waved a hand dismissing Eris, “I'm sure she is in the hall, waiting to guide you to your room.”

And you were, leathers clinging to every curve, one wing stretched out while you pulled your arm across your body, “Sore, assassin?”

Defiant eyes met his, narrowing slightly as he stared, “Only by the sight of you, heirling.” You began to walk away from him, forcing Eris to follow you to his room in Hewn City. Footsteps fell in time, breathing in sync as the bond between you two pulled and flickered.

It wasn't tense, but the quiet that lingered was thick. There were mountains of emotions between you two. Anger that lingered from years of what he claims was all an act and lies.

“You look beautiful today,” you were the only being he ever spoke this gently to. “Your hair has gotten longer.”

“Are we making casual observations?”

Eris smirked at the way your held a bite yet your eyes were soft. You were truly the most beautiful creature he had ever gotten to lay eyes on. In a dress, armor, casual clothing, leathers. Your confidence was unmatched. You owned every room you walked into. He admired that about you.

Eris opened the door to his room, hand going just above the small of your back to usher you in, “I have an offer for you.”

You leaned against the wall, a shadow coming to check on you. It indicated he was on a time crunch, that your brother would be coming soon. “I am listening.”

“Come with me to Autumn. A week of your time in one of my private residences in exchange for intel on my father.”

Your mind began to race at the possibilities. Bringing home info to Rhysand that the Night Court could use was like dangling a sparkling object infront of a fish. He knew you would bite. “What is in it for you?”

“You. Just one week where I get to see my mate in my court, in our fashion, enjoying our food. Such a small thing to give me in exchange for the knowledge I will give you, and your ability to stay safely in a court you've never enjoyed.”

It was tempting, so tempting the shadow on your shoulder panicked and ran to Azriel. “What's the catch?” You moved to sit on the chair, long legs crossing at the ankles as the two of you continued staring each other down.

“No catch, my lady.” He moved to you, a hand touching the loose hair from your braid. It was a bold and dangerous choice, touching you so freely. “Just a week in exchange for information. That's all I wager.”

His hand raised to you, the freckled skin calloused from training and earning his place as a general, but so soft. Hands spoke volumes to you, and his were so similar to Rhysand's. You raised your hand slowly and took his, feeling the warmth from his skin heating yours.

The bargain mark for you was nothing, a small rune on the inside of your left ring finger, but he flinched slightly before moving to the mirror across the room and pulling up his shirt. He rolled his eyes at the small matching rune above his heart. “What does it say?”

“Agape,” you responded quietly. “We need to leave if you plan on getting out of this alive. Azriel is coming.”

He grabbed your without hesitation, without even putting his shirt back on. Fire and smoke surrounded you before the silence of a cabin. Soft whimpers immediately started before howling. Loud howling. 12 hounds all began to point their noses to the skies they couldn't see. It was a celebration of his arrival home before the smallest then began to pawn at the door.

Eris just smiled as he made his way over, “Be back before dinner,” he told them, patting each one on the head as they can out into the warded clearing. Your feet carried you behind them, eyes wide in wonder as you took in the colors of the trees.

Warmth.

A fireplace with a good book and spiced cider.

Chilled air and pumpkins.

You had always longed to see Autumn, but Beron's prejudice towards Illyrians always got in the way. “Eris..” You were speechless as you admired the woods, the crunchy leaves on the ground. “Its-”

“Home,” he finished as he leaned on the railing watching his hounds. “We're right on the border of Autumn and Winter. There are times where the run rises and sets on the creek and lake near by that makes the snow of Winter appear like it is on fire.” His smile was so soft, eyes relaxed, muscles even slowly loosing tension. “This is my favorite cabin I have. The village nearby is quiet, open minded, hates my father.”

“That seems to be a reoccurring theme,” you jumped in.

Eris smirked but didn't say anything. “Can I offer you more comfortable clothing? A drink?”

Night one with him was filled with you two reading silently, one of his hounds being the first to inch his way into your lap and cuddle. Rhysand had not checked in, Azriel had not searched for you. Not even a mocking letter from Nesta. It was peace, bliss that allowed your guard to fall down.

He allowed you to sleep alone in a spare bed, not even asking as you used your ability to shift to get rid of your wings for the night and stole his sweater to sleep in.

The smell of bacon woke you from your lay in. A rare lazy morning that had you stretching as you walked on in just his sweater.

It felt so domestic, natural to both of them. He wordlessly handed her coffee and sugar, sipping his own. He was shirtless, lean form on display and making your brain spiral to the what ifs. His sweatpants hung low on his hips as he continued cooked breakfast, knowing you could not do it.

“How far do you powers as a wild form go?” You glanced at him, not ready to speak without at least getting one sip of coffee in. His hands shot up in defense, a graceful step back as he did. “I am asking because I wanted to leave you with some marks so you could do shopping. Observe the village here.”

You only hummed, reaching for a finished piece of the crispy bacon and bending down to give it to the sweet hound that had attached himself to you. “What's his name?”

Eris sneered as you gave his well trained pet a piece of bacon, dark brown eyes meeting his like it was a victory, “That is Whiskey.” The Hound seemed to skip away as you stood up, “And you will not spoil him.”

“Says the male who had 3 in his bed last night and the rest all in fluffy dog beds that a nicer than what some poor lower fae have.”

“They are orthopedic. Smoke hounds require comfort for their limbs,” his tone was definitely defensive. Almost parental. “They are faithful companions. They deserve comfort.”

You were thankful for your ability to hide laughter, but your eyes began to betray you. This male was not the one you knew, the one who you believed left your dear friend for dead. “To answer the earlier question, it's limitless, like Tamlin's ability, only less effort and my scent is hidden.”

“So you can spend my coin today,” he tossed the bag casually on the counter. He moved the pan from the heat before reaching around you, “You are even beautiful in the morning.” He'd carry the torch for you. He'd carry it even if you rejected the bond, as pathetic as that was.

Day two with him was filled with heated glances that grew the more he showed you who he was. Touches that lingered as he took you from shop to shop, purchasing candies, clothing, books.

He was a handsome male. You'd be a fool to lie if you said otherwise.

The third evening is when things became more. The bond was humming, desperate for anything to happen between you two. Music was playing softly as you two read again. You books on the history of Autumn, Eris a novel he refused to let you see the cover of. His fingers swayed his bookmark in a small dance, the movement as smooth as you had witnessed as he and Nesta glided across the floors of Hewn City.

“You're staring,” He said without looking to you. “Did your high lord never teach you it's impolite to stare?”

“Maybe if your bookmark wasn't waving all over the place while you read your smut,” you muttered back at him. Amber eyes met yours, brows raised as he mouth tried to formulate a response.

“It's not smut. It's a love story!”

You snatched the book from him, the brief contact of your body against his making the bond pound, “Her body sang for him. Each roll of his hips setting fire to her veins,” Your voice reading those lines had the scent in the air shifting. He could no longer mask his need for you as he took a deep breath. “His length filled her, reaching places inside of her she'd never find without him, pulling sob after sob from swollen lips as she held to him.”

“Enough.” He grabbed the novel back and drank his whiskey like a shot as he stared at you now.

No more words passed as you tell held eye contact.

No pointed remarks. No jokes.

The music seemed to fade as the bond began ringing in your ears.

2 years. 2 years if knowing who your mate was. 2 years without even so much as a kiss.

It was finally too much. You had never enjoyed slow burn romances. Why turn this into one when the longing lingered all the same.

Perhaps he closed the gap. Or maybe you did, but it happened. His lips on yours in a passionate kiss, dominating you quickly by tugging your hair back to angle your head.

There was no looming war. No assassinations waiting to happen. No lingering past wounds. Not as he lifted you, laying you down infront of the fire place.

Not as he pulled your shirt off, then his own.

Not as he kissed down your body, nipping and marking his favorite places to remind him to spend more time there later. Neither of you could wait. Neither of you wanted to.

Your bodies were born ready and aching for each other. Like two halves forced apart and just waiting to collide.

Even in the heat of this moment, he looked at you, eyes searching for a sign of doubt, for anything that didn't ring a resounding yes. All he found was lust. Heavy deep want weighing on both of your souls.

He reminded you that you two were nothing more than stardust. Stardust given life and form. Needs and wants. A chance.

You understood the book now as he filled you, stretching you after time spent without a partner. You understood that now, too. Understood why Lucien was all too happy to wait as well.

It had never felt like this. Sex had never felt like coming home. Like your soul was nurtured as he wrapped your legs around his hips. As he moved, he used the bond to instantly get his feedback. He wanted you to sing for him, to cry his name, and when he found that soft spot inside of you, he knew he could have it.

His movements focused on that spot as you grabbed his forearms, back arching off the ground for him, mouth falling into a silent scream.

��Look at me, y/n,” he panted. “Look at me when I make you see the heavens.”

His thumb moved to your clit, circling and rolling it in time with his hips, watching as your breasts bounced.

There wasn't an inch of you Eris wasn't instantly falling in love with. You were exquisite. Not too thin, curves in all the right places. Muscles strong and flexible.

“You are better than I dreamed,” he moaned. “A muse hidden to all but me.”

You whispered his name, eyes squeezing shut as the coil began to build and tighten. He would be the death of you. You of him if he wished, “Eris.”

“Sing for me, my fire.”

The coil built more and more, “Eris!”

He kept pushing and kept hitting that spot. He wouldn't last, not with the way you two fit like a puzzle. With the way your warmth hugged him. But you were also there, dangling from the edge by a string Eris held in his hands.

“Eris, please?”

“What do you need,” he whispered. “I want to hear it. Beg for me it.”

Your hands trembled as you moved his hand that wasn't occupied with your sensitive clit to your throat, eyes looking at him in silent understanding.

Life had not been gentle or kind to you, nor to him, love would not be either.

He squeezed softly, only enough to make you feel the euphoria. His pace picked up, driving hard and faster into you.

It was a chain reaction as you hit your high, screaming his name like you had in all of his dreams. He followed you over, groaning loudly before he praised you and worked you through your heightened state. Screams fell to soft whimpers, whimpers to pants.

Eris waited until the shaking set in, until he knew you were done to pull out before standing to grab a cloth to clean you. Soft kisses were shared as he took care of you before wrapping you both in a blanket.

You two said nothing as you processed what happened.

You didn't even mention the mark on his left hip. One that you knew. That matched Mor’s only hidden mark.

You just processed. Processed that you knew deep down that you loved him. Processed that in few days the bargain mark you shared would disappear from you both, fulfilled and nothing more than a smear on your histories.

In a few days, you'd be going back to the Night Court.

And you couldn't help but you find yourself considering if that was truly home.

How could it be when it wasn't where your mate was?

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absurdthirst · 7 months ago

Text

Kinktober 2024: October 2nd

Day 2: Piercing // Double Penetration // Voyeurism

Oberyn Martell x F!Reader x Marcus Acacius

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: Threesomes, oil as lube, unprotected sex, double penetrations, two cocks/one hole, mentions of pleasurable pain, mentions of bisexuality, cream pie

|| Kinktober List || MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

It is not often that Oberyn Martell is surprised. He has seen things, experienced things along his travels. Riding with the Second Sons and brawling in the fighting pits of Mereen. A Prince of Dorne, he has done as he pleased and as a result, he has carved out a reputation as the Red Viper and not limited himself on the pleasures of the flesh.

Setting his cup down, he leans forward, his eyes disbelieving and he shakes his head. “You have never shared a woman?” He demands. “Or a man? It is possible if the man in question is experienced enough.” He huffs and continues on. “Truly? You did not have a whore suck your cock while she was plowed by another? Or shared her tight cunt, stretched over both of your cocks?” His voice is dripping with disbelief and awe that such a pleasure would be denied to the general in front of him. “Or perhaps a cock in her ass and another in her cunt? None of those pleasures have been bestowed upon you?”

The strong, sweet Dornish wine nearly goes up his nose as Marcus Acacius chokes at the blunt way of speaking that the prince has. He has discovered that this man, royalty, is plain speaking and can be biting if provoked, his wit sharp and his dagger sharper. From what he has found since arriving in the seat of the territory of Dorne, he has found all of its people to be bold and brash in a way that makes him envious.

“No.” He shakes his head and sets the cup down on the table that he is seated at with the prince. Answering the questions that he has and asking his own of this realm that seems so different from Rome. “There were orgies, but I- I was often training with the men.” He explains. “I did not attend many events.”

That makes Oberyn snort and shake his head, his other hand stroking your thigh idly as you lounge on his lap. “He didn’t attend the orgies, Dove.” He murmurs to you, glancing at your lips and leaning in to steal a kiss simply because the urge takes him.

Marcus shifts, glancing away from the moment because it seems that the prince has no qualms about showcasing his affection for you in front of anyone. He’s not immune to attraction, he’s had his own share of women and a few men, but it was always just a singular encounter.

You know what Oberyn is thinking the second that his hand slides under your thin, silky dress. Bare underneath and already wet for him as his fingers dance up your thighs as his tongue slides against yours. Used to the way his mind works and the way that he will demand that pleasures be explored. Cupping his cheeks, you pull back from the kiss to peck his lips and turn to look at the general as he stares at the banner that hangs on the wall behind the table. The banner of house Martell.

“He is handsome.” You concede playfully, giving voice to the thoughts that are mirroring his own. You know that Oberyn is attracted to the other man, even if he is older than Oberyn himself. Your finger runs down the edge of Oberyn’s jaw as Marcus’s head snaps back towards you, his eyes wide when he hears your words. “I would not mind taking his cock.”

You talk about him as if he wasn’t there. Boldly and bluntly, just like the man you are seated on. Noticing that Oberyn’s fingers are drawing your dress up, he quickly glances away and tries to ignore the low chuckle of amusement.

"What about both of us, Dove?” He nearly chokes again when he hears the question and underneath the soft linen tunic he is wearing, his cock twitches despite his shock.

You tut, leaning in and kissing the bare skin above the thin line of hair that frames his jaw. “As if I would have it any other way, lover.” You huff, moving back and nipping his ear with your teeth to make him hiss. Your eyes watch Marcus and you smirk when he doesn’t look outraged at the prospect.

“A cunt is a glorious thing.” Oberyn reaches down and taps your thigh with the hand that is not pushing your dress up and you obliged him, spreading your legs so that the general can see your cunt. “It stretches to birth our children,” he coos, slowly stroking your folds and you watch as the general’s eyes are very closely following his movements. “You do not think that your cock will fit with mine?”

His mouth is dry and he gulps down a swallow of the wine, nearly slamming the cup down and he clears his throat. “I had not thought of it in that way. He admits, licking his lips and finding himself more than intrigued by how it would feel.

The prince smirks and leans in to kiss your jaw below your ear. “Go make sure his cock is hard enough for you to sink down on.” He tells you, pulling his hand away and letting you stand to move over to the other man.

This is happening. Marcus watches you and there is little smugness in his stature as he opens his arms for you to straddle him. His cock will not be a problem, already hard and starting to lift the folds of his tunic when you lean in to kiss him. You are a beautiful woman after all.

He's not shy about kissing you once your lips are pressed together. You know that the general would not be untried but it is thrilling to know that he can take command like your lover. It will make an interesting combination.

His hands are surprisingly greedy as he pulls your thin dress off your body. The sword calloused hands scraping deliciously on your skin as he palms your tits and then your ass.

You know your lover is watching, he enjoys watching you when you want pleasure with another.

His tunic is easily removed and you enjoy the differences between the men you will have tonight. Marcus is broader, fuller in his chest and arms than your Red Viper. Both men are strong, deadly, but in contrasting ways. If you think of Oberyn as a spear, then Marcus would be a battering ram.

You are wet enough that it is easy to sink down onto the thick cock of the Roman general. Making him moan into your mouth and his hips jerk up, pushing deeper until he is buried deep. Oberyn hums behind you, the shuffling of fabric telling of his own clothes being removed and you turn to find him with a hand around his cock as he slowly strokes himself.

“Are you- sure you can take both of us?” Marcus pants, his own eyes fixed on the prince’s cock and feeling slightly doubtful since he knows his own is just as impressive. “Will it not hurt?”

Your eyes flutter slightly and your walls tighten around his cock as you think about it. “Some hurt feels good.” You admit breathlessly, “the pinch of pain will be far outweighed by the pleasure.”

The scented oil that Oberyn keeps on his belt is used, applied to his cock and you smile when you hear the slickness of it. “The prince will make sure that it is good.” You coo to Marcus. “That oil helps, much better than spit.” Turning your head, you nip his earlobe with your teeth, making him moan again.

Marcus holds you waist, waiting to be instructed as Oberyn moves behind you. Your prince caresses your ass and reaches down, his hand cupping the balls of the other man and the root of his cock, chuckling when he groans loudly and twitches inside you.

“He will be good in our bed.” Oberyn kisses your shoulder, letting go of Marcus to turn your head towards his for a kiss. Tender and brief before he is leaning in and pressing his chest against your back, his hips shuffling closer.

Marcus can do nothing more than to hold you still, almost breathless as he feels the head of the other man’s cock slide against the base of his shaft and press against it. He’s had a cock pressed against his before, but this is different, his cock already being tightly held by your cunt gives this a new sensation.

“Let me in, Dove.” Oberyn coos, caressing your back as he adjusts slightly, finding the perfect position to push the head of his cock inside you.

Moaning, you lean into Marcus’s chest, already breathing heavily as Oberyn rocks his hips shallowly, slowly letting the head slip inside you before he groans your name. “She is tighter now, no?” Oberyn chuckles at the way the general’s eyes seem to glaze over in passion, his fingers digging into your hips to anchor you to his lap.

It’s intense, there is no way that it could be anything but when you have two well endowed men occupying the same space inside your body. Every gasp and whimper of pleasure that comes from any of the three of you makes you wetter, your cunt gushing and dripping over their cocks. Adding Oberyn’s entrance and making it even more pleasurable as Marcus gets the added sensation of having his cock stroked without even moving.

When his hips are flush against your ass, all of you moan. “She is- fuck-” Marcus groans, closing his eyes and his cock pulses inside you, already close to cumming. “It- I can’t-”

Oberyn chuckles breathlessly and reaches around you to caress the general’s cheek. “He is overwhelmed, Dove.” He coos, enjoying the wrecked look on the other man’s face. His own cock twitches inside you, eager to move.

“Move.” You gasp out, your eyes slipping closed as you relax. “Both of you. I want to feel you.” You can feel Marcus’s thighs trembling, the unspent energy in his arms as he starts to lift you off his cock slowly as Oberyn pulls his hips back.

You whimper, feeling achingly empty as both men pull back to where just the tips of their cocks are inside you, only to make you yelp when they drive back into your body in unison. Oberyn growls and Marcus moans, each man taken with the feeling and your reaction to it.

It seems to break something inside the Roman general, his lips finding yours in a passionate kiss while he starts to pump his hips up, driving his cock into you at a pace that steals your voice.

You can tell he’s lost in the pleasure, the scrubbing of the two cocks against one another as the pace shifts to alternating thrusts, the constant friction that is aided by the oil and the slick of your cunt as it weeps in pleasure from their attention. Moans lift to the heavens and are breathed into your skin when he pulls away from your lips to bury his face into your breasts.

Oberyn is never a passive lover, his hands stroke your body, cupping your tits as Marcus descends into them, his clever fingers teasing your nipples until you are moaning in ecstasy.

The steady buildup is almost maddening as the angle of Marcus’s cock pierces something deep inside you and makes you beg for more. Every thrust feels like they are pushing into your stomach, stretching you out even more. They are using your cunt and you love it, the desperation in Marcus’s thrusts is matched by Oberyn’s, each man working towards their goal of pleasure and making you scream.

Curses tumble from their lips and yours, everything forgotten but the way they feel buried inside you. Every time they pull their hips back, your body mourns the loss of the fullness but the perfect moment where both cocks are even inside you makes up for it.

They push you higher, every thrust makes your body sing and light up in utter hedonistic bliss. “Marcus - Oberyn!” Your eyes roll back, body poised to be pulled apart by the next thrust while your core curls in on itself. Lighting up, your body heaves and bucks between theirs pressing into you. Keeping you in place while they rock into your cunt over and over again. The next cry is even louder, your cunt spasming around their lengths as you soak them in hot waves of slick.

Marcus hisses, white hot pleasure racing up his spine as he drives his hips up. Giving over to the needs of his body as he manages to pump into your three or four more times before he is trying to bury himself deep into your cunt.

Oberyn moans, feeling the heat of his spend filling you, coating both of their cocks as he continues to work in and out of your cunt. His teeth clenched together as he reaches down and swipes some of the other man’s seed mixed with your juices to taste.

Groaning, his pace picks up, his hips slapping against your ass furiously to make up for the fact that the general is starting to soften inside you. “You enjoyed yourself.” He observes breathlessly, smirking at the other man’s relaxed and drained expression. Like he had just exhausted himself. You moan and clench down around them both again, making Oberyn moan your name.

“Fuck yes.” Marcus chuckles, watching in awe as the prince continues to fuck you, his cock still sliding against his and making him twitch even though he is spent for the moment. It makes him wish he was younger and could harden again almost instantly. Finding the entire thing the most addictive and erotic thing that he’s ever done in his life. Enthralled when the prince stiffens, pushing deep and flooding your already filled cunt with another wave of hot cum.

All of you pant, you lean against the general’s chest and listen to his heart beat as he reaches down and gathers the combined fluids from all of you, bringing them up to lick his own fingers clean with a groan. “What do you think of it now, Acacius?” Oberyn asks, grinning when you clench around them again.

“I think we will need to do that again.” Marcus hums, grinning lazily and wondering what other pleasure he will find while he is in Dorne.

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