Welcome to archives of fan fiction I read.18+ Only
@willowswiththorns
This account is filled with fanfics of a variety of characters and writers I read from. Of course there are some writings that have dark themes, viewers discretion is advised. (They/them) Requests are closed atm, I’m sorry. I have writers block so bad rn .
yandere! stalker who first met you in the school library. He accidentally bumped into you, causing him to drop the books in his hands. He apologized profusely, avoiding eye contact as his hands scrambled to gather the books.
yandere! stalker who didn't expect you to help him. He froze, watching you pick them up. Normally, people would ignore him or look at him with disgust. But you didn't. You smiled, apologizing as you handed over his books.
yandere! stalker who never stopped thinking of you after that incident. After that day, he stalked you, figuring what your name was, what food you like, what your username was in social medias, how pretty you were, etc!
yandere! stalker who protects you from bad people! That jock who wouldn't stop bothering you even if you showed signs that you didn't want anything to do with him? Apparently, he drowned!
yandere! stalker who has trouble confessing to you! He's so clumsy and shy that he couldn't bear to talk to you. Instead, he would always send love letters and gifts signed by an anonymous! He would always put them in your locker.
yandere! stalker who notices your frown as he watches you read the letter. Why do you look so afraid? You shouldn't be! Shouldn't you be blushing and wondering who could have given you that note?
"You looked so cute in your pajamas last night! They suit you well! You always look so lovely, and it makes me happy. I couldn't help but sniff your hair. What shampoo do you use? Haha, I already know! You smell amazing. I hope you like the gift I gave you. Please stop throwing away my presents!" -Signed by your husband
TW: Non/Con, Dub/Con, Fem!Reader, Prolonged Captivity, Social Isolation, Exhibitionism/Voyeurism, Hivemind Dynamics, Implied Previous Domestic Abuse, Non-Consensual Touching, and Obsessive Behavior.
It had been six days, three hours, and twenty-four minutes since the last time you saw one of your crewmates blink.
Which, admittedly, might not have been the smoking gun you were trying to make it into. Most of your conversations were spent with your eyes cast respectfully downward or held through comms, since they preferred not to acknowledge you directly whenever possible. Still, from the control bridge’s auxiliary seating, you had a pretty good view of their stiff, expressionless faces – the way their glassy eyes seemed to focus on nothing in particular as they carried out their respective roles with all the life and all the energy of clockwork dolls. Really, the fact that they’d asked you to join them on the bridge at all was a red flag. That wasn’t the way things were supposed to work. You were more of an ‘out of sight, out of mind’ issue.
And yet, here you were, sitting on a cheaply cushioned titanium bench as a dozen or so scientists sat in complete silence, toiling away at their various monitors with their various instruments. No one had spoken in the past ninety minutes. The last person to stand up had been the engineer, when she’d wordlessly brought the geologist another pen after his had run out of ink a few seconds prior. No one had anything to eat or drink save for the captain, who kept a thermos on the corner of his desk and took a long sip every six minutes exactly. You’d timed it. Somehow, that was worse than if none of them had done anything at all.
For your part, you stayed where you were, doing everything in your power not to move or breathe or think too loudly. You might’ve stayed like that for the remaining daylight hours, for as long as you had to until dismissed, if the pilot hadn’t spoken.
“It’s a beautiful view, isn’t it?”
You startled, then snapped in her direction. The visuals were more-or-less right – her long hair pulled into a thick braid, the sleeves of her coveralls tied around her waist, all the little things you’d subconsciously come to expect after months of living in proximity to one another – but her tone was all wrong, far away and airy where you’d come to expect a certain edge, a directness. She also, notably, had not looked away from her monitor. The captain was the only one with his gaze directed upward, toward the floor-to-ceiling windows at the bridge’s helm.
You took that as a sign to do the same. Admittedly, the view was beautiful. The sea floor stretched on as far as the eye could see, illuminated by spotlights and roaming underwater drones and what few rays of sunlight managed to dive this deep. When you strained your eyes, you could see the dull glow of bioluminescent animals emerging from the sea floor, always moving so slowly toward the surface, but they tended to keep their distance. The walls of the Mariana Trench sat snugly to either side, your stationary base nestled between them. Usually, you loved it – that feeling of being so totally enclosed, how simple the world felt when cast in shades of blue and green. Now, it just felt a little claustrophobic.
The geologist turned to you, dull eyes over wire-framed glasses, and you realized that you were supposed to answer. “I guess so.”
The captain nodded, pleased. You forced yourself to clear your throat and go on. “How did last week’s expedition go?”
The biologist straightened. He’d always struck you as the quiet type, only liable to respond when addressed directly. Today, though, he seemed more than capable of speaking for the group. “Oh, it was uneventful.”
And then, the engineer, her normally clipped voice melodic, as if finishing the biologist’s thought. “Nothing to report. Just the usual marine activity.”
It was a lie and it wasn’t even a good one. They should’ve corrected you the second you called it an expedition. In reality, the captain, the pilot, and the biologist had taken one of the submersibles on an unplanned voyage to an area worryingly close to your base that had been exhibiting readings no one could seem to make sense of, least of all you. As soon as they’d gotten back, the geologist and the engineer were called to the labs for some unspecified emergency. They’d locked themselves away for hours, not making a sound, only resurfacing once you gathered up the courage to knock. You’d been too shocked to do anything when they actually opened the door, when they invited you inside, when they showed you the deformed remains of a new specimen and tried to tide you over with explanations of unusual geological activity and pre-historic fossilization. The not-blinking had started around then, too.
“Huh,” you said, layering the nonchalance on thick. You pushed yourself to your feet, stretching your arms above your head. “Well, I—um, I better get going. Filters to check and all.”
Five heads snapped in your direction at the same time. Thankfully, your panic was limited to a pair of pressed lips and a small, mostly swallowed squeak. Only the captain actually spoke, his voice calm and his tone easy. Somehow, that made it worse. You would’ve preferred the chorus, discordant and unintelligible, to a lone mouthpiece. “You’re in such a rush to leave us. Did we do something wrong?”
“I have to do my job, sir.”
He hummed. “Make sure to report back when you’re done.” He paused, something like a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Your input is so very important to us, after all.”
You hated the way he said it, like he was fighting not to laugh. You hated the way the pilot was looking at you, now, head cocked and fingers drumming over her desk. You hated the way the geologist was moving, back too straight and limbs too stiff as he started to push himself out of his chair and—
Oh, fuck.
It was time to go.
You offered another dull excuse before slipping out of the bridge and back into the vessel proper. You knew where you were going – hell, you’d spent the last twenty weeks dreaming of the day you’d finally get to make this walk. Down the hall and past the communal spaces, then up through storage – carefully avoiding the labs on the same floor. The transport module (or, more realistically, the elevator shaft) had its own compartment, carefully sectioned off from the rest of the craft. It was only meant to be used twice: on the day you arrived and then again on the day you left, when you would be ferried up to the surface and granted the privilege of never having to think about life on the sea floor again. Only the captain knew the launch code, but there had to be a manual override. And hopefully, you’d spent enough of the past few months wrist-deep in the vessel’s wiring to figure out how to activate it.
You didn’t have time for delicacy. You’d barely stopped moving before you were dropping to your knees in front of the access panel and prying the interface out of its casing. It came away easily, and then you were digging through wires and ports, searching for something to connect, something to pull free, something that would get you out of this godforsaken pit at the—
There weren’t footsteps, or voices, or any warnings you might’ve heard over the sound of your own racing pulse. There was only a hand on your shoulder, another around your wrist – gently easing you away from the open panel.
“Oh, no, that won’t be necessary.” A voice, simultaneously painfully familiar and altogether alien, sighed in your ear. Your captain. Or, what used to be your captain, at least.
You weren’t sure you ought to be calling him that, anymore.
And, judging by how softly he spoke as he went on, he seemed to be thinking the same thing.
“I think it’s about time we met properly. Don’t you agree?”
~
The captain, as you’d known him, was a man just south of middle age with white streaks in his startlingly dark hair, crows’ feet carved into the corners of his eyes, and a scar across the left side of his mouth that he would joke was from biting down on a fishhook in college. At least, you’d assumed he was joking.
You guessed you’d never get the chance to ask, now.
He was also gigantic – taller than most sailors with the physique to match. Even seated, he seemed to dwarf his surroundings, to leave you frail and minimized on the other side of the table. He’d wanted to do this in his office, but you’d insisted on the canteen. At the time, it seemed like neutral territory, somewhere wide and open with plenty of space to breathe. Now, you could only lament not pushing for someplace more closed-in. At least, if you were cornered, you wouldn’t have to keep glancing over your shoulder.
It didn’t help that the engineer was posted by the doors, back to the wall and her unblinking stare focused on you. The captain tilted his head to the side apologetically. “I’m sorry. I’ve only just gotten used to having so many eyes.”
“Eyes you stole from my friends.”
“These people weren’t your friends.” Pity dripped from his voice, honeyed and thick. You squared your shoulders. “This one, maybe, but not the rest. They saw you as—What’s the word?”
“A janitor?”
“Oh, dearest, not even that.” He paused, smiled. The expression looked wrong, like he was manually calculating how far to strain his lips. “A criminal.”
You inhaled slowly, holding your breath for a moment before letting it out again. The sting was present, but manageable. You’d known that. You must’ve known that, even when you first volunteered for this. There weren’t a lot of people willing to spend half a year of their life on the bottom of the ocean, and even fewer who would spend that half-year doing laundry, sweeping floors, and changing lightbulbs. But it was better than jail. This way, you could pretend you’d chosen to be here.
“Not to worry!” He clapped his hands together. “They won’t be saying much of anything, anymore. And the names I call you won’t nearly as cruel.”
“They weren’t—” You cut yourself off, shaking your head. “What are you?”
“You can see that for yourself. I’m sitting right in front of you, love.”
“No, I mean—Where did you come from?”
“You call this the… Pacific Ocean, don’t you?”
You shot to your feet, slamming your palms into the tabletop. “Why are you doing this?”
He glanced over you, then met your eyes. “That would’ve been a question for your coworkers. They were the ones who dug me up.”
You fell back into your seat, huffing. This was getting you nowhere slowly. The captain – the monster – seemed to feel the same way.
“You don’t seem very scared.”
“I don’t have to be. If you could do—” You gestured vaguely to the engineer, still lurking in your peripheral. “—that to me, you would’ve.”
“Would I, now?”
You opened your mouth, but stopped short of spitting anything out. It felt like a dial being turned, a switch being flipped. There was nothing, and then, there was everything.
In an instant, it was all too much. A hundred thousand voices in the back of your mind, chanting the same hymn at their own tempo. A hundred thousand images flashing across your vision, each stolen from a new set of eyes. You tried to focus on something else, to feel the cool wood under your hands, but even that sensation soon blurred into a million others until you couldn’t tell what belonged to you and what belonged to another body, another mind. You were being pulled downstream and the current was using your arms and legs against you. You were listening to the loveliest song you’d ever heard and you couldn’t seem to open your mouth and—
And the music stopped as you fell back into your own body, as you blinked away other perspectives and heaved air into your own aching lungs. You were on the floor, splayed across the tile. There was saliva at the corner of your mouth, and more concerningly, the captain was kneeling over you, his thumb stroking your cheek.
“Do we understand each other?”
You forced yourself to swallow. Your voice came out hoarse, dry. “Get away from me.”
“I can try, but it’s a small craft.”
“Then let me leave.”
His thumb settled, then slipped lower. “You know, there are so many things I’ve always wanted to try.” He cupped your chin, stifling a laugh. “With someone who isn’t myself, I mean.”
Disgust tore you through you, curdled and vicious. You brushed him off and scrambled to your feet, stumbling past the engineer and out into the hall. The captain joined her in the doorway, but only watched on as you did your best to get away.
~
The weeks following your conversation passed slowly, cold honey through a tight bottleneck.
The assigned date of your designated departure came and meant. It was quickly made clear that you weren’t allowed anywhere near the transport module. Someone, usually the geologist, always seemed to be posted outside, just waiting for you to try your luck again. For the first few days, the engineer also followed you in-person, but that wasn’t a permanent feature. You couldn’t get into much trouble nearly seven miles below sea level, and whatever project your captor was working on seemed to be an all-hands-on-deck situation. It had something to do with excavation, but how far it fell outside of the vessel’s expected field of research was lost on you. Still, you were thankful they were distracted. It seemed to be enough to know that, no matter how much distance you tried to maintain, you’d always be within arm’s reach.
You spent most of your time hiding. It felt a little childish, honestly. Not very long ago, you would’ve gladly done anything if it meant never feeling alone again, and now you were locking yourself in your bunk, tracking movement patterns on security cameras, pressing your ear to every door before you opened it and praying that there wouldn’t be footsteps or voices on the other side. Your contract was only for half a year, but you had enough food and fresh water to last five times that, meaning that entertainment was going to be more of an issue than survival. You ransacked the others’ rooms, stealing books and card decks and gaming consoles, anything that might help pass the time. And, at night, when the isolation was almost too much to bear, you fled to the atrium.
It was a large, open space on the vessel’s uppermost floor, which was otherwise reserved for vehicle bays and tool storage. The ceiling was high, domed, and entirely transparent, and even before something took over your crewmates and everything went to shit, you liked to lie in the center of the room and watch the dark water ebb and flow. Now, you tried to keep your visits brief, to leave before anyone had the chance to join you. You’d only slipped up once. A swarm of bioluminescent jellyfish was passing over your vessel in the small hours of the morning, and you must’ve lost track of time. A storm of gold and crimson lights was still gently bobbing past when he joined you.
They were all limbs of the same creature, but the captain seemed to be the designated face. He settled next to you, legs crossed and head bowed. You stiffened, got ready to bolt, but he only laughed, waving off your skittishness. “You’ve been avoiding us.”
You swallowed. “…should I not be?”
The way you said it, muted and questioning, must’ve given away your paranoia. The captain shook his head. “There’s no need to worry. If I wanted to keep you on a shorter leash, I could.”
Great. Perfect, actually. He thought he was being nice.
“I have something for you.” He never looked away, but the sound of clipped footsteps drew your attention to the doorway. The biologist, uncanny smile plastered over his face and a small, silver tray in his hands. “A gift. To celebrate our three-month anniversary.”
The biologist stopped in front of you, and you recognized what you’d desperately been trying not to. A perfectly round, perfectly generic cupcake, the icing only a little smudged. Your stomach dropped. Perishable food was hard to get down here, even harder to keep fresh. There was one for every member of the crew, and they were supposed to be saved for birthdays – a little piece of home to keep you all sane, in theory. Anyone taking more than their share would mean there wasn’t enough to go around, which meant someone would be angry, which meant someone would be angry with you and—
And you took a deep breath, forcing yourself to look at the biologist’s grinning face.
You guessed you didn’t need to worry about that, anymore.
Still, the idea of choking down freeze-dried cake was enough to make your stomach turn over. “I’m sorry, I—” You pushed yourself to your feet quickly enough to make your head spin. The captain followed you up, catching your arm when your balance threatened to give out. “I really can’t do this, right now.”
“Of course. You must be tired.” The biologist was already leaving. “Let me walk you back to your room.”
It wasn’t a question, but you shook your head regardless. “I’m alright, just a little—”
“I insist.” His hand slipped from your arm to your upper back. “Unless you’d prefer the captain’s quarters?”
“No.” Bile rose into the back of your throat. The repulsion was instinctual, the rejection reflexive. “Please, no.”
“How you break my heart, love.”
This time, his hand slipped down to yours, squeezing gently. You should’ve just taken the fucking cupcake.
“It’s a good thing I have spares.”
~
Four months. That was how long you made it post-invasion, trying to live every moment as if you were under constant observation, ignoring every base human urge that might’ve been at odds with your all-seeing captor. Sixteen weeks. One hundred and twenty days. People had cracked under much more banal forms of torture in much less time.
And, in your defense, you had the foresight to take precautions. An especially busy day that saw all useful members of your crew posted at their stations. An unused wing of the medical bay rather than your own room. An allotted fifteen minutes to do what you could. You figured, failing everything, you could be proud of yourself for giving it your all. Admittedly, you hadn’t spent much time thinking about worst-case scenarios.
This was definitely worst-case.
The pilot stood on the threshold of the medical bay, the door hanging open behind her. Heat flooded your face, your cheeks, and you made a valiant effort to pull your hand out of your pants and wrestle your coveralls back up to your waist – as if that’d do anything to undo the damage. She waited until you were (mostly) redressed and scrambling off of the cot before edging forward, careful to keep her body between you and the door. That was fine. You were too mortified to so much as think about going much of anywhere.
“It’s a—a human thing,” you rushed to explain, as if it made this any better. As if it would get her to stop staring at you like that. “To blow off steam, and kill—”
You tried to step around her. An arm lashed out to stop you, barring any hope of retreat to your left. “You’re so cute when you’re flustered.”
“I’m not—” You cut yourself off, swallowing. “I’d like to go back to my room. Please.”
The pilot didn’t respond. Her attention flicked downward once before returning to your face and refusing to let go, pinning you under the weight of her wide-eyed gaze. You were stuck there, trapped and immobile, as her free hand found your collar, then drifted south, lean fingers grazing over your collarbones, your midriff. Finally, she dipped below the waistband of your coveralls, dragging her two fingers over the seat of your panties. The material was still disheveled, too flimsy to provide any real sense of comfort. Her thumb caught on your clit and—
“Please,” you gasped, surprising yourself. She didn’t seem fazed. “Stop touching me.”
A second passed, then another. When she eventually did draw back, it was with an airy sigh, the smallest quirk of a frown tugging at her lips. “Fine.”
You waited for her to pull away entirely, to lose interest and return to the bridge with the rest of the crew – not totally unlike the previous inhabitant of her body had, on the rare occasion she was forced to speak to you. Instead, her hand curled around your wrist, blunt nails pressing into your skin as she tugged toward the door. You half-expected her to take you a little too literally, to drag you back to your bunk and lock you inside, but she passed the rooming area entirely, taking you down the hall toward the captain’s quarters. Your heart seized up inside your chest, but you tried not to let the panic seep into your voice. “Where are we going?”
“To do different human things.” And then, more cheerfully, “You’ll like it.”
You doubted that, but her pace was steady and her grip was unwavering. It didn’t seem like she planned on giving you another choice.
The engineer was already waiting by the door. She followed you and the pilot in, keeping close in case you tried to bolt. You were given all of a second to take in the massive, king-sized bed before being mercifully pulled in another direction, into the en-suite. The engineer must’ve worked quickly. The shallow tub (an Olympic pool compared to the shoulder-width shower stalls in the communal bathrooms) was already full, steam still rolling off the water’s surface. A body scrub and matching oil sat on the low wall, neither used. You did your best not to wonder who’d brought them.
You looked to the pilot, then the engineer, who both watched expectantly. It took an embarrassingly long moment to realize they were waiting on you. “Oh, I’m supposed to…?”
You nodded to the tub. The pilot’s smile turned sympathetic. “Before the water gets cold, yes.”
The engineer chimed in, “You have taken a bath before, haven’t you?”
“Shut up.” And just like that, more out of spite than anything, you were wriggling out of your uniform. Your clothes formed a wrinkled heap where you let them drop, each layer leaving you that much more exposed, that much more desperate to crawl back inside of something thick and warm and protective. Covering yourself would’ve been an admission of defeat, so you kept your arms stiffly at your sides as you stepped into the tub. The scalding water burnt at your numb skin. You hadn’t realized how cold you’d been until you started to thaw.
Surprisingly, they didn’t join you. The engineer perched herself on the basin’s wall while the pilot leaned against the vanity, taking in the view. You pulled your knees up to your chest, but it was clear you were being overprotective. The engineer only hummed as she cupped the water in her hands and poured over your head, soaking your hair, your face. It reminded you of something else, something sacred. You had to hold your breath, but that part was holy, too.
The engineer’s hands found your shoulders, massaging gently. The words caught in your throat and snagged on your lips, but you spit them out regardless. It would’ve been more painful to let the silence sit. “Is this your idea of what humans do? Or did you just want to embarrass me?”
“Partially,” the pilot answered. You chose not to wonder which question she was responding to. “My other reasons are much more selfish.”
“Tell me.”
“It’s a little silly.” If you hadn’t known better, you might’ve thought she sounded shy. “I wanted to see what it was like to take care of something else.”
Oh.
You sank that much deeper. The engineer’s hands followed you down, never leaving your skin for a moment.
You’d never noticed how cold she felt, before.
~
“I really didn’t mean to.”
The biologist hummed. He was sitting at your feet, leaning against the wall next to your cubby of a bed. He’d brought tea, the mugs mismatched and the contents still hot enough to steam. You were determined to let yours go cold, and he seemed happy enough to run his thumb over the ceramic rim, soaking in the warmth as it seeped out.
“You did an awfully thorough job.”
“I didn’t—” You stopped yourself, sucking in a deep breath and pressing your cheek into your stiff pillow. Behind you, the geologist shifted, slotting his chest against your back and draping an arm over your waist. Your captor had become increasingly more interested in that type of thing, recently – touchy, sentimental, human. You would’ve liked to say that they wore you down, but honestly, you hadn’t put up much of a fight to begin with. “It was self-defense.”
“You didn’t call the police.”
“I was going to, but there was so much blood, and—and then they were already outside, banging on the door. Anyone would’ve frozen up.” You let your voice get very, very quiet. “He kept me in that apartment for sixty days. Two months. What was I supposed to do? Go outside and make small talk with the neighbors?”
“And the trial?”
“I wasn’t allowed to talk at the trial, the lawyers—” Again, you cut yourself off. “And you already know this. You’ve been in my head.”
The geologist’s forehead settled against the back of your neck as the biologist spoke. “I like the view better out here.”
“You’re so creepy,” you huffed. “It’s just, if this is hell, or some stupid karmic punishment you’re all in on, then—”
“You don’t think I’m real?” He almost sounded offended.
“I don’t think you deserve to keep me here.” There wasn’t a point in answering. Whatever was happening to you, it was real enough. “I’ve got family waiting for me to come back.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Fine. I have friends. People who are going to miss me.”
The biologist sent you a skeptical glance. You bit down hard on the side of your tongue.
“You can’t keep me here forever.”
The geologist’s hold on you tightened abruptly, crushing your ribs into your lungs before going slack just as quickly. “Not forever,” the biologist mused. “How long do you think the oxygen recyclers will hold out?”
This time, you didn’t bother responding at all. The geologist seemed content to draw you that much closer, and the biologist was more than happy to sit at a distance and watch.
~
You found the captain on the bridge, sitting cross-legged on the ground in front of the glass wall. The room was dim, the overheads switched off in favor of the softened blue of the emergency lights. No one else was there, his spare sets of eyes scattered to different parts of the vessel. It looked like he’d been waiting for you.
The jellyfish were passing through again, too. The swarm was dense and close, the view all-but completely obscured by bobbing golden lights, casting the bridge in a ruddy bronze. If you didn’t know better, you might’ve thought you were on another planet.
…you did know better, and the thought still lingered longer than it should’ve.
You sat down next to him, legs bent in front of you. It was uncomfortable, but that didn’t matter. You doubted you’d be staying in this position for very long.
“If I—” The words burnt like acid on your tongue. You rushed to find a less corrosive replacement. “If I do what you want me to, I can leave, right?”
“I don’t remember saying that.” His voice was lilting, tone playful.
“Then say it now.” You huddled into yourself. “I need to get out of here, and this is the only time I’m going to ask nicely.”
“I don’t seem to recall you ever being particularly nice, either.”
Something shifted out of place deep in your chest. You moved to stand, but he laid a hand over yours, laughing. “Sorry, sorry. I should know better. I know what it’s like to be trapped somewhere very, very small for a very, very long time.” He lowered his voice. “Let me have this. You’ll get what you want out of it, too.”
“Just this once?”
“Just this once. Then, I’ll take you back to the surface.”
You didn’t want to. No part of you wanted to give anything to the monster that’d held you captive for over a year, but you needed fresh air in your lungs. You needed to see another person, someone who didn’t look at you like something to cut open and dissect.
This didn’t seem like a lot to give up, in comparison.
You nodded, and his hands were on your hips immediately. He hauled you into his lap, and then you were straddling him, your legs clumsily thrown around his waist and your chest pressed into his. There was no pretense of reluctance, just his mouth on your neck and his fingers working at the buttons of your uniform, haphazardly pulling and dragging until fabric slackened and you felt cold air wash over newly exposed skin. This close, he should’ve been enough to warm you up, but even that small comfort rang hollow. His body was malleable stone against yours – willing to give, but so undeniably lifeless below the surface.
A calloused hand cupped your breast, groping harshly. A pained hiss slipped through your grit teeth, and his head tilted back, wide eyes meeting yours. “Can I kiss you?”
“Would it matter if I said no?”
“Of course.” His smile had turned simpering. “I would cherish any reaction you showed me.”
That didn’t mean he would listen, though.
His lips were chapped and tender against yours. There was nothing romantic about the way he kissed you, just a heady sort of affection and a curiosity that made him lap over your tongue and push into the hollow of your cheeks like he was trying to memorize the shape of your mouth. At the same time, his thumb swiped over your nipple, fingertips biting into the plush flesh of your chest. It was almost a relief when he moved on, his touch skirting over your midriff, your navel, your stomach before settling just above the waistband of your panties. You wished you hadn’t worn them at all, in hindsight. Anything to save yourself the stabbing agony of realizing he would have to take them off of you.
Not that he seemed to be in a rush to. The pad of his thumb dragged over your clothed slit, mapping the terrain, before pulling back and pressing into your clit. His mouth fell to your throat, sucking harsh bruises into your skin as he traced mindless patterns into the most sensitive part of you. It was humiliating – how quickly your deprived boy gave in to the first hint of stimulation you’d gotten in the better part of a year. You could feel yourself getting hotter, getting wetter, the seat of your panties soon uncomfortably damp. You felt the captain’s grin against your jugular and clenched your eyes shut.
His touch was sickeningly exploratory. Your panties were pulled to the side, two thick fingers eased inside of you. Even that was too much of a stretch after surviving so long on nothing at all. You buried your face in his chest as he rocked his palm against your cunt, doing your best to keep your teeth planted in the flesh of your cheek, your nails burrowed into the back of his neck. It was unfair – he was still dressed while you were being split in half. He was going to get what he wanted and you’d be the one to suffer for it.
A third finger, added while the heel of his palm ground against your clit. You jerked forward, a strangled moan escaping before you had a chance to swallow it down, and the captain cooed in sympathy. “That’s it, love.” He pressed a kiss into your temple. “I’m only trying to make what comes next a little easier.”
“I—” He curled his fingers and you sucked in a shallow breath. “I don’t know what that means.”
“Yes, you do.”
God, you hated him.
“No, you don’t.” There was another kiss, this one to the corner of your mouth. You were beyond caring where he touched you, how he touched you. Minutes too soon, you could feel a steady pulse playing in the pit of your stomach, a tightness in your chest that wasn’t entirely due to burning hatred. You felt his tongue against the side of your neck, following the curve of your throat once, then twice before biting down – teeth sinking into skin too fluidly, too easily. It took you a second to decide why it felt so unnatural beyond the initial shock, but not much longer.
He hadn’t hesitated. Not the way he should have, when he knew what he was doing to you might hurt. Not the way anything human would have.
He stayed there, latched onto you and sucking gently, as what was left of your self-control eroded and fell away entirely. Your hips bucked against his hand, the movement jolting and involuntary, and then you were moving on your own, working to fuck his fingers that much deeper, to make up for that many more days of your third and final stay in prolonged captivity. When he raised his head, it was only to chuckle, to nuzzle against you, to pay more attention to the angle of his wrist, to how exactly he nudged you closer and closer and closer to the ledge. “So beautiful,” he whispered, mouth close enough to your ear for his voice to echo in your mind. “I could keep you like this forever.”
You made a mewling, pained noise, cut off abruptly as your body went rigid against his. He led you through the worst of it, pace slowing as he drew out every little clench and tremor, but his patience was clearly thin and his attention clearly elsewhere. You felt him shift underneath you, and then your body was being lowered to the floor by too many pairs of hands. You didn’t realize that you’d shut your eyes until you had to force them open, until you saw the pilot’s smiling face above you, her unblinking stare fixed on your face.
Dread and embarrassment and panic flared in your chest, driving spikes into your heart, your lungs, your throat. “I don’t want other people to—”
“They won’t.” His hands were already pulling at your uniform, dragging it off. Your panties were stripped away just as quickly, just as heartlessly. You tried to grab for his wrists, but the pilot was faster, catching yours instead and drawing them above your head. “It’s just us. It’s only ever been us.”
But it wasn’t, not really, not in the way that matters. You could see the others in your peripheral, made shadowed and faceless by your refusal to look closer. It was almost a mercy when the pilot ducked, lowering her head to your chest and latching onto your breast, reminding you that there were worse things in the world than unwanted voyeurs – worse things you were currently experiencing, in fact. The captain’s hands found your sides, then your hips, pinning you to the floor as he settled between your legs. You whimpered, sobbed, but it wasn’t enough to drown out the sounds of rustling fabric and hitched breathes, to distract you from the feeling of something hot and blunt pressing into you pussy.
He hesitated there – the pilot, too, her tongue going still where it was lapping over your nipple. “I love you,” he said, nearly under his breath. “And I wish this wasn’t the only way to make you understand that without getting rid of the you.”
You didn’t know what he was talking about. You didn’t have time to figure it out, either.
He was already inside of you.
Big. He was too fucking big. For the first time, you genuinely resented – sincerely, deeply, searingly resented – that the captain had been chosen as the dominant mouthpiece, rather than one of your much more moderately sized crewmates. It felt like you were being torn open from the inside out, his thick cock splitting your cunt in half, jagged veins and liquid heat arousal only making it more overwhelming. Your legs snapped closed around his waist, hips bucking against his hold, but the captain didn’t seem to notice. He buckled, head falling low as he caught himself with a palm planted next to your head. The pilot moaned against your skin.
Long, agonizing moments passed before he started to move. You became terrifyingly aware there was still more of him that he was trying to ease into you. His thrusts were short and slow, every inch another way to make you squirm and clench. You weren’t in control of your body, anymore. If you cried, if you struggled, if you went limp – that wasn’t your fault. You were only doing what you had to.
Finally, finally, you felt him bottom out, his hips pressing into yours. There was an airy grunt, another less dignified noise, and then he fell into a steady pattern of grinding down and pulling back and thrusting in with enough strength to force the air out of your lungs, to make your back arch off of the unforgiving cement. Your hands grabbed for his shoulders instinctively, and he let you, falling that much closer. The pilot retreated, but only far enough to pull your head into her lap. Touching wasn’t the priority. She and the others were just there to observe.
His cock twitched inside of you. There was no cursing, no unconscious reactions, but his hold on you tightened and he buried his face in the crook of your neck, breath cold and wrong against your skin. “I’m sorry, I don’t—” A rough groan, a stilted thrust. “I don’t want to, but—”
He didn’t have a chance to finish. It was already happening.
It wasn’t like the first time. That day, it’d been deliberate, a calculated plunge into the middle of a very large, very cold body of water. This time, his influence came in fragments, pulling you into the river but giving your mind a chance to cling to the shore. You could feel the ground against your back as you blinked through a hundred million sets of eyes, and you were aware of the pressure in your core as that pulsing, heartbeat choir overwhelmed anything else you might’ve heard. There was water in your lungs, but at least you still knew which lungs were yours.
Your orgasm came in waves, flooding in from multiple perspectives. There was your pleasure, strained and confused, and then his, tender and so loving and filling you to the brim. That was enough to bring you back to yourself, although there wasn’t anything you could do to mitigate the damage. His hips were pressed flush against yours, his hands clamped tight enough around you to bruise, excess cum dripping down your thighs, the curve of your ass. You couldn’t be sure how long you stayed like that – a second, a minute, an hour. It didn’t matter. It was all an eternity to you.
Eventually, he seemed to catch himself, straightening with a slight laugh. “How embarrassing. I—” He cut himself off, smiling. “Next time. I’ll be more considerate, next time.”
Your only response was a low, disgruntled whine. Sympathy softened the corners of his expression. “Why don’t we get you cleaned up?”
“And then—”Your voice gave out immediately, dissolving into a coughing fit. The pilot rubbed the back of your neck. “Then the surface, right?”
“Of course, love.” The words might’ve been more comforting if it hadn’t been for the way he looked at you. “And then, the surface.”
~
Half an hour later, you found yourself slumped against the captain’s side in the transport module, still not quite able to rely on your own legs. Both the elevator walls and its shaft were entirely made out of glass, but even as you ascended out of the abyssal darkness, through the brightening twilight and back into the more hospitable sunlight zones, you couldn’t quite bring yourself to enjoy the view. A few stray jellyfish from the previous swarm were still bobbing diligently toward the surface. You tried half-heartedly to name the species, but nothing came to mind. You’d had a tense conversation with the captain (the real captain) early on about deep-sea life, but he didn’t seem to think you’d run into anything more interesting than—
You straightened abruptly. The captain hummed, holding that much tighter. “Is something wrong?”
“There aren’t supposed to be jellyfish this deep. Not in a group this size.”
“So there aren’t.”
You hesitated, then tried another angle. “Whatever you’re doing down there, is it—”
“The work will carry on, but the worst of it is over.” He squeezed your side. “You’ll understand, soon.”
Neither of you spoke for the rest of the ascent. There was a brief depressurization, and then the doors opened into the sterile, chromatic control bay you only vaguely remembered from the day you were sent down. You let go of the captain, rushing forward. You were going to get out of here. You were going to breathe fresh air and feel the sunlight and talk to someone else, anyone else. You were going to kiss the first person you saw. You were going to—
You made it one glorious, euphoric step outside of the module, then came to a stuttering halt. A half-ring of strangers stood perfectly still in front of you, a mix of scientists and engineers and operators you wouldn’t know if you recognized. Any familiar traits, any human spark – all of it was made alien by identical, calculated smiles and those unblinking, unfeeling, unthinking eyes. You were tempted to rush to the closest window, to hope beyond hope that this hadn't spread any farther than the facility, but you smothered the urge quickly. You already knew what you were going to find.
The captain stepped behind you. “You can go on running, if you’d like,” he said, resting a hand on your shoulder. “I shouldn’t have problem catching up.”
“But, it can’t be—”
“It is.” He laughed, the noise bright and giddy. For once, it sounded natural.
tw ( yandere , stockholm syndrome kind of ? , reader has already been kidnapped )
lol i havent posted since january i think ... long overdue
you thought that if you stayed in there long enough, he’d go away. unfortunately, you were wrong.
“…you locked the door,” he said eventually, as he slid down to sit against the door, “that’s okay. i’d be scared too,” he added, softer.
don’t speak, you reminded yourself.
“it’s quiet in there, yeah?” his tone stayed even, careful, like anything sharper might send you further away. “i bet it feels safer in there for you, doesn't it?”
a small pause.
“gets lonely, though,” he murmured. “you know it does.”
his hand pressed lightly against the door.
“did i do something wrong?”
fuck.
he sounded so sincere.
that was the problem.
he would always make you feel guilty, his stupid words, the way he would just say them so gently, as if his words were full of concern rather than control-
“i just…” he exhaled quietly. “i’ll give you space, okay? i mean it. just… open the door for me.”
“please.”
your fingers trembled as you turned the knob.
he moved back the second he heard it, shifting away from the doorway without hesitation… just like he promised to give you room.
his eyes found yours immediately, softening in a way that made your chest twist.
“that’s better,” he murmured.
your grip stayed tight on the door.
ready to close it again. he noticed, but knew to not comment.
Hi, this is the first time I've asked anyone to write a smut fic or a smut headcanon with Keith and a very shy reader, I don't know if you do smut but if not you don't have to write. Or you can do about how Keith started the relationship with a very shy reader
Note: english is not my first language, so sorry if i wrote something wrong
i do write smut!! plus your english is very good dw about it!
i have two other fics on the way right now, but i'm gonna finish this one first because they're hcs and a lot more faster for me to write 😋 this is kinda hard cause i'm personally not very shy but i'll try my best! (think this turned out to be JUST nsfw hcs i swear)
this is afab reader!
idc if minors interact - nsfw under the cut
not proofread
SUPER brief hcs of how you got together (I WANT SMUT RN!!)
keith has always loved how shy you were, although he never said it out loud
you were almost always silent, behind everyone twiddling your thumbs or always finding something else in the room other than the people interesting
he found it endearing, although sometimes he knows he has to hold back his anger from you
every time he talked to you before you got together, you would blush uncontrollably and hesitate responding to him
so that's why it surprised him when you cornered him in a hallway, looking especially nervous
he saw a crumpled up note in your hands, and for the first time, you were holding eye contact with him
"i-uh, i like you a lot," you blurted out. you might be shy, but you were brave
immediately after that you shut your eyes, believing that he would reject you, or even worse, simply walk away
. . . but the kiss he gave you after was unmistakable.
nsfw hcs
you would always cover your face whenever it got too good, and keith would always pull you hands away, sometimes even pinning you wrists above your head with one hand
"i want to see you."
GRRABABARBKARBARK
definitely has the strength to overpower you, and if you love that you know what i mean
an example is if he's eating you out and you try closing your thighs around his face
he'd quickly wrap his hands around you legs, and spread them back open, no matter how hard you try to close them
or using his strength from training constantly to fuck you against a wall, if he's feeling particularly rough that day
definitely fucks you if he's stressed about a day in the training room (or stressed in general)
i don't make the rules
has THE best ways to ask for consent
"you want this?/tell me how you want it."
"you want me to make you feel good?"
OR HE'D JUST DESCRIBE WHAT HE'D DO TO YOU
fave position is probably the mating press cause he loves being able to go down and kiss you and see your face
or you riding him because he loves the way you lean onto him and eventually tire out
and when you do, his grip on your waist is harsh enough to cause bruises as he harshly thrusts into you
probably has a thing for restraining you
loves how shy you are when you come to him asking for sex
he'd usually drag it out to tease you even more before finally giving you some relief
fingering god i love to say it
you see the way he works his hands!!!
definitely whimpers here and there, especially when you're giving him a blow job
if you have enough hair, he'll personally make a makeshift ponytail for you
if not, he'll simply run his hand through your hair
praisepraisepraise all day
probably goes feral once he's close to cumming
would start babbling literally any dirty talk that comes to his mind
"you're doing so good for me."
"gonna cum for me, yeah?"
extra: DON'T GET ME STARTED ON HIM IN HEAT.
idc what anyone says he goes through it since he's half galra
the first time, he'd lock himself in his room and hope that it would eventually pass
but of course, as clueless as you were, you walked in and questionably gazed at all the stranded tissues on the floor
he'd try ushering you out, but after a moment to decide, you wanted to help him
definitely WAY more rough than usual
you'd come out with bruises everywhere and hickeys as far as the eye can see
a lot more vocal during this
he would love the way you would try to speak up but couldn't because it felt too good
you might be shy yourself, but whenever you got into the mood. . . you definitely weren't thinking straight
during heat he wouldn't even have the time to make you beg or tease you, he'd go all in immediately
definitely praises and degrades you a lot more
"being such a perfect little slut for me, hm?"
just know that after you guys finish, you're both too out of it to even speak or move, until eventually keith snaps out of it and helps you get cleaned up
sometimes you would get up first, wanting to return the favor
and he'd repay you with a lot of tired kisses until the two of you fall asleep
slightly hate this cause im so rusty at writing smut lol
pairing: (timeskip) pervy!prohero izuku x fem!reader
summary: Izuku Midoriya is the perfect neighbour - kind, helpful, and dangerously attractive. But is it true that the most innocent ones hide the dirtiest secrets?
wc: 5.3k!
warnings: lots of talk about underwear, masturbation (m), horny thoughts, panty stealing, he puts a pair in his mouth, brief choking, oral (f!receiving,), fingering, clothed sex, unprotected sex, cum fetish, restraining, teasing, praise, she wears underwear after he cums in them... yeah, brief neito monoma slander lolllz
credits to @/hornetpills on X for the banner!
Laundry day.
Possibly, the most dreaded part of your week. Trudging down to the apartment's basement laundry room every Wednesday and Saturday felt like a punishment. The rows of humming machines, harsh fluorescent lighting and the faint smell of detergent clinging to the air.
Lately, though, there had been one thing that made it all a little more tolerable.
A certain green-haired pro hero.
Izuku Midoriya.
Your neighbour from across the hall … and dangerously hot.
You've seen him around the building a few times, never really having too many chances to talk to him aside from when you run into him in the basement.
He lived a quiet life, totally different from the side of him the world sees. The only people you'd ever seen filtering through his apartment were his mother and some of his high school friends.
He was well-known in the building, and he definitely brought the establishment a good name - the kind of person to carry groceries for neighbours, or treat the building staff to dinner as a thank you. It seemed like hero duty never really stopped for him, even when he was off the clock.
Yet even someone so perfect can hold secrets so shameful.
Today was one of those not-so-dreadful days.
You chose to go downstairs later than usual in hopes of not running into the man. Work was kicking your ass, already running late to an important meeting at the agency. The bags under your eyes would be noticeable to anyone, even if they were standing 20 feet away. And although you're sure an interaction with Izuku Midoriya might make your day a little better, you wouldn't want to be caught dead looking like this.
But of course, the universe had different plans.
"C'mon, please," you huff. You're on your knees in front of the machine, the loud noises echoing repeatedly, as if it were angry. Frustrated, you settle on choosing a different one. The sounds of the former still playing in the distance.
Before you can make it to the next one, you feel your body collide with something. The hard force sends your freshly washed clothes tumbling to the floor. You groan at the sight of multicoloured fabrics covering the ground, heat rushing to your cheeks before you bend to pick them up.
A scarred hand reaches out at the same time as you, fingers brushing as you pick up the articles.
Just great. And of course, he's caught you on the worst possible day.
"I'm really sorry," he says, placing the clothes back into your basket.
You watch as he picks the items off the floor, each piece slightly more provocative than the last. A faint blush covers his cheeks as he picks up the last piece on the ground, a green ball of lace sitting between his fingers. You try to ignore how he holds them for a moment longer than the rest before you snatch them out of his hands, shoving them to the bottom of your basket.
"No, it was my fault, I didn't see you there," you say, standing up awkwardly with your laundry basket resting on your hip. Your gaze finds the pile of now dirty clothes resting in your arms.
He notices the slight gloss in your eyes, shoulders raised and arms fidgeting with the plastic basket. You've never been the most talkative type, but he can tell the usual whimsy you carry is missing today.
"Looks like I'll have to wash these again," you giggle, hoping to break the awkward silence and calm your racing heart. Silently, your mind is spiralling. The clock on the wall mocks you with every tick, your boss's voice growing louder and louder in your head. When he stays quiet, you're certain he's thinking that you're a total mess.
"I can wash them," he says.
You blink at him, a small hesitation before you speak.
"Are you sure? I can always do it when I come back," you question.
"No, no. It was my fault anyway, so please, I insist. If you stop by my apartment after work, I can have it ready for you," he says, bright smile plastered on his face. He doesn't leave much room for debate, taking the hamper from your hands and making his way towards an empty machine.
Eyes fixed on his back, you watch as he throws your clothes and his into an empty machine. The appliance is surprisingly much more obedient for him than it's ever been for you.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
"O-ok. Yeah, thank you. I'll come by tonight," you say, your words rushed, legs already guiding you to the exit. The clock's ticking fades into the background as you ascend, green hair disappearing in the distance. You don't hear his response as you rush up the stairs, worries long forgotten, and your mind already shifting to the next task that awaits you.
As soon as the door shuts, Izuku feels his shoulders drop. His hands coming up to cover his face as he feels heat spread throughout his body. He finds a seat in the corner of the room, thighs pressed together tightly as he tries to ignore the growing sensation.
You live in the apartment across from him. Your door is constantly decorated for the nearest holiday, and the sweet scent of baked goods and vanilla drifts through the cracks and into his complex. You leave dog treats for the neighbours' pets, water bottles, and granola bars neatly arranged on a little stool in the hallway.
It was hard not to know who you were, and he's never considered that a problem before. Until knowing so little about you stopped feeling like enough.
Subconsciously, he started seeking out more chances to see you, timing his laundry trips so they lined up perfectly with yours. Over time, the two of you would fall into easy conversation in the basement laundry room, passing the hours talking about things like work or the current hero rankings. And slowly, it became his favourite part of the week.
And not just for the conversations the two of you shared. Especially not today.
He's always been proud to be a pro hero, helping people was his pride and joy. So, when he finds himself getting hard just at the sight of your underwear, the guilt is immense. Every time he sees you, he can't help but be infatuated, studying every blink, every twitch, the way your tongue brushes along your teeth.
He's not sure why you've got such a hold on him.
It was unethical. He knew that. What would the world think about the current #2 pro-hero imagining such suggestive things about an innocent civilian?
The creaking of the stairs pulled him out of his spiralling thoughts. Mrs. Tadashi, the elderly lady from two floors up, graces him with a small, warm smile.
"Could you help me with my laundry, dear?" she asks, arms already reaching out to steady herself.
He ignores the way his heart races, moving to her side in aid, grateful for the distraction as he tries to mask the flush creeping across his cheeks.
…
Work was brutal. You somehow survived the day after being completely chewed out by your boss. Your head is pounding, even the soft click of your apartment door closing reverberating through your skull.
Before you let yourself get too comfortable, the interaction with the pro floods back into your mind.
Of course, the one time you're looking and feeling your worst is when you run into him. The thought of your clothes scattered on the laundry room floor, the way he blushed at the sight of your panties - makes heat rush through your body.
You groan, dragging a hand down your face, suppressing the thought as you head to his door.
The first time you knock, you're met with silence. The only sound was small groans from the other side of the door.
'Maybe he's working out,' you think.
After a few more knocks, the door swings open, and the green-haired man is standing intimidatingly close to you. You can't resist the way your eyes trail over his body, realizing that he's not anywhere near as put together as he looked before.
Hair dishevelled, and his face flushed light pink. His abs are on display, boxers peeking out from the waistline of his sweats. If he was working out, he definitely didn't look nearly sweaty enough for the amount of noise he was making a moment ago.
He notices you're staring, clearing his throat before asking you to step inside while he grabs the clothes from his room.
"Sorry! Hope I didn't bother you…" You trail off, eyes wandering as you take in the sight of his apartment. It's modern. Sleek. The All Might posters and figurines on the shelf are the only real pop of colour.
Well, that, and something else.
On the arm of his couch rests a small mound of green decorated with small flowers, a white substance barely visible on the material.
Your face flushes as soon as you see it. You did not just walk in on your neighbour having sex, did you?
As he returns to you, laundry basket in hand, the floral scent of the dryer sheets fills your senses.
"Here you g-"
"Thanks!" you say, cutting him off, grabbing the basket and heading out the door, "promise I won't make a habit of this. Enjoy your night!" you yell, door shutting in his face, leaving him at the entrance, both confused and flustered.
You dump your clothes onto your bed, folding them before putting them in their rightful place. You've been at this for an hour now, since the interaction with Midoriya. Constant excuses popping up in your mind for what could describe the scenario.
Maybe he was just working out, or maybe he'd pulled a muscle. Maybe he spilled something on the couch and used a lace towel to clean it up?
That last one didn't seem too likely.
…
Where the fuck was it?
Your clothes that were once so neatly folded now covered the floor as you rifled through drawers and laundry baskets.
You've never been the type to dress up just for a man, of course not. But even you deserved to feel nice after the week you'd had. Nothing wrong with wanting to wear nice panties on a first date, right?
The only problem is, they're nowhere to be found.
Your favourite pair. The only pair in your closet you'd ever justify spending over fifty dollars on. It had your initials embroidered on the waistband in white lettering, contrasting with the black lace of the fabric. It was an impulse buy on a random night, your best friend flaunting a matching pair. It didn't cover much, but that was sort of the point.
You'd taken a load down to the laundry room earlier today with Midoriya, having gotten a little closer to the green-haired man since your last interaction. It was possible that it got mixed with your other clothes, though it was highly unlikely. And weirdly enough, this hadn't been the first time things had disappeared for no real reason.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Fuck.
His hand freezes around his length, the material wrapped around his fingers suddenly falling to the floor.
Knock. Knock.
A soft call of his name came from the hallway.
He stumbles to the door, stuffing the fabric into his pants pocket.
When he opens the door, you're standing there. A small smile sits on your face, eyes bright as you look up at him.
His gaze drops to your outfit before he can stop himself. The way the dress hugs each curve as if it were made for you. The way your breasts spill just over the top of the material, thighs exposed, and the curve of your ass visible to the naked eye.
He's never seen you like this, and he's not sure if he should be anxious or horny.
"You going out?" he asks, hands clasped in front of him, as he leans against the door. His mind races as he waits for your answer, hoping, praying that maybe you were just overdressed for a night out with friends. He tries to hide the way his smile falters, fists tightening at the thought.
"Yeah, just some guy from work I met the other day. Which brings me to why I'm here, actually," you start, eyes inspecting his face. "I'm missing this … thing from my closet, and I just wanted to know if maybe it got mixed up with your stuff a few weeks ago."
He blinks. Green eyes squinting before he speaks.
"Oh? Well, you'll need to be a bit more specific…" he starts, scratching at the back of his neck. What you do miss is the way his heart pounds in his ears, his stomach twisting as he awaits your answer.
You hesitate before you respond.
"Well, it's a little embarrassing, but I'm missing a pair of… unmentionables."
"Unmentionables?"
"Mhm," you hum.
"You mean, like underwear?
"Something like that," you start, the embarrassment of your request suddenly hitting you like a freight train.
"Uh-huh… Well, what's it look like? Describe it to me," he hums, smiling at the way your thighs clench at the thought of the fabric. You roll your eyes at his question, annoyed at how he seems amused by your embarrassment. The question hangs between you two in a beat of silence.
"Well, it's black," you start, the door frame around his stature suddenly becoming much more interesting. "It has white lettering on the waist-"
Odd.
Barely visible from the angle that you're standing at, but clear enough to recognize the initials on the waistband. Your initials.
In Izuku Midoriya's pocket.
There was no way.
"You know what, it's really not important," you laugh, pushing the thought down to the deepest pits of your mind. To think your neighbour had stolen a pair of your underwear was ridiculous. A pro hero at that.
He's confused at your withdrawal but doesn't think much of it.
"If you say so. I'll look around my place and see if I can find it. You still need me to grab those clothes from the dryer?" he questions, closing the door behind him and stepping out into the hallway.
The realization of just how alone the two of you are settles, the faint hum of the elevator down the hall being your only companion.
Right.
You'd forgotten that you asked him to bring your clothes up, already predicting you'd be running late for your date tonight.
Your gaze flickers back down to the pocket of his sweats before you can stop yourself.
Black lace. White Stitching.
Your initials.
Your stomach flips.
Izuku Midoriya was many things: awkward, polite, almost painfully sweet. He was not the kind of man who stole a woman's underwear
..Right?
And if he did, what could he be doing with it? The thought lingers longer than it should, images of possible scenarios flooding your mind. The idea of him having the material wrapped around his fingers, intricate black lace between each digit. His hand wrapped tightly around his cock. If it were your underwear, does that mean he'd be moaning your name?
You can't deny that he's popped into your head a few times at night, when you're so close to release and need just a little something to push you over the edge. And it does, he does without fail.
Heat creeps up your neck, quickly shoving the thought away with a shake of your head. You clearly needed to get laid if you were jumping to that.
"Yeah, if you don't mind. Hopefully, this will be the last time, but I promise, dinner. I'll make it up to you." You smile, eyes coming up to stare at his green ones. The small freckles on his more visible now than ever before.
He nods, a curt smile on his face as he wishes you a 'Good night' before shutting the door. A hand comes over his face as he tries to suppress the heat in his body.
What the hell was he doing?
He looks down at his pocket, where the faint outline of lace presses against the fabric. Embroidered letters barely visible.
He told himself it would be a one-time thing. He promised that he'd come clean about it, tell you that it had just gotten mixed up with his clothes from the first time.
His chest tightens. You were going on a date.
The idea of you sitting across the table from some jerk, laughing at his jokes, getting to see you in an outfit he so greedily wants all for himself. It makes his jaw clench.
He doesn't know you the way he does. The way your eyes shift when you're embarrassed, how your thighs clench when, or how you wear darker coloured lingerie, cause that's when you feel you look your best. And he definitely didn't deserve to see you in that dress.
But he's not sure he really deserves to either.
He shouldn't be thinking about you like this.
..So why couldn't he stop?
The guilt of his actions is all he can think about. As he tries to ignore the raging hard-on between his legs. He figures a distraction is the best option; maybe Mrs. Tadashi needs more help in the laundry room.
As he makes the trip downstairs, filling the basket with your clothes, his imagination runs wild. There are 4 pairs in this load, excluding the ones that should barely count for fabric. So many colours, and so many designs.
One last time won't kill him, right?
Wrong.
The thought of you in that dress has made him impossibly hard, so much so that his hand alone won’t get the job done. What starts with one wrapped around his fist quickly turns to two, the third clenched between his teeth. He watches as they move skillfully along his length, hands working to feel every inch. His head thrown back in pure ecstasy, hips bucking into the tightness of his palm as he teeters on the edge of release.
He's so, so close.
His hands move faster, eyes shut tighter after each pump. Images of you wearing each pair racing through his mind, a wet spot forming where your pussy and his fluids meet. He bites hard when he cums, white spots coating the material held tight in his hands. Tears swelling in his eyes at the feeling of his release and small moans of your name muffled behind the fabric in his mouth.
His chest heaves, and his grip around himself loosens. The fresh pile of laundry is sitting tauntingly in the corner of the room. The underwear in his mouth falls out of his mouth, the lace material sopping wet as it collides with his chest. His cock sits against his stomach, angry, red. Enough so that it hurts for him to move.
His chest heaves as the last tremor leaves his body, the room around him slowly coming into focus.
If he does want anything to come from this, he definitely needs to say something.
This had to be the last time.
…
By the time you step off the elevator and walk down the hallway toward your apartment, heels clacking against the tile, you want nothing more than to get out of this dress and forget the night ever happened.
That date couldn't have gone worse.
Neito Monoma had to have been the most self-centred person you'd ever met in your life.
The topic of conversation never got the chance to stray too far from him; he would never allow it. And in the brief moments when it did, your mind wandered somewhere far less appropriate.
Green hair. Freckles.
And the very clear outline of your black lace panties in Izuku Midoriya's pocket.
You know the idea of your neighbour stealing your underwear should be disturbing. But you just can't see it that way.
And that makes this whole thing feel so much worse.
You don't have much time to dwell on it before a knock sounds at your door, the man of the hour now standing in front of you, laundry basket in hand.
"I heard you come back," he says quickly. "I thought I should return these".
If this were true, and Izuku Midoriya was in fact stealing your underwear, maybe it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world to find out why.
I mean, you did owe him dinner.
"Thanks, I appreciate it," you start. "Did you want to come inside?"
"Huh?"
"Did you want to come in? I do still owe you that dinner," you smile, grabbing the basket, pulling him into your complex.
As he walks through the threshold, you notice just how out of place he looks in your cozy apartment. The way he stands awkwardly at the door before you offer him a seat, eyes wandering, taking in the decorations around the complex. His eyes also can't help but land on you. Still in that dress from earlier, the way it rises slightly when you reach for ingredients on the top shelf.
That familiar feeling rushing through his body once again.
"You know," you say, opening another cabinet, "I've been thinking about that thing I lost earlier."
He freezes in the chair.
"The thing?"
"Mhm, my 'unmentionables'," you giggle. Laughing at the name while placing a pot on the stove. "Did you ever find them?"
Green eyes snap to yours, intense, calculating. "Oh, right. The green pair you lost, right? With the flowers on it?"
You pause, brows raised and a smirk on your face.
"I didn't mention anything about them being green."
He doesn't answer right away.
His eyes flicker to the pot long forgotten on the counter, then to you. His jaw tightens as he runs through a dozen different excuses he could give you.
"…right," he says quietly, a faint blush on his cheeks as you laugh at him.
"Maybe you need to get your story straight, Midoriya."
The words come out light, almost teasing. But he knows what you mean. The look on his face changing instantly.
For a second, neither of you moves, before he changes that in an instant.
You're surprised when his hands grab at your neck, thumb tracing along the length of your windpipe. His hold is gentle, but tight. Like he's afraid that if he lets go, you might not be there. Like, this might not be real. You moan into his mouth as he squeezes, the movement forcing your mouth to open. He wastes no time slipping in his tongue, the muscle colliding with yours without hesitation.
"Fuck you're perfect," he groans, hands wandering the valleys of your body. You slip your hand under his shirt, his abs tensing at the feeling of your cold fingers. Your hands fidget with the waistband, slipping into his pants and grazing over his cock.
Reluctantly, your lips part. Hands fidgeting with the zipper of your dress.
"Help me take it off' you ask, turning around and placing your hands on the counter. Thighs shifting against each other as you get more antsy by the second.
His hands trail up your sides, fingers tracking along the teeth of the zipper before they disappear.
"'M not sure I want to. Do you mind keeping it on?" he questions, hands rubbing along your thighs.
You pause before looking back at him. He's on his knees between your legs, his eyes glancing at the spot between your legs.
"N-not that I don't want to see your body, you're gorgeous, just that, you look so good in it."
You smile at his answer, eyes rolling back when you feel him lifting it over the curve of your ass.
You notice the way he pauses, eyes trained on the pair of panties hugging your curves.
"Izuku? Is everything okay?" you question, the position of your body suddenly seeming a bit too vulgar for the moment.
"Yeah just that, I've seen this pair before," he starts, thumb moving along your slit. The small patch of wetness growing with each stroke. "Couldn't help but picture you in it. Almost lost my mind just thinking about it."
You don't get a chance to respond to him, the feeling of him pulling the fabric down to your ankles being the only thought in your mind. You whine when you feel him nearing your heat. Hips writhing in anticipation.
"Please. Please, I need more," you moan, hands pushing your body back further in search of his tongue. He smiles at your desperation, gracing you with a small lick along your folds.
Your hands fly to his hair, breath hitching as he flicks his tongue. Each one reaching deeper than the last. Izuku Midoriya was acting like a starved man, hands holding you still as his tongue does all the work. Each time his mouth separates from your body, thin lines of your substances still connect you both.
Your thighs shake when you feel his finger press against your entrance, pushing it in until it reaches his knuckle.
"Is this okay?" he asks, standing up from the spot between your legs. His upper body pressed comfortably against your back, and his finger continuing its assault. You moan when you feel his cock against your ass, slowly grinding against your cheeks.
"Fuck. A-another one. Please. Izuku, hurry up," you whine, head turning to look at him. His lips find yours in a heated kiss. Not nearly as gentle as it was before. He smiles against your lips as he pushes another finger inside you, your slick allowing him to move effortlessly. He watches as your teeth dig into your lip, hole clenching as you near your release.
"Didn't like seeing you so dressed up for some other guy, baby. Made me feel so lonely," he says, fingers picking up in speed. You'd honestly forgotten about that guy, the only person on your mind that whole time being Izuku. The one who was fucking you so good right now.
"'M really s-sorry. Promise he was a j-jerk. 'M never gonna talk to him again. Only want you," you choke out, pussy clenching tighter around his digits.
"You gonna cum?" he asks, fingers thrusting harder, faster. He smiles when you nod your head, coaxing you through every moment. His hand holds you steady when your legs twitch, his guidance being the only thing keeping you from smashing your head onto the counter.
He lets you catch your breath before he moves again, kneeling between your legs to lap at your juices. Not a single drop going to waste.
Your legs are bound by the material around your ankles, wetness collected at the base. It was even better than he could've imagined.
His tongue trails along your neck, open and wet kisses moving up to your ear as he frees himself from the confines of his pants.
He was bigger than you'd imagined. His cock grazes his stomach, small beads of precum sitting on his tip. A faint blush grows on his cheeks when he notices you're staring.
"'M gonna put it in now," he says, lining himself up with your entrance. "Tell me if it hurts, okay?"
When you nod your head, he pushes in slowly. His tip disappears, and then the midline of his cock. He doesn't get to continue at this pace, though; the feeling of your hips pressing back against him forcing him to bottom out.
Your eyes shut at the sensation, a faint burning feeling mixed with absolute pleasure.
"So needy for me, hm?" he asks, slowly picking up the pace with his thrusts. He watches the way your ass collides against his hips, the base of his cock disappearing each time. You're clearly not in the right headspace to give him a verbal answer, mouth agape, cheeks pressed against the cold marble. Small puddles of drool collecting on your face. The only thing you can do is nod your head, before you're moaning again. Your hole squeezing around him after each thrust.
Your arms flail, searching for anything to keep you grounded as his thrusts get harder, deeper. Izuku, ever the gentleman, takes hold of them. Both of them held in one of his hands, crossed tightly behind your back. His body leans over yours, dark green hair tickling your ear. When he's this close, you can hear everything: the small moans when you tighten around him, the way he tuts as he watches the tears flow down your cheeks.
"Do you know what I was thinking about when I had your panties around my cock?"
You groan, arms resisting against him as you try to cover your face. He was so close, lips just a whisper away from yours, his thrusts unrelenting against your hips.
"Ah, fuck."
"Yeah? You wanna know what I was thinking about? Need you to answer me, princess."
You turn your head to face him, tears glossing over your eyes as you look into his.
"Was thinking about how - fuck, how perfect you'd look on my cock. And what you'd look like walking around with my cum between your legs."
Your eyes squeeze shut, the overstimulation of it all pushing you to your climax. You can tell by the small stutter in his hips that he's close to, his dick hitting depths just short of reach before.
"Please, baby. C-can I cum inside? Need to. Need you so bad."
Your small moan of approval is lost in the sound of his groans. His head thrown back as he thrusts deep into you, fearful of the idea of a single drop going to waste.
Your legs are shaky, the feeling of his body against your back being your only solace. Warmth flows throughout your body, small drops of cum dripping onto the material beneath you. The once dark coloured fabric is now painted with spots of white.
Hesitantly, he looks at where your bodies connect, the sight making his eyes shut, reluctantly pulling out of you before he starts something he's not sure will ever end. He takes to his knees again, face aligned with your heat. He watches as his fluids seep out of you in globs.
His hands reach for the panties by your ankles, dragging them up until they cover your ass.
You whine at the feeling, the cold substance mixing with the heat of your pussy.
It was just too good.
He presses a small peck to the damp part of the clothing, pulling your dress down to cover it. He laughs when you don't move, body seemingly frozen against the countertop.
"Hey. Still with me? " he asks gently, arms moving to pull you up. He's startled when your legs almost give out, body fully resting in his arms.
After opening a few doors, he finds your room, your body resting comfortably in his hold. He places you down gently before flopping on the bed next to you, an arm draped lazily across your chest.
For a moment, neither of you speak. A comfortable silence taking over the apartment.
Your fingers toy with the waistband of his shirt before you glance at him.
"…So," you say quietly, "how long have you been stealing my underwear?"
His eyes shut for a moment as he lets out a small breath, like he's been anticipating this question all day.
"So you knew?"
"I had my suspicions. But when I saw my favourite pair in your pocket, it kind of sealed the deal." You laugh, turning your body to face his. Your eyes squinting in discomfort as you remember the substance between your legs. "'M gonna need those back by the way, they weren't cheap."
"Yeah … I'm not sure you can wear those anymore," he smiles, a nervous chuckle leaving his lips.
You blink at him slowly, trying to suppress the laugh bubbling inside you.
"Oh, Izuku … you're lucky you're cute."
a/n: yayy pervy izuku is here. i'm thinking if this does well i'll make one for bakugou cause i've already got some thoughts! Also this is not proofread yet, I'm so tired. Likes, comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated, mwah! 💋
The first time Izuku hit you, you begged him for it.
You wriggled, bent over his knee as his palm warmed the silk of one of your cheeks. You arched a bit, pushing your ass further into his hand. He was gaping down at you, stunned that you just took that.
“Please… Baby, you can go harder…”
Izuku’s cock twitched against the denim of his jeans, painfully hard and neglected. You were so whiny and naked, right here on his lap. He bit the inside of his cheek, his hand stroking your ass once more before pulling back.
Smack!
That one had you yelping. He was still holding back, though. You felt him stroke your hair briefly, his rough fingers coming to wrap themselves around your neck. He held you in place by your throat, while his other hand spread your ass open, revealing your tight pucker.
“Oh, fuck…,” you heard him mumble, as his fingers traveled lower, spreading your pussy in the same manner. He sucked in air through his teeth, and you recognized it as a habit to try and calm himself down. A finger was inserted inside of you, and you let out the most delicious sigh of relief.
“Again, Izu… Please…”
Izuku was so fixated on your cunt, on how quickly you swallowed a second finger, he hardly heard your request. You wiggled your hips back against his hand.
“Spank me again, please…”
Izuku glanced at the back of your head, his grip on your neck readjusting. He honored your requesting, quickly bringing his palm down on your ass once more, mesmerized by the ripples it made. This one was quick and swift, full of intent and less hesitant than the first two. He was getting comfortable. You moaned, a sweet purr to Izuku’s ears. He plugged your cunt up again with his fingers, and you squeezed around him as his thumb teased your asshole.
Izuku fixates. Once he knew you liked something, he suffocated you with it. When you pointed out how beautiful the white lilies in the flower shop window were, he returned the same day with a bouquet of them. He’s made it a habit to give you white lilies every Sunday morning, placing them in a vase on your kitchen counter, replacing the previous ones he gave you last week.
You adored him for it.
Izuku’s touches were always so timid, so sweet. Temptation lingered between you two, the way it often did newlyweds. He liked to test boundaries, though. It was a bad habit he picked up from his U.A. days; first, on his own body with training, then with his work by getting himself involved with investigations he hardly knew any details about – and now, with you.
That’s why when he suddenly yanked your arm back when you wandered too far away from him at the fair, you almost gasped at how rough he was.
Izuku caught himself, quickly releasing your arm like it was hot to the touch. “I’m sorry… You were just walking too fast. I couldn’t keep up with you.”
You rubbed your arm where he grabbed you, confused. You could’ve sworn he wasn’t too far behind you, but you did become entranced by the prize stand at the ring toss. Maybe you did get a little far ahead of him.
“It’s okay. I’m okay.”
Reassurance – weak, but reassurance, nonetheless. It was what he needed. He’d never grabbed you like that before, and it surprised himself as much as you.
You and Izuku were out on a double date with Todoroki and Yaomomo. You didn’t exactly know them too well, since you didn’t go to high school with Izuku, but you knew they were good friends of Izuku.
When Izuku learned that you liked it a little rougher, he became more comfortable with testing the limitations between you two. There could’ve been better communication, sure, but you were the one to beg him for it to begin with, right? Izuku was laughing about something Todoroki said, and you were sipping your drink, smiling at Momo. Even as you sat at the table next to Izuku, he kept his hand on your thigh. It felt a little dominant and out of character for him, like he was claiming you as his in public, and you liked it. He has historically always been shy about PDA, so you appreciated the development.
“Don’t worry, ma’am, you’re safe now. I won’t let any other villains harm you ever again.”
“Oh, thank you, Mr. Deku! How could I ever repay you?”
Izuku smiled. “Your safety is more than enough of a reward for me as it is.”
“No, no. I must do something for you, Deku! Please?” Doe eyes stared up at him.
Izuku enjoyed roleplaying.
The second time Izuku hit you, it was pushing the limits.
He especially enjoyed roleplaying when he was the hero, and you were the citizen he had to save.
Izuku smiled deviously down at you, as he kneeled on his haunches. He had his hero costume on, while you were half-naked on the bed below him. Something he noticed about himself is that he loved having control more than he was willing to admit. It’s always been the same since he was young: the way he’d replay All Might videos to the exact second to watch the same clip, or how he’d organize his bedroom, dorm room, and now apartment to ensure every piece of memorabilia had a specific spot and was displayed appropriately, or even how he maintained a strict workout routine that he never, ever deviated from.
“I… do know something you could do for me…,” Izuku muttered, peering down at you.
“I’ll do anything for you, Deku!” You beamed.
Izuku paused and stared down at you for a dramatic effect. His gaze made your gut stir, and you shifted on the bed.
“It’s… awfully lonely being a hero sometimes,” Izuku sighed, casually picking his nails. Your heart beat a little faster.
“What do you mean?” You asked innocently.
“I mean exactly that. It’s lonely. No one to share company with.”
You pouted. “I’m sure. You’re so busy saving everyone, but who’s saving you? Is there anyone taking care of you at home?”
Izuku laughed bitterly and licked his bottom lip, rolling his eyes. “No,” Izuku eyed your breasts before quickly averting his gaze. “The only one taking care of me is my right hand.”
Your cheeks burned at his confession. “Um…”
“You still want to repay me, don’t you?” Izuku asked, his tone suddenly quite direct.
You stared back up at him, hesitating before nodding. Izuku’s eyes flickered to your side.
“Lend me your hand,” he ordered.
You were reluctant. “Deku, I don’t know that I should–,” he cut you off.
“What? You asked how you could repay me, and this is how you can repay me. You said you’d do anything,” he began unzipping part of his hero costume.
Shaking your head no, you began to sit up on the bed, watching Izuku reveal the print of his partial erection in his boxer briefs. He shrugged off the upper half of his costume and gently reached for one of your hands.
You pulled it away from him, but not fast enough, as he grabbed ahold of it and brought it to his groin. He cupped your fingers around his clothed shaft, guiding your hand up and down himself, as his hips thrusted lightly into your touch. You gaped at his actions.
Izuku then pulled down his briefs, allowing for your skin to meet his.
“Deku–! You’re so big…,” you were mesmerized.
He sighed, obviously relieved by your touch. Izuku’s erection quickly hardened to its fullest, and his other hand worked to undress you. With his hand over top of yours on his cock, he helped you stroke him.
“God, have you ever done this before?”
You watched as your hand and Izuku’s hand moved up and down his shaft together and shook your head.
“Let me use your throat.” You looked up at him at that. He wanted to face fuck you.
He didn’t give you time to deny him. He crawled over top of you, straddling your face. He smacked his cock on your cheek, precum creating a string between his cockhead and your jaw.
“Deku, wait–!”
Izuku shook his head. “What do I have to wait for? You said it yourself, didn’t you? You owe me, right?”
You opened your mouth to protest, but Izuku took the opportunity to plunge his cock between your lips. You moaned immediately, his hands coming down to hold your head still between his thighs as he carefully thrusted into your mouth. Your brow furrowed at the sudden intrusion, but you dutifully and meticulously curled your lips and positioned your tongue so that you wouldn’t choke or bite him.
Izuku thrust slowly at first, relishing the wetness of your spit. He threw his head back, moaning.
“Ahhh, fuck…”
He repositioned his hands, one cupping your jaw, opening it further to give him more room to move. He looked back down at you and sighed; the view before him made it difficult to control himself, especially as you gazed up at him so pathetically.
He shifted a little and pushed forward until he felt his cockhead touch the back of your throat, then he paused. He felt you cough a little, but you didn’t protest any more past that. His hips moved forward more, pushing past the last ring at the back of your throat, and Izuku cursed under his breath. You swallowed around him.
His balls brushed your chin, and he knew he was as far as he could go. He settled there for a moment and ran his fingers lovingly through your hair, as he gazed down at you. He decided he wanted to drag this out for as long as he could.
He began pulling out slowly, and you gagged. He paused, and you continued gagging.
“Be good for me,” he commanded softly, pulling your hair up away from your face. Not for any particular reason. He might’ve just wanted to do something with his hands, but he also knew it comforted you when he played with your hair when you sucked him off.
Izuku pushed back into your throat, and you coughed. Your face was turning red, despite you breathing through your nose. You closed your eyes so you could concentrate better.
Izuku pulled out once more, gently. “Shhh,” he cooed. He pulled out further this time. You used that moment to breathe in deeply.
“Fucking whore,” he uttered.
That made you open your eyes. A look of perplexity flashed across your face, but Izuku must not have noticed. Izuku began thrusting into your mouth at a smooth, even pace. No deepthroating this time; he would pause right before his cock hit the back of your throat. You were grateful.
“All you’re good for is for me to fuck and make me cum. Useless cumdump,” he spoke under his breath, but you still heard it. You were about to pull your safe word, but Izuku was enjoying himself. You’d feel bad to ruin his time, so you endured it.
Izuku fucked into your mouth, one of his hands gripping your jaw, holding you in place. His other hand came up then and slapped your cheek. It wasn’t hard, but it was shocking, and it definitely wasn’t something you two had discussed beforehand. You closed your eyes at the impact, and Izuku must not have realized that he made a mistake by how taut you went underneath him. He continued his thrusts, even picking up the pace.
“You’re finally putting your mouth to good use,” he moaned. He was close. His gentle fingers in your hair turned into a tight grip, as he held you in place. Yellow, yellow, yellow.
Izuku thrusted one, two, three times before he pulled out of your mouth and finished on your face. He panted, and just like that, he was the Izuku you recognized again; however, you felt vacant.
Before Izuku could even part fully from you, you shoved your way off the bed, placing your hands under your chin so that Izuku’s cum didn’t drip onto the floor. He got some in your eyes, so everything was blurry.
“(Y/n), wait, let me help,” Izuku insisted, quickly following after you to the bathroom. You sat on the toilet seat, as Izuku wet a washcloth, carefully wiping his mess off of your face. He saw the redness on the cheek he slapped.
“… Thank you. That was amazing,” he smiled softly.
You didn’t say anything for a moment. “It was good for me, too.”
Give a man that’s never had control over anything in his life a taste of what it’s like to be bigger than someone, and he’ll swallow handfuls.
Izuku became comfortable.
The third time Izuku hit you, it was out of anger.
It didn’t just stop with the sex. It became a need to push boundaries both in and out of the bedroom. He tracked your location whenever you were out and kept tabs on the friends you spoke to. You didn’t necessarily mind that part. He insisted that it was to ensure you were safe when you were out with your friends, so you understood.
Maybe you didn’t see the signs – or you did, and you didn’t care to address them. Izuku’s always been an attentive person. He had stacks and stacks of notebooks filled with critical details of all of the heroes he’s ever met, so you didn’t think it odd when Izuku began writing about you in a notebook. It felt natural.
Izuku had more control over his life than he thought he did, like what he ate for breakfast, or whether he helped a civilian or not. He bound himself to a moral code that only his heart beat to.
But you.
You were a woman who just willingly let him take more and more.
You listened to him. When you both entered a crowded room, he knew your eyes were only lingering on him. It gave him a sense of power that he’s never tasted before.
So, when Izuku casually mentioned how you shouldn’t be texting one of your male friends so late at night, he didn’t expect you to dispute the issue.
“He’s my coworker, Izu. He’s just asking for the email address of one of our higher-ups,” you told him.
Izuku frowned, eyeing you.
“You guys have other coworkers that he can text. He doesn’t have to text specifically you,” he argued. You sighed, still texting.
“Well, I can’t decide when someone texts me, now can I?”
Izuku didn’t like that answer.
“No, but you can decide whether or not to respond,” Izuku shot back, staring at you as you sat on the couch in the living room. Izuku had just finished washing his dishes from dinner and wanted to enjoy a nice, quiet evening with you, but having you on your phone instead of paying attention to him bothered him.
You sighed, shaking your head. You continued to text despite Izuku’s comment.
Izuku walked up to you and snatched your phone out of your hands. You immediately shot up from the couch, yelling at him.
“IZUKU! Stop, what are you doing?!”
Izuku held the phone out of reach of you. “I told you to stop texting him, and you didn’t stop,” he said simply. “So, it’s mine now.”
You stared at him. “You’re being childish. It’s my phone, I pay for it,” you were firm, trying to remain calm and not let your anger show.
Izuku scoffed, “Childish?” He put your phone in his back pocket. “What’s childish is continuing to do something I specifically asked you not to do.”
You rolled your eyes, “Okay, whatever, Izuku. Keep the fucking phone.” You turned and walked away. Izuku hated when you wouldn’t fight back.
He pulled your phone back out of his pocket and unlocked it – he knew the passcode. “Okay, so I can just delete your coworker’s contact and block him, then?”
You paused, glaring back at him. “Sure.”
“Alright,” and Izuku did just that. “Matter of fact, who else in here should I delete?” Izuku nonchalantly scrolled through your contacts.
“Izuku, stop,” you pressed, stepping back toward him. Izuku leaned away from you, thinking you were reaching for the phone.
You were an enabler. An accomplice.
Izuku hadn’t always been so insecure, so jealous – or maybe he had been, and you just gave him the means to explore deeper into this side of himself. Sometimes, it became too much of a burden for you to bear. You longed for the innocence of your immature relationship, even greater nowadays, as you reminisced about the Izuku that was hesitant to even grasp your hand in public.
You glared at the man in front of you.
“Give me your phone, then, if we’re doing this,” you stated simply.
“No,” Izuku laughed oddly, as if you were crazy to even suggest such a thing. He was scrolling through your phone, which wasn’t out of the norm of him to do; however, right now, it made you feel dirty and wrong.
It was a brief moment of silence before you lunged for him. Izuku was a professional hero, so this was objectively an idiotic decision, but perhaps he would see how passionate and upset you were by this situation and decide to heed.
Izuku quickly outmaneuvered you, stepping out of the way and seizing your forearm, holding you in place. His anger must’ve been simmering even hotter than what you’d originally thought because you felt a harsh thwack on your cheekbone, as Izuku backhanded you with the phone in his hand.
Your eyes were closed out of instinct, and your right ear rang from the sudden shock. Izuku was still grasping you, and he yelled something at you, but you could only catch the tail-end of it.
Izuku x reader
I've just been thinking about how I could see Izuku getting his darling drugged up and addicted to being around him.
The glass trembled slightly in your hands, the dark liquid inside swirling gently. The warmth of the drink matched the heat of his gaze—familiar, but there was something more in it now. Something intense. Izuku stood in front of you, his eyes locked onto yours as if trying to read every flicker of emotion that passed across your face.
"Go ahead," he whispered, his voice barely a murmur, coaxing. "Drink."
You hesitated for only a moment, before lifting the glass to your lips. The taste was sweet, richer than anything you had imagined, almost intoxicating in its depth. It slid down your throat with ease, a slow burn that warmed you from the inside. The sensation lingered, much like the way his eyes followed every movement you made.
His hand reached out, brushing your hair from your face in a motion so tender it felt almost too intimate. He didn’t speak, just observed as you took another sip, the silence between you thick with something unspoken. Something you couldn’t ignore, but also couldn’t fully comprehend.
“You like it,” Izuku said, his voice low, and there was a possessive edge in his tone that you hadn’t noticed before. The words were a statement, not a question. It wasn’t just the drink he was referring to, though. You both knew that.
You didn’t answer right away, your body reacting before your mind could catch up. You took another sip, the taste more addictive with every drop, and as you did, you could feel his gaze never leave you. It wasn’t just the sweetness of the liquid. It was the way it seemed to bring you closer to him, as if each sip bound you tighter in a way you couldn’t quite explain.
He stepped forward, his presence filling the space between you, the air thick with his scent, the warmth of his body radiating towards you. He didn’t need to say anything more; the way he looked at you said it all. There was a quiet possessiveness in his expression, something dark and intense, but beneath it—a strange tenderness.
“More?” Izuku asked, his voice barely above a whisper, his breath warm against your ear. His hand gently took the glass from your fingers, replacing it with his own. You couldn’t bring yourself to refuse. You didn’t want to.
You nodded, just slightly, and Izuku’s smile deepened, a mix of affection and something darker flickering in his eyes. He wasn’t just offering you the drink. He was offering you something else—his care, his protection, his control. He was offering a part of himself, and you were too far gone to pull away.
“This is what you need, isn’t it?” he murmured, his voice like silk against your skin. “I can give you more, whenever you want. You’ll never have to feel empty again.”
You could feel the weight of his words, how much they meant, and yet there was a cold, sharp edge beneath the softness. It was an unspoken promise—one you could never escape. You didn’t know if you wanted to.
He cupped your face gently, lifting your chin so your eyes met his. “You’re mine now,” he whispered, not a command, but a certainty, something that left no room for doubt.
The words weren’t new, but tonight, they carried more weight than before. There was something in the way he said them, in the way he held you, that made it impossible to look away, impossible to resist.
Can you write about reader sitting on force force boys lap pls
Yesss siirrr
Fire Force Masterlist | Main Masterlist
@shayinstarlight୨୧
Shinra Kusakabe
You don’t even warn him.
One second he’s talking—hands moving, eyes bright—and the next you just plop down onto his lap like it’s your assigned seat.
He freezes.
Like… completely freezes.
“…H-HEY-?!”
His whole face lights up, that signature nervous grin glitching into existence as his hands hover awkwardly near your waist, not quite sure where they’re allowed to go. He’s overheating instantly, brain short-circuiting, trying to keep talking like nothing happened—but his voice cracks mid-sentence.
Eventually though? He relaxes.
His arms slide around you, hesitant at first, then firmer—like he’s realized oh… oh I’m allowed to hold you.
And now you’re not moving.
Congrats. You live there now.
Arthur Boyle
You sit on his lap?
Ah.
Clearly this is because he is a knight.
And you are… seeking protection.
He straightens immediately, posture going rigid and noble, one arm wrapping around you like he’s guarding royalty.
“Fear not. You are under my protection.”
Sir.
You just wanted to sit.
But now he’s committed. Chin up, eyes forward, acting like he’s in the middle of some grand quest while casually keeping you secure against him.
Lowkey though? His hand absentmindedly rubs your arm.
He’s not as composed as he thinks.
Akitaru Obi
You barely get halfway onto his lap before his hands are already on your waist, steadying you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“Careful there.”
No panic. No hesitation.
Just warm, solid presence.
He leans back slightly so you’re more comfortable, one arm draped across your back while the other rests securely on your thigh,protective, effortless.
If anything, he pulls you closer.
You’re not going anywhere.
And if someone walks in? He doesn’t even flinch.
Takahisa Hinawa
You sit on his lap mid-work.
Big mistake.
He stops writing.
Slowly.
“…Explain.”
But he doesn’t move you.
Not even a little.
His free hand settles. Firm, controlled,on your waist, keeping you exactly where you are while his eyes flick back to his paperwork like he’s going to continue.
He doesn’t.
Because now he’s distracted.
And irritated about it.
“…You’re staying, aren’t you.”
Not a question.
His grip tightens just slightly.
Victor Licht
Oh this man is immediately intrigued.
You sit on his lap and he just-
“…Fascinating.”
Hands are on you in seconds, not weird, just curious,adjusting your position like you’re part of an experiment.
“Heart rate elevated… posture relaxed… you seem comfortable.”
Sir??
But then it softens.
His chin dips slightly toward your shoulder, glasses slipping just a bit as he absentmindedly keeps you there, one arm loosely hooked around your waist.
You became his emotional support experiment.
Vulcan Joseph
You sit on him while he’s working and he jolts.
“WOAH-HEY-watch the tools!”
But then… he realizes it’s you.
And his entire demeanor softens instantly.
“…you tryna distract me?”
You absolutely are.
He sighs like he’s annoyed but his hand slides to your hip, thumb rubbing small circles like he doesn’t even notice he’s doing it.
You stay.
He lets you.
Even if he pretends he doesn’t like it.
Benimaru Shinmon
You sit on his lap like you’ve lost your mind.
He looks down at you.
Silent.
Dangerously silent.
“…You got guts.”
But he doesn’t push you off.
Instead, one hand grips your waist.Firm, possessive, grounding, you exactly where you are.
You can feel the power in the way he holds you.
You’re not getting up unless he lets you.
And the worst part?
He’s completely unbothered.
Like yeah. Of course you’re there.
Konro Sagamiya
You ease onto his lap more gently and he lets out the softest breath.
No shock. No tension.
Just quiet acceptance.
His arm wraps around your back, slow and warm, pulling you just slightly closer as if this is something he didn’t realize he needed.
“…comfortable?”
His voice is low, calm.
And he stays like that ->steady, grounding, quietly affectionate.
Ogun Montgomery
You sit on him and he immediately laughs.
“Oh? This what we doin’ now?”
Hands instantly on your waist, pulling you closer with zero hesitation, grin wide and playful.
He leans in just a bit..
“Not complainin’.”
He’s very comfortable with this.
Might even bounce you slightly just to tease you.
Leonard Burns
You sit on his lap,you have been for years now.
He goes completely still but doesnt push you away. He just accepts it.
''...''
His hands move anyway,settling on your waist, firm and unyielding, as he leans back in his seat.
He doesn’t remove you.
He accepts the lapwarmer.
Rekka Hoshimiya
You sit on him and he grins immediately.
“Well aren’t you bold.”
Hands are on you instantly,confident, invasive, pulling you closer like he’s claiming the space.
He leans in, amused, eyes sharp.
“You tryna get my attention?”
Oh you have it.
Fully.
Karim Flam
You sit on him and he freezes like you just dropped a bomb.
“…?!”
Hands hover awkwardly before finally, carefully, resting on your sides like he’s afraid you’ll shatter.
His face is red. He refuses to make eye contact.
“…you could have asked.”
But he doesn’t move you.
Not once.
Joker
You sit on his lap and he chuckles lowly.
“Well now… this is new.”
One arm snakes around your waist, pulling you flush against him with effortless control.
His chin almost brushes your shoulder.
“Comfortable?”
You can hear the smirk in his voice.
He likes this.
Way too much.
And he’s definitely not letting you leave anytime soon.
warning: +18 | obsessive behaviour | cheating | smut | p in v | unhappy marriage | possessiveness | sadistic undertones | power imbalance | unhealty attachment | dubcon | dom aerion | he'd rather ruin you than lose you.
summary: aerion never wanted anyone the way he wanted you, his own father’s wife; the woman who taunted him, who was kin to him, who he desired for himself and would have.
author's note: this is my debut writing for tumblr and I should get no sleep were I not to write of that comely-faced wretch.
cr: gif and divider ᦸ @creloises / @honeyluvsw ٫٫ my cat also accept tiny treats. ٫٫ words count: ~9,5k
The boar upon your plate was cooking.
You had learned, in the first months of your marriage, that the tables of a feast were no place for eating. They were always places of battle, like any court, only armed with silver and Myrish glass. Your seat lay to Maekar’s left — not to his right, that was the place of honour, reserved for men and for the king — and it allowed you to see the full length of the hall without turning your neck.
It also allowed you to see Aerion.
He sat to the right of no one. Aerion claimed his place by birth, five seats below the king and one beneath his father, leaning upon the table as though the centre of all things were himself. Long fingers, stained with pomegranate juice, twirled an empty goblet. When he was not drinking, the ruby seeds cracked between his molars, the only sound breaking the silence of all.
You tried to look at your plate, but he waited. Waited until your eyes rose out of duty.
Then he smiled.
"Is it not so?" he asked, pointing the dagger in your direction.
You blinked.
"How so?"
A low laugh came from Aegon, your small stepson, exchanging a glance with Valarr. Beside you, Maekar did not even lift his head from his wine cup.
"Boys!" Daeron II chastised without raising his voice. The king turned to you, his eyes calm, the kindness almost weary. "Aerion says that my brother and you intend to have a child soon."
Then he spoke again.
"And I said…" Aerion tilted his head, the smile still clinging to the corner of his mouth. "that you seemed eager for it."
His gaze never wavered from yours, but his fingers crushed another pomegranate.
"Was it not always what you desired?"
Fear found you faster than you wished, for Aerion knew. He knew it was not Maekar’s desire to have another child; he knew that the desire he spoke of bore not the face of your husband.
Maekar’s fingertips clenched the goblet.
"Aerion!" he exclaimed. His hand upon the table curled into a fist.
In an effort to calm your husband, your fingers found his knuckles, seeking to keep him close, so that no further quarrel might arise with Aerion.
Maekar withdrew his hand, not abruptly, for he wished not to betray to his brother — who had invited you to the dinner in good grace — any sign of anger. You drew your hand to your lap and felt the embroidery of your skirt beneath your nails.
Aerion ignored him with the same ease with which he disregarded all that came from his father.
"He is right, my love," you spoke at last. Then you turned to Aerion. The smile you offered was yours, wholly yours, as sweet as gall. "A child such as Aerion would make me the happiest woman in this world."
The table fell utterly silent. Even the serving men froze midair, the wine jugs suspended above the goblets.
You lifted your chin and met Aerion’s eyes. Too bright. He tilted his head, curious, chewing more forcefully as his gaze descended from your lips to your bosom.
Then he ceased chewing.
His fingers, so occupied with splitting the pomegranate, stilled upon the embroidered cloth. The fruit dripped between his joints, and he did not wipe it away.
"As I…" he repeated, savouring the words. "Is what you say."
Maekar rose, and the chair groaned. Rhae and Daella, the girls, lowered their gaze to their plates. Valarr cleared his throat. Aemon suddenly took a great interest in the goblet of water.
Aerion remained unmoved. He stayed seated, posture languid, as if he feared neither father, king, nor god — or perhaps he feared only the wrong god.
"It is no sin to desire what is good," he said, still regarding you as though you were a feast and he had been famished for years. "It is no sin to desire the right Targaryen."
You felt the embroidery of your skirt beneath your nails, the coarse thread, the wrong side of the cloth. Maekar remained standing at your side, yet he did not defend you; he merely breathed, and even his breath seemed a favour he granted with reluctance.
Aerion inclined his head.
"I have made you blush, my father’s wife," he observed, and he did not restrain the cruel laugh that followed, his tongue wetting lips stained by the fruit. "You must agree with me as well, must you not?"
He rose slowly, with every eye fixed upon him, savouring that attention, that absence of scrutiny that belonged only to him. The chair did not creak. The pomegranates were left upon the silver plate, crushed and ruined, as he wished you to feel.
Maekar finally moved, half a step forward.
"Sit."
Aerion smiled.
"I was not rising for you, father… Y/N?"
He addressed you not by title, not “my lady,” not “princess,” not “my father’s wife.” Your name. A name he dragged across his tongue as though it were sweetmeats, as though it pleased him merely to hear it, as though it had lingered upon his tongue longer than that of any other man in the hall.
Maekar did not raise his hand against his son.
He should have. Any honourable man would have broken his son’s face for less. But Maekar was a prince, and princes do not strike blood in their brother’s hall, before the king, before small children who had already seen too much. So he merely clenched his fists and sat.
And you were left alone in that provocation.
Alone with Aerion’s gaze, now leaning over the table, over the untouched dishes, over the hands you had drawn to your lap and which he seemed able to see through the fabric itself.
The tip of his finger found a forgotten shard of pomegranate upon the cloth. He rubbed it against his thumb until the skin was stained red.
"The madness that runs in the veins of every true dragon." He lifted his gaze. "Do you want that in your womb?"
Aemon coughed at his brother’s words, and Daella dropped her bread.
But Aerion had eyes only for you.
"No," he answered for you at last. “You do not want a son such as me. You want the son you would have given him.”
The red-stained thumb pointed towards Maekar without so much as a glance in his direction.
"And it is not the same thing. It never is."
He turned away before you could answer — not that you knew what to say, not that you had a voice, not that the words were not all lodged in your throat like the seeds of that pomegranate he still ground between his teeth.
He returned to his seat. He raised the empty goblet to a servant.
And for the remainder of the feast, he did not look at you even once.
As though he had already taken what he wanted.
The boar was cold when the servants carried the tray away. The fat had congealed upon the meat, forming a pale, unappetising crust. You did not even notice. Throughout the walk from the great hall to the chambers you shared with Maekar, Aerion’s words still throbbed beneath your skin.
Maekar walked ahead of you, three paces in front, as though there were a distance between you that neither of you dared cross. The torches along the corridors of the Red Keep cast dancing shadows upon his armour, and you found yourself watching the rigidity of his back, the hand clenched around the pommel of his sword, the broad shoulders that had never once inclined towards you.
This was not how you had imagined marriage.
As a child, you had dreamed of a husband who would look at you as Aerion had looked at you during the supper. With hunger, with desire, with the certainty that you were the only woman in the room. But the dream had never borne Aerion’s lilac eyes. It had borne Maekar’s. The grey, severe eyes of your husband, which now refused to meet yours.
The chambers were silent when you entered. The fire crackled in the hearth, and a maid had already prepared the bath behind the screen, the water still steaming, herbs floating upon the surface.
"I shall take my bath," you announced, more to hear your own voice than from any hope of reply.
Maekar merely inclined his head, his fingers already working at the buckles of his armour. He did not look at you as he undressed, did not look as you moved towards the screen, did not look when the water began to sing against your weary body.
The bath should have been a relief. The hot water loosened your muscles, the scent of lavender and mint soothed the senses. Yet you remained tense, your eyes fixed upon your husband’s silhouette beyond the screen, upon the way he moved through the chamber with the efficiency of one fulfilling a duty, not with the intimacy of one who shared a life with another.
When you left the bath and dried yourself, you dressed in the finest nightgown you owned, of Volantene silk, near-transparent, a gift from your sister before the wedding. For the night of consummation, she had said with a smile. To drive him mad.
The wedding night had come and gone without Maekar ever touching you. The nightgown had remained at the bottom of the chest, untouched as you were.
But tonight, something had to change, and you put it on. The fabric slid over your still-damp skin, clinging here and there, tracing the curves Aerion had devoured with his eyes during the supper. You ran your fingers through your loose hair, freeing the curls the bath had coaxed forth, and drew a deep breath before stepping around the screen.
Maekar was already in bed.
With his back to you, of course. The coverlet rose to his waist, leaving his broad back bare, pale in the firelight. He did not so much as stir when you approached the bed, when the mattress yielded beneath your weight, when you lay beside him and remained there, staring at those shoulders that would never turn towards you.
"Maekar," you called, and your voice came out more fragile than you wished.
Nothing.
His breathing remained steady, controlled. Awake, you knew. Awake and pretending to sleep, pretending that you did not exist a hand’s breadth away, clad in silk and desire and a humiliation that had already begun to burn. You sat up in the bed. The coverlet slipped, revealing the nightgown, your breasts nearly bared, your skin still warm from the bath. You reached out and touched his shoulder.
He flinched as though your skin burned him.
"Do not touch me."
You drew your hand back as though wounded.
"Why not?" you asked, and the question rose from deep within, from every night you had slept beside that man without ever having him, from every morning you had woken to find him already risen, from every time you had reached for him only to be pushed away. "We are married. I am your wife. And you… you have never touched me. Not on the night of consummation, nor after."
Maekar moved slowly. He turned onto his back, his eyes fixed on the shadows above the bed, not on you. His profile was hard, jaw set, thin lips pressed into a line that promised nothing good.
"We did not consummate the marriage," he said. "And we shall not."
"Why?"
"Because I do not wish to."
"You do not want me?" The question came out as a whisper, and you hated the tremor in your voice, hated the tears already burning behind your eyes. "Am I not good enough? Not fair enough? I saw how Aerion looked at me during the supper, I saw it… Why can even your son desire me, and you, my husband, cannot so much as touch me?"
For the first time, Maekar turned his head to look at you. His grey eyes were ice, were steel, were all that Winterfell might be if it stood in the south.
"Aerion desires all that he cannot have," he replied. "He desires you because you are mine. Because I am your husband. Because looking at you is a way of stabbing me without raising his hand. But do not deceive yourself, woman. His desire is not for you. It is for the dishonour of taking from me what is mine."
"And yet you do not take me," you shot back. "If it is not you who possesses me, if there is no child, if there is no bed, what am I in this marriage?"
Maekar sat up. The coverlet fell, revealing his bare torso, the scars of battles you had never touched, never kissed, never been permitted to explore. He ran a hand over his face, and for the first time he looked weary.
"You will never be her," he said.
"Her?"
"My wife." The word sounded strange, as though he himself did not believe it. "The woman I married before you. The mother of my childrens."
He laughed, but there was no humour in the sound, only bitterness.
"I will not give you what was hers. I will not give you children. I will not give you the bed that was hers. I will give you nothing beyond this name and this roof. That is what you received. That is what you shall have."
"Then why did you marry me?" The question broke into a sob."If you did not want me, if you desire nothing of me, why did you bring me to this place?"
Maekar rose from the bed and began to dress in the garments he had left upon the chest, methodical, precise, as though he were preparing for battle.
"Because if it had not been me, it would have been Baelor."
"Baelor?"
"He needed a wife, and our father took a liking to you despite your lack of noble birth. Had I not taken you, he would have been forced to do so. And Baelor…" He paused, fingers working at the buttons of his tunic. "Baelor is too good for that. So I chose to bear the burden myself."
You opened your mouth to reply, but he did not give you the time.
"You have always been in love with me," he continued, and the way he said it, as though it were of no importance at all, tore something apart within you. "I know it. The whole court knows it. The woman who blushed when I passed, who invented excuses to be where I was, who dreamed of the prince with grey eyes and a warrior’s bearing."
He finished dressing and finally looked at you.
"Now you have what you dreamed of. You have the prince. You have the name. You have the roof. But you shall have nothing more. For there is nothing left in me to give. What there was, she took with her to the grave.”
He turned towards the door.
"Do not seek me tonight. Nor tomorrow. Nor ever, for that matter. Fulfil your role at court, be the princess they expect you to be, and do not ask of me what I cannot give."
The door opened and closed. You were left alone in the bed too large, clad in silk too fine, with tears too hot streaming down your face and an emptiness that seemed to swallow everything.
Time passed, and you could not have said how much. Minutes, hours, an eternity. The fire in the hearth had dwindled, the flames now licking lazily at the last embers, leaving the chamber cold. You lay upon the bed with your back to the door, eyes open, staring at the moon through the open window, your body exhausted while your mind refused all rest.
Maekar’s words echoed, echoed, echoed.
You had married him dreaming of love. Dreaming of nights of pleasure and days of companionship. Dreaming of children who would bear his grey eyes and his hard chin. And now you knew you would never have any of it, that you were no more than an occupied place, an important name, a duty fulfilled.
You closed your eyes, and the tears had already dried, leaving the skin of your face tight and salted. You drew a deep breath. Perhaps by morning things would seem different. Perhaps by morning you would find the strength to be the princess they expected you to be, hollow within yet perfect without.
The sound of the door opening made you shudder. Soft. Almost unheard. Had you been asleep, you might have thought it no more than the wind, or a guard brushing against the door while dozing, but the sound was far too careful for that.
Someone had entered the chamber, and your heart raced. Maekar. He had returned. Perhaps he had reconsidered.
You turned in the bed, a tentative smile forming upon your lips, his name already poised upon your tongue. And then you stopped. It was not Maekar.
Aerion stood by the door, his silver hair loose, his tunic open at the chest as though he had torn his clothes away along the way. Moonlight from the window bathed his face, and his violet eyes shone with a gleam that was not human, not sane, but everything the storytellers warned of when they spoke of dragon blood.
He smiled, and there was nothing sweet in it.
"It is not what you expected, is it, little princess?"
The manner in which he named you made you flinch; his insolence knew no bounds. Aerion stepped away from the door, and his long, pale hands reached back to close it gently, the lock sliding into place with care.
"What are you doing here, Aerion?" The question left you breathless, and you retreated upon the bed, pulling the coverlet up to shield your silk-clad body. "If they catch you—"
"They will not catch me." He continued to advance, his eyes never leaving you. Never. They lingered upon your nightgown, upon the breasts the silk barely concealed, upon the skin raised in gooseflesh by the cold, upon the loose fall of your hair across your shoulders. "And even if they did, what then? What could they do? Chain a dragon?"
He stopped beside the bed. His fingers found the edge of the feather mattress, stroking it as though it were your own skin. You tried to retreat further, but your back had already met the headboard.
"I heard everything," he said, and his voice was honey mixed with something sharp. "I heard the old man break his wife’s heart. I heard the way he told you there was nothing left to give. Poor little princess, wed to a man who prefers a dead woman."
His smile widened.
"But I, my dear… I do not prefer the dead."
"Aerion, please."
"Please what?" He tilted his head, the gesture so like the one at supper that a shiver ran down your spine. "Please, stop? Please, go away? Please, do not touch me? Is that what you asked of him?" His smile sharpened. "And he denied you."
His fingers slid up the coverlet. Slow. Deliberate. Torturous.
"I will deny you nothing."
You opened your mouth to scream.
"Scream," he dared, setting his jaw. "Scream as loudly as you wish. Call for him. Call for your husband who does not want you, for the king who sleeps on the other side of the keep, for the guards who saw me enter and pretended not to, because they know I am worse than they are when crossed."
His hand found your ankle beneath the coverlet. His fingers closed around bare skin, stroking it.
"Scream," he repeated, his thumb tracing a slow circle over the bone. "I want to hear you scream. I want the whole keep to know that I am here, in my father’s bed, touching the woman he will not touch.
His breathing quickened. His eyes darkened with something deeper, darker, more dangerous. Something you recognised from the books you had read about the Targaryens of old, about the Cruel, about Maegor, about blood that burned too hot and consumed all it touched.
"Do you know what I thought of all through the feast?" He wet his lips, admiring your breasts. "While you sat beside him, while you pretended not to see me, while you tasted that wine with your perfect mouth?"
His fingers slid up from ankle to calf, to knee, and the coverlet was pushed aside, exposing the silk that barely concealed your body.
"I thought of how it would be to taste you. Of how it would be to feel you writhe beneath me. Of how it would be to see those eyes he scorns burn for me."
His hand stopped at the curve of your thigh, the pressure increasing, fingers digging into flesh hard enough to hurt.
"He does not want you," Aerion spat, and within him there was ravenous hunger, volatile desire, and an uncontrollable fury, "but I do. I always have. From the first day I saw you, from the first time your legs tensed when I passed you by, from the first time you pretended not to see me and I saw everything in you."
He leaned over the bed, his body closing in upon yours, and now you could smell the wine and pomegranate upon him, clinging like sulphur.
"Do you know what it is to desire someone so?" His voice was near a growl now. "Do you know what it is to wake every night with a name upon your lips, your body aflame, knowing you will go mad if you do not have her?"
His free hand rose to your face, fingers tracing your jaw, your lower lip, the curve of your neck.
"I will have you," he promised. "Not tonight, if you do not wish it. Not tomorrow, if you continue to resist. But I will have you. You will come to me of your own will. You will open your legs for me of your own will. You will beg for me of your own will."
His lips brushed your ear, his voice dropping to a whisper.
"Because he does not want you, but I do. And I am worse than he is, little princess. Far worse. I do not yield. I have no honour to restrain me. I have no duty to bind me. I am Aerion, son of Maekar, Brightflame, and when I desire something, it becomes mine. By good means or ill."
He withdrew at once, and the absence of his body was almost as violent as its presence had been. He stood beside the bed, looking at you, at the rumpled nightgown, at the marks his fingers had left upon your thigh, at the trembling you could not still.
"Sleep well," he said, and the smile that curved his lips was the cruelest thing you had ever seen. "Dream of me. Dream of what might be, for tomorrow, when you wake, you will remember this. You will remember my hand upon your skin, my voice in your ear, the promise I made you."
He turned toward the door.
"And when he denies you once more what you deserve, you will ask yourself: what if it were Aerion? What if it were he in the bed with me? What if it were the son instead of the father?"
The door opened, and you slowly raised your hand to your neck, where his fingers had been. Your skin still burned.
"The answer," he said, lifting one of his father’s goblets from the table beside the door and taking a draught, "is that it would be better. Much better. And you know it."
You lay still upon the bed, your heart galloping, the places he had touched burning as much as the hearth fires could ever burn you. Your mind screamed to let him go, to thank the gods that he had gone, to forget that any of it had happened.
But your body... it burned.
Your nipples brushed against the silk of your shift and each contact was a small death, a reminder of what his fingers had done, of what his voice had promised. Your legs pressed together involuntarily, seeking relief from an ache you could not name, had never felt, that Maekar had never awakened.
And then, before reason could prevent it, your mouth opened.
"Aerion."
The voice emerged hoarse, strange, nearly unrecognisable, but he heard it. The door, which had already begun to close, stopped.
"Aerion," you repeated, and this time it was a plea. "Stay."
The door moved slowly, reopening.
"No?" The word was a smile unseen. "And what do you want, little princess?"
You swallowed hard. Reason screamed. Honour screamed. Everything you had been taught about being a lady, about being a wife, about being a princess screamed in unison, but your desire screamed far louder.
"I want you to stay."
He did not move, however; he remained in the doorway, watching, waiting. The predator who had seen his prey offer herself willingly and savoured the moment before the slaughter.
"It is not enough," he said finally. "Say how you want me. Say what you want."
Your legs pressed together once more. The heat between them was nearly unbearable, a rhythmic throbbing that kept time with your beating heart. Your nipples ached from being so erect, marking the silk like two small buttons of sin.
"I want you," you whispered.
He moved then. Only one step, back into the chamber, and the door closed behind him with the same careful thud as before.
"That is not what you said at supper," he observed, and advanced another step. "At supper, you said you wanted a son like me, but you did not say you wanted me."
Aerion was closer now, close enough for the light of the dying hearth to illuminate his face.
"Lie to me again and I shall leave," he promised. "And I shall not return. I shall never return, and you shall spend the rest of your life wondering how it might have been, dreaming of this night, desiring what you never had. Because he shall never give it to you, and I... I give only to those who ask me properly."
Your body trembled. Not from cold. From desire, from a hunger you had never known existed until he awakened it.
"Properly?" The question emerged softly.
The smile he offered you was slow, cruel, perfectly sadistic. His eyes travelled down your body, lingering upon your breasts that the silk scarcely covered, upon your legs that pressed together, upon your bare feet that curled into the linens.
"On your knees."
Your breath caught.
"What?"
"On your knees." He did not repeat, did not explain, did not justify. He merely waited, his eyes fixed upon yours. "You want me? Then prove it. Kneel before me and beg."
Honour said no.
Reason said no.
The lady, the princess, the wife of Maekar Targaryen said no, no, no.
Your feet found the cold floor and your legs trembled as they took your weight. And then, slowly, you knelt before him.
Aerion's breathing changed. A hoarse, animal sound escaped his throat. His eyes darkened, lost their clear brightness and gained something far more dangerous. His fingers clenched and unclenched at his sides, as though he needed to control himself lest he devour you right there.
"Say it," he commanded. "Say what you want. Say how you want it. Say everything."
Tears sprang forth, but they were tears of surrender, of yielding, of finally accepting what your body had screamed since the first moment you looked upon him.
"I want you," you repeated, your voice breaking. "I want you, Aerion. I want to feel you. I want you to touch me as you touched me at supper, as you touched me moments ago. I want..."
His hand found your hair and his fingers buried themselves in the strands, pulled back, forcing your face upward, exposing your throat.
"You want what?" he insisted. The pressure increased, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you who held control. "Say it all. Every word. I want to hear you beg."
The heat between your legs was incendiary. Your thighs pressed together in a vain effort to ease the pressure that grew, that burned, that demanded. Your nipples brushed against the silk and you moaned, a small, shameful sound that he devoured with his eyes.
"I want you to ride me," the words escaped in a sob. "I want to feel you inside me. I want you to make me yours. I want..."
He pulled your hair harder, and the pain was delicious.
"More," he demanded. "Beg as though your life depended upon it. Because it does, little princess. If you do not beg properly, I shall leave and you shall burn the rest of the night, the rest of your life."
"Please," the word tore itself from your throat. "Please, Aerion. I cannot... I cannot bear it any longer. He never wanted me, never touched me, never looked at me as you look. But you... you look at me as though I were a feast, as though you would devour me, and I want it, I want it so much, please..."
The tears flowed freely now, hot and salty, and sobs shook your kneeling form.
"Please, do not leave me thus. Please, touch me. Please, stay. Please, Aerion, please, please, please..."
He smiled, and the smile was the most terrible and most beautiful thing you had ever seen.
His free hand descended, found your chin, lifted your face. His pale eyes traversed the tracks of your tears, your parted lips, the trembling that would not cease.
"Little princess," he murmured, and the word was both a caress and an insult. "My little princess. So beautiful on your knees. So perfect when begging."
The fingers at your chin tightened, forcing you to hold his gaze.
"I shall give you what you ask," he promised. "But I want you to know one thing."
He leaned in, his lips so close to yours that you could feel the warmth of his breath.
"From this night onward, you shall be mine. Not his. Never again his. Even if I never touch you again, even if you spend the rest of your life in his bed, you shall be mine. Because you shall wake every night dreaming of this. You shall close your eyes and see my face. You shall part your legs and wish it were my hands."
He lifted you by the chin, pulling you upward, forcing you to rise upon your trembling knees.
"And when he does not give you what you deserve, you shall remember this night. You shall remember how you begged. You shall remember how you knelt, and you shall hate him for not being me."
His hand released your chin and descended, slowly, so slowly, tracing the line of your neck, the curve of your shoulder, the contour of your breast through the silk. When his thumb brushed against your erect nipple, you moaned loudly, an obscene sound that echoed through the chamber.
"Yes," he hissed, his eyes fixed upon your body's reaction. "Thus. I want to hear you thus. I want the entire red keep to know that it was Aerion who made you moan."
His hand squeezed your breast roughly.
"Now rise."
Your legs obeyed before your mind could command them. He kept one hand upon your body, guiding you, possessing you, while the other remained free. He led you to the bed, to the linens still rumpled where minutes before you had lain alone, where hours before Maekar had rejected you.
Then he pushed you, and you fell back upon the feathers, your shift riding up, revealing your thighs, your belly, the wet heat that the silk could no longer conceal. He stood above you, silhouetted against the hearth light, and he resembled a god. A cruel god. An ancient god. A god of fire and blood.
"I shall riding you," he announced, unfastening his belt. "I shall riding you as a dragon ride his female. As our ancestors ride when they still ruled this world."
His knees found the bed on either side of your body. He leaned over you, his arms on either side of your head, trapping you, possessing you without yet touching you.
"And when I am done," he whispered, his lips brushing against yours. "I want you to beg me for more, and I promise I shall return come morning, or perhaps the next day, or perhaps I shall steal you away for myself."
His mouth found yours as though it had been starving for years.
It was a devouring. The lips, the tongue, the teeth — every part of him claimed possession, demanded surrender, took what he had watched from afar for so long. The taste of pomegranate still lingered on your tongue, sweet and tart, and it mingled with the flavour of the madness that ran in his veins.
His hands did not cease their roaming; they travelled over you as though they meant to discover every inch of skin, every curve, every secret your body kept. The strap of your shift gave way, then the other, and the fabric slid down your torso like water, leaving you fully bared to the dying light of the hearth.
Aerion drew back just enough to look, and what you saw in his eyes stole the breath from your lungs.
It was not merely desire. It was worship. It was hunger. It was the certainty of one who finally touches what he has always known would be his. His violet eyes traced every inch of your naked form — your breasts, your belly, the dark triangle between your thighs that pressed together in a mix of shame and excitement — and they darkened, darkened until they were nearly black.
"The gods know I have waited long for this," he murmured between heavy breaths. "A curse on them if I complain. It was worth the wait."
His fingers found your breast, traced the curve slowly, and when his thumb brushed against your already hardened nipple, a moan escaped your lips before you could contain it. He smiled. That cruel smile, that smile that knew precisely what it did to you, that revelled in every reaction he drew from your body.
"You like it, do you not?" The question was a rhetorical one, but he wished to hear it. He wanted all the words, all the sounds, all the surrender. "You like being touched by me. You like being looked at by me. You like being naked beneath me while the old man... where is the old man, my father's wife?"
"I do not know," you whispered.
"Of course, you do not." His hand descended, slow, torturously slow, tracing the line of your belly, circling your navel, drawing nearer to the heat that had already dampened the skin between your thighs. "He could be two chambers away, he could be in another woman's arms, he could be dead and you would not know it. You would not know, because he does not tell you, does not touch you, does not want you."
His fingers finally found your heat, parted your folds, delved into the wetness that had gathered there all through the night. The moan you released was too loud, too obscene, and he devoured it with his mouth in a second kiss, equally possessive.
"But I," he murmured against your lips, his fingers moving inside you in a rhythm slow, deliberate, meant to drive you mad. "I wish to know everything. I wish to know where you are, what you feel, what you think, what you desire. I wish to hear every moan, every sigh, every time my name escapes those lips."
His thumb found that place no one had ever touched, and your body arched against him as though struck by lightning.
"Aerion," the name escaped in a sob.
"Yes," he hissed, his eyes fixed upon your expression, upon the pleasure you finally offered him. "Thus. Say my name. Say it as though it were a prayer. Say it as though I were the only dragon in the world."
His free hand rose to your face, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw, your lower lip, the curve of your neck. Then it descended, found your breast, squeezed hard enough to hurt, to mark, to remind you that you were his.
"Do you know what I thought every night since you came to this court?" The question came in a hoarse whisper, his fingers moving faster inside you, drawing you nearer to madness. "I thought of how it would be to have you thus. I thought of how it would be to hear you moan. I thought of how it would be to feel you tighten around me, trembling, begging."
His thumb pressed that tender spot once more, and the world narrowed until it was only this, only him, only the pleasure he built with such patience and such cruelty.
"I thought of how it would be to watch you fall apart for me," he continued, his voice growing rougher, drawing closer to losing control. "And now I shall see it. Now I shall watch you spend for me, little princess. Now I shall feel you tighten about me, calling for me, forgetting any other man exists in this world."
His fingers moved faster, deeper, drawing you closer. His thumb did not cease and you were so close, so close, the pleasure building like a wave about to break, your body trembling, your mouth open in a continuous moan that he drank in with his eyes.
"I wish to hear it," he commanded. "I wish to hear my name when you spend. I wish everyone to know. I wish him to know, even if he never discovers it."
The wave broke with the violence of one who had waited too long.
His name escaped your lips in a cry — not a moan, not a whisper, a true cry, loud, obscene, echoing off the stone walls of the chamber and surely passing through the doors.
"AERION!"
His fingers did not cease; they continued to move inside you, drawing out the pleasure, extracting every spasm, every tremor, every drop of surrender your body could offer. And he laughed. He laughed softly, a hoarse and triumphant sound, while he watched you fall apart beneath him.
"Thus," he murmured, his eyes fixed upon your expression of ecstasy. "Thus, little princess. Shout my name. Shout it so that he might hear. Shout it so that all may know whose you are this night."
When the spasms finally ceased, when your body fell back upon the bed like a rag, he withdrew his fingers slowly, deliberately slowly, and brought them to his lips. He licked them one by one, his eyes fixed upon you, savouring you as though you were the finest of wines.
"Sweet," he remarked, and the smile that curved his lips was pure malice. "So sweet. And so quick. Was it good thus, little princess? Was it better than you imagined?"
You could not answer. Your breath was still too short, your heart still galloping, your body still trembling in the residual waves of pleasure, but he expected no answer. He never expected. He merely took.
His hand found your ankle, closed about the bone, and pulled.
He dragged you across the bed as though you were an object, without ceremony, without care, without anything save the certainty that you were his to do with as he wished. Your shift, already half fallen, tangled in the linens and was left behind as your feet touched the cold floor.
"Rise," he commanded.
You obeyed. Your legs trembled so much they could scarcely support you, but you obeyed. You stood before him, naked, trembling, your breasts still rising and falling with your gasping breath, your body marked by his fingers, your heat still trickling down your thighs.
He observed you for a long while, his eyes traversing every inch of skin, lingering upon the marks that were already beginning to form — the fingerprints upon your thigh, the involuntary scratches you had left upon your own back, your nipples still tender and erect.
"Look at you," he murmured, striking your face. "All wet, all trembling, all mine."
His hand rose, struck your face again. Not hard enough to truly hurt, but hard enough to provoke.
"Do you think he would make you shout thus?" he asked. "Do you think he would make you tighten about his fingers as though you might die if he ceased?"
He struck you again. Harder. Hard enough to turn your face.
"Answer."
"No," you whispered, and your face burned, and your body burned, and everything in you burned for more.
"No, what?"
"No, he would not make me shout thus."
His hand seized your chin, forced you to look into his eyes. His were utterly dark now, the pale iris nearly vanished in the dilation of his pupils. He breathed heavily, his bare chest rising and falling, his erection evident beneath his breeches.
"Do you know what I shall do now?"
You shook your head, your eyes trapped by his.
"I shall mark you. I shall engrave upon your skin that you are mine. I shall ensure that every time you bathe, every time you don silk, every time he lays his eyes upon you, you shall remember this night. You shall remember how you knelt. You shall remember how you begged. You shall remember how you shouted my name."
His hand released your chin and seized your arm, pulling you behind him as he moved about the chamber. He stopped beside the side table, beside the candles.
Three of them, tall, burning since the start of the night, wax dripping slowly down their sides, forming pale stalactites. He took one, tested its weight, tested its heat, and when he turned to you with the flame illuminating his face from below, he resembled a demon. He resembled the very strange god the Targaryens had worshipped before coming to Westeros.
"On your knees," he commanded.
You bent your knees without hesitation. The floor was cold against your skin, but the heat that radiated from him and from the candles warmed you from within. You remained there, naked, trembling, your eyes fixed upon the dripping wax, upon the dancing flame, upon the man who looked at you as though you were the most precious and the most contemptible thing in the world.
"Do you know what men do to women in Lys?" he asked, playing with the flame. "They mark them, so that they never forget to whom they belong."
The candle tilted and the first drop of hot wax fell upon your thigh.
The heat, the sudden pain, the contrast between the cold of the floor and the fire of the wax — all merged into a stifled cry that you bit your lips to contain, but he saw. He saw your eyes widen, saw your body tremble, saw your nipples harden further.
"You like it," he observed, and it was no question. It was confirmation. It was discovery. It was the key to a new level of perversion. "You like pain. You like to feel. You like being marked."
Another drop, and closer to the inside of your thigh. This time the moan escaped, and he smiled.
"Do not contain it," he commanded. "I wish to hear. I wish to hear every sound I draw from you."
Another drop. Another. Another. The wax flowed hot, scalding, leaving small red marks upon the white skin of your thighs. And he observed everything with the attention of an artist, of a cruel lover who had finally found the perfect way to express what he felt.
"Open your legs," he commanded.
You obeyed. Your thighs parted, revealing your wet heat, your lips still swollen from the earlier orgasm, the sensitive skin of your inner thigh completely exposed.
He tilted the candle and the wax flowed in a continuous stream, tracing a red line from your knee to the inside of your thigh, close enough to the entrance of your womanhood. The cry you released was loud, was free, was everything he wished to hear.
"Thus," he hissed, his eyes fixed upon the red line the wax had left, upon the small blisters that formed, upon your body trembling, writhing, begging for more without words. "Shout. I want your husband to hear. I want the servants to hear. I want the gods to hear."
Another line, even closer. The wax nearly brushed your most sensitive lips, and the moan you released was of pleasure and pain merged as one.
"Do you want more?" he asked. "Do you want everyone to see the marks I have made upon you?"
"Yes," the word escaped in a sob. "Yes, please, yes, I want more, I want everything, I want all that you will give me."
He laughed. That low, cruel laugh that was so his own, so Aerion, so perfectly mad.
"So obedient," he murmured, and the candle tilted once more. "So mine."
The wax flowed, and flowed, and flowed. Red lines crossed your thighs, rose up your belly, circled your breasts without ever touching your nipples no matter how he provoked. He marked you as one signs a work of art, as one claims possession of a territory, as one who finally holds in his hands what he has always desired.
The candle hovered in the air for a moment, the flame flickering, the wax dripping slowly to the floor without touching you.
He stopped.
His violet eyes traversed the work he had made — the red lines that crossed your thighs, that rose up your belly, that circled your breasts without ever touching them. The expression upon his face was one of pure adoration, of sick pride, of hunger that had not yet begun to be sated.
"Perfect," he murmured, more to himself than to you. "Utterly perfect."
The candle was set aside, the flame casting dancing shadows upon the wall. And then he straightened, standing over you, and his hands found the fastenings of his breeches.
"Look," he commanded. "I want you to look."
His eyes fixed upon you as his long fingers worked at the fastenings, as the leather gave way, as the skin beneath was slowly revealed. His breath was altered, gasping, but his movements remained controlled.
His breeches fell and he stood before you, naked, bathed in the dying light of the hearth and the trembling glow of the candles, and he was everything the blood of the dragon promised to be.
His body was sculpted. His chest was broad, his shoulders powerful, his arms marked by veins and muscles that tensed with each movement. Scars — small, old, witnesses to battles he had won — dotted his pale skin.
And between his legs...
Your eyes descended without your being able to control them. The desire you felt was so physical, so urgent, that it pained you. He was erect, hard, ready — and large. Larger than you had imagined, larger than the whispered tales of the ladies had led you to believe. The sight of him thus, naked and exposed, the humiliation of the position in which you knelt, the sting of the marks upon your skin — all merged into a moan that escaped before you could contain it.
He smiled that slow, cruel smile, perfectly aware of the effect he had upon you.
"Do you like what you see, little princess?" he provoked. "Do you like seeing what you begged to have?"
His hand descended, wrapped about his cock, stroked it slowly while he observed you, and he brushed it against your face. His eyes never left your face, drinking in every expression, every poorly disguised desire.
"Answer."
"I like it."
"You like it, what?"
"I like what I see."
"Say what you wish to do with it."
His hand tightened about his member, his fingers sliding along the taut skin, and the moan he released was low, the first truly uncontrolled sound you had heard from him.
"I wish..." your voice faltered. You swallowed hard, your eyes fixed upon him, upon his naked body. "I wish to feel you inside me. I wish to know how it feels. I wish for you to fill me. I wish..."
"You wish what?" he insisted, his hand moving faster, his breath quickening. "Say it all. Every word."
"I wish for you to ride me," the words escaped in a single breath. "I wish to feel you enter me. I wish for you to use me. I wish for you to make me yours, in every way, in every manner, until no one remains in doubt that I belong to you."
His eyes darkened further, his hand stilled its movement, and for a moment he remained motionless, merely looking at you, drinking in every word, every surrender, every proof that you were his.
His free hand found your hair, buried itself in the strands, pulled back hard enough to hurt, to expose your throat, to force your gaze upward.
"I shall ride you," he promised, his voice hoarse, nearly unrecognisable. "I shall ride you as no one has ever riding you. I shall make you forget the names of all the men who existed before me. I shall engrave myself inside you."
His mouth descended, his teeth found the curve of your neck, bit down hard enough to leave a mark. And while he bit, while he marked you there as well, his other hand guided his manhood to your face.
"Open your mouth."
Your lips parted, your tongue extended, and when the tip of his cock brushed against your palate, the moan you released was muffled by his skin, by his taste, by the reality of what you were doing.
He did not wait. He gave you no time to think. The hand in your hair guided you, forced you, used you while the other held the base, and you accepted everything — everything — with the same surrender with which you had accepted the wax, with which you had accepted his fingers, with which you had accepted kneeling.
"Thus," he hissed, his breathing quickening, his body tensing. "That... yes..."
His hips moved, slowly at first, then faster, deeper, drawing closer. And you let him, accepted him, worshipped him. Each movement, each time he buried himself deeper in your throat was a reaffirmation that you were his, that you would always be his, that there would never be another.
When he finally stopped, when he drew back gasping, his body covered in sweat, his eyes utterly mad with desire, he pulled you up by the roots of your hair.
"On your hands and knees," he commanded.
You crawled onto the bed, rose upon your knees, offered yourself completely to him. The marks from the wax ached at the contact with the linens, but the pain was sweet, was his, was everything you wanted.
He positioned himself behind you. His hand descended, parted your folds, felt your heat, your wetness, your readiness. His cock brushed against your womanhood, once, twice, teasing, torturing, delaying the moment you both desired.
"Aerion," you begged again.
"Quiet."
You moaned but accepted your fate, biting your lower lip hard as Aerion aligned himself with your entrance. You held your breath as he pushed inside, without gentleness, exactly as you had expected.
Immediately, he began to bury himself within you to the hilt, your walls pulsing around him as you struggled to accommodate his thickness. You had turned your head to the side to avoid his gaze, but Aerion had other plans for you, seizing your chin to force you to meet his blazing eyes.
"Do you feel that? Do you feel the ache in your little cunt? It is a fucking reminder of what happens when you claim a true dragon."
He sank in completely and then thrust back, his eyes narrowing and his breath catching in his throat.
"You are mine now, little princess. You are mine to command, to make do as I wish. You exist to serve me. You shall spend when I wish, wear what I wish, and leave this chamber when I wish. Now tell me, whose are you?"
You moaned, your hands gripping the sheets as he began to fuck you in a steady rhythm.
"I am yours," you managed to say, your cunt still refusing to accept the intrusion. But Aerion was clearly in a mood that night to go further, striking your cheek once more.
"To whom does this body belong? To me, or to my father?"
"To you. Only to you, and I know I am nothing without you," you whimpered in pleasure, scarcely able to distinguish his face through your tears.
When you felt his finger upon your neglected clit, it was the finest sensation you had felt again. Your lips parted, your eyes fixed upon where his hand worked between your legs, and you should have known in that moment that he was playing with you. Aerion meant to punish you, for not having chosen him, for having taken so long to beg for him.
And because shortly thereafter, when you felt yourself drawing near another orgasm, he stopped, of course, removing his hand from your clit and instead delivering a sharp slap to your cunt that made you jump.
"N-No, Aerion, please..." you moaned and lifted your hips.
"Little princess, you must kneel and beg."
He slapped your cunt again, a little harder this time, and the burning pain brought tears to your eyes. By now you knew exactly what he was doing. He was teasing you, likely wanting to see you beg and then break for him, and it seemed his plan was working perfectly. You could not control yourself, pleasure clouding your senses, the need to climax soon being the only desire in your head. You were no longer afraid of your husband seeing you or of desiring even more come morning, too eager to finally reach your peak, but Aerion shifted quickly, pushing two of his fingers into your mouth, reminding you of your sore throat.
He continued thus, denying your climax repeatedly while bringing you to the edge with his two thick fingers in your mouth, and soon you were a trembling mess beneath him who could no longer even vocalise your need to finish. You moaned and whimpered, wept and begged with your eyes, but Aerion was immune to all of it.
He seemed to want to push himself further as well, slowing inside you from time to time, as though to tease himself a little, until eventually he spent himself for the first time that night. Aerion collapsed upon you, wrapping his hand about your throat not only to keep you still, but to silence any complaint about your ruined orgasm, and then he took his time savouring the divine release.
He breathed heavily against your jaw, his nose nestling into your skin that burned with heat, and he gasped when he withdrew his cock from you. You, on the other hand, writhed, feeling exquisitely sensitive to every touch, and prayed that he might do something to give you some relief as well.
Your entire body was aflame, your limbs aching and your cunt strangely overstimulated and swollen, pulsing greedily with lust all the while. But Aerion made no attempt to do you any favour, donning his breeches without even looking at you. You were definitely too exhausted and messy to do anything, lying upon the bed awaiting your stepson's next move, but when he was fully dressed once more, he merely raised an eyebrow arrogantly, observing your naked form.
"I shall return when you beg me for it. I have not finished with you yet. Until then, I trust you shall begin to regret having wed my father, and if I discover you doing anything you ought not, such as touching yourself or begging to have me sent away, I shall not go easy on you, little princess. When I next give you what you beg for, you had best behave yourself properly, for if you are fortunate, I shall fuck your throat, and if I am not feeling merciful, it shall be your arse."
Ი𐑼 . . . - continue on to my…. main masterlist ❜❜
۶ৎ sweethearts this is my first bit of smut here, and I’m still a little unsure about how it turned out hihihi but I already have so many other ideas in my head featuring Valarr, Aerion (again), and Daeron ... part two?
summary: Aerion can't stand the view of you being all friendly with his cousin, Valarr. Secrets being shared between the both of you, little glances here and there, loud laughs at supper. Maybe he just wants to remind you who you married and who you truly love.
cw: +18. mdni. wife!reader (reader is not a targaryen). possessiveness / jealousy. controlling behavior dynamics. emotionally intense / borderline toxic relationship. praise / degrading. mocking. kissing & marking. noise kink. lack of foreplay. semi-public setting. unprotected piv. creampie / breeding kink. little to no aftercare. reblog is a creator’s best-friend, thank you!!
The first time you notice it, it feels like nothing.
A passing thing, a laugh that lingers a heartbeat too long, your shoulder brushing against Valarr’s as the two of you lean over a carved stone balustrade, trading quiet jokes beneath your breath while the rest of the hall hums with music and wine. It is harmless—so harmless you don’t even think to glance across the room. If you had, you might have caught it earlier and might have seen the way Aerion goes still.
Not the kind of stillness that suggests calm. No; this is something tighter, sharper, the sort that coils beneath the skin like a drawn blade. His goblet pauses midway to his lips, dark eyes fixed: not on the dancers, not on the lords gathered in clumps of laughter but on you. On the way you tilt your head toward Valarr, as if he has said something meant only for you, on the way you smile.
It does not end there, it never does, with Aerion. Days pass after that night, and what should remain a fleeting moment instead becomes a pattern, one so subtle you do not recognize its shape until it is far too late. Valarr is easy company; way lighter than Aerion, softer in the edges that matter. Where Aerion burns, Valarr simmers; where Aerion commands, Valarr listens. It is… refreshing, in ways you do not quite dare to name.
So you linger.
In corridors where sunlight cuts through narrow windows, catching dust in golden threads, in gardens where the scent of roses grows heavy in the afternoon heat, in shadowed alcoves where laughter feels safer, quieter and private.
There’s shared looks, half-finished sentences the other knows how to complete and secrets. Not the kind that would ruin kingdoms but the kind that might ruin a man like Aerion. You wouldn’t even dream of going for Valarr; because he is your confidant, not someone you see yourself with. More than that, you wouldn’t even think of cheating on your husband.
Aerion says nothing and that is the most dangerous part of it all.
He does not confront you in the moment, does not drag you away from Valarr in a fit of temper, does not make a scene before the court. No—he watches with focused purple eyes. He watches as you walk beside his cousin in the training yard, your skirts brushing against the dust as Valarr says something that draws laughter from you again.
He watches as you sit too close during supper, your knee nearly touching Valarr’s beneath the table. He watches as Valarr leans in (too close, far too close) and murmurs something at your ear that makes your breath hitch, soft and quiet and almost intimate.
And all the while, Aerion smiles: a thin thing all polite and controlled like he knows how to do, from time to time. The kind of smile that promises ruin, vengeance and humiliation like he also knows.
It breaks the night you do not expect; a feast stretches long into the evening, the hall thick with heat and noise and the clatter of goblets against wood. You are seated between them, between fire and calm, and you do not think about the consequences of that choice. Not until it is too late. Valarr leans close again. Of course he does. Sometimes you wonder if he does it on purpose to annoy his cousin, if it’s a battle he is searching for in the way he leans close to your face and shares secrets with you.
“Careful,” he murmurs, voice low enough that it should not carry. “Your dragon is staring holes into me.” You huff a quiet laugh, glancing toward Aerion without turning your head fully. “He stares at everything like that, you know him.” You try to brush it off, knowing your husband.
“Not like this,” Valarr replies, something knowing flickering in his tone. “I’d say he looks ready to burn the hall down.”
“Then perhaps you should behave,” you tease, nudging him lightly beneath the table, puffing under your breath. It is a mistake on your part, a small one but Aerion sees. Of course he does, it always feels like his eyes are everywhere when it comes to you.
The moment the feast ends, he does not wait. You barely have time to slip out into the corridor before a hand closes around your wrist—firm, unyielding, unmistakable. “Aerion—” You gasp at the silver white haired prince, but he doesn’t bulge one inch.
“Come.” There is no room for argument in the single word nor in the tone of his voice.
He does not drag you, not quite, but the grip he keeps on you is iron; guiding, steering, leaving no question of whether you have a choice. The halls blur past in a wash of torchlight and shadow, your pulse quickening not entirely from the pace, blood pumping in your veins. “You’re hurting me,” you manage, though it is only half true.
His fingers loosen slightly but not enough for you to take your wrist away from his grip, just so he’s not hurting you anymore. The corridors blur into open air, the night cooler against your flushed skin as he leads you away from torchlight and laughter, toward something quieter and more dangerous, more open to eyes watching.
The scent reaches you first; it’s hay, leather, the warm, living musk of horses and then the low, restless shifting of hooves against straw. The stables. Your steps falter as you realize where he had taken you. “Aerion!” Too late.
He pushes open the wooden door with a sharp motion, the hinges groaning softly in protest as he ushers you inside. Lantern light flickers along the rows of stalls, shadows stretching long between beams of wood and rope. Somewhere nearby, a horse snorts, stamping once as if disturbed by your sudden presence. This place is not empty, not truly. Anyone could pass by, a stablehand, a guard. Even Valarr could come by, needing to see his horse.
Your pulse jumps. “Aerion, someone could—” You try to voice at him but he shakes his head at the words leaving your mouth. “Let them.” The words are quiet and certain. The door shuts behind you with a dull thud, not locked, not barred just closed enough to muffle the outside world while still leaving it dangerously close.
Only then does he turn to you fully and you understand. Because the look in his eyes is not anger alone, it is something deeper like jealousy and possessiveness that you can’t ignore anymore. “You’ve grown bold,” Aerion says softly. You fold your arms, trying to gather what little composure remains. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“No?” His head tilts, slow and deliberate. “Laughing with him, whispering with him, touching him.” He lists to you all the things he has seen you do with Valarr. “I wasn’t—” You try to defend yourself but there’s no need at this point and Aerion scoffs. “Do not lie to me.”
The words snap, sudden and sharp, and you flinch before you can stop yourself. Silence stretches heavy for a beat or two. Then, quieter, more dangerous—“Do you think me blind?”
“No,” you say, more carefully now. “But you are… imagining things.” His laugh is soft and utterly humorless, a laugh you have heard before, given to Lords and servants, but not to you. “Am I?”
He steps closer, and you hold your ground but barely. “Then tell me,” he continues, voice dropping, “what was so amusing that you could not share it with me?” His breath almost hits your face and you stop yourself from gasping at the feeling. “It was nothing,” you insist, heart skipping a bit.
“That is not what it looked like.”
“It was nothing,” you repeat, frustration flaring now. “You’re making it into something it isn’t.”
“And what is it, then?” he presses.
“Friendship.”
The word hangs between you, all wrong. Terribly, dangerously wrong and Aerion goes very still. Then, slowly, he smiles. “Friendship,” he echoes. And you realize, far too late, that you have just made it worse.
He does not shout but you do think that would be easier. Instead, he reaches for you, one hand coming up to tilt your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. His touch is not gentle, but it is not cruel either, it is… claiming. As if he needs to remind himself that you are there, that you are his.
“You forget yourself,” he murmurs.
“I forget nothing,” you retort, though your voice falters under the weight of his stare. “Still, allow me to remind you.” Your breath catches at the words leaving his mouth, warmth bubbling in your lower belly at the implication and the tone he used. “Aerion…”
“Do you know what I saw tonight?” he continues, ignoring the warning in your tone. “I saw my cousin look at you as though you belonged to him, as though he had any right.”
“He didn’t—” His thumb moves up, fair skin brushing against your lower lip. “And I saw you let him.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Fair?” His grip tightens slightly, not enough to hurt but enough to make a point. “You speak to me of fairness?” You swallow, your heart beating faster inside your chest and your lips part. “This is not about fairness,” he goes on, softer now, but no less intense. “This is about what is mine.” The words send a shiver down your spine, the warmth in your lower belly intensifying.
“I am not a possession,” you say, though it lacks conviction. A flicker of something, amusement, perhaps, crosses his face. “No,” he agrees, nodding his head at you. “You are not.” His thumb brushes lightly along your jaw then, the gesture almost gentle.
“But you are mine all the same.”
You should argue at those words; you should push him away, remind him of boundaries, of reason, of everything that makes his words dangerous but you do not. Because there is something in the way he looks at you now, something raw and unguarded beneath the sharp edges that roots you in place. Jealousy, yes but also fear.
The kind he would never name and certainly not in front of you. “You’re being unreasonable,” you manage, though your voice is softer now.
“Am I?” he murmurs again. Then, before you can answer, he steps closer, so close you can feel the heat of him, the steady rise and fall of his breath. It makes you take a step back, your body finds one of the wooden walls of the stable, your breath catching in your throat. “Then why,” he asks quietly, “does the thought of him touching you make me want to tear him apart?”
Your heart stutters, your eyes searching for his purple ones, trying to focus on his face and the expression he has. You can feel the heat in your cheeks, blood pumping in your body at the whispered words coming from his mouth. “Aerion…”
“And why,” he continues, voice dipping lower, “does the thought of you wanting him as your confidant make me want to remind you exactly who you belong to?” The air between you shifts then, turning more heavy and charged.
“You don’t have to—” you start, but the words falter as his hand slides from your chin to your throat; not squeezing, not hurting, just there, a steady, grounding weight.
“I think I do,” he says.
His free hand moves to the front corset of your dress, fingers expertly undoing the satin ribbon there, loosening the upper part of your clothes. Every movement is deliberate, every touch chosen, purposeful as though he is writing something into your skin that cannot be erased. Soon enough, your breasts are shown to his eyes; nipples perking from the cold of the night and asking for attention from your husband.
He draws you closer, until there is no space left between you, until the world beyond the space might as well not exist. Your hands find his shoulders without thinking, your breath unsteady as his lips brush the curve of your jaw, not quite a kiss, not yet. “You let him stand too close,” he murmurs against your skin.
“I didn’t—” You whine out at him, head tilting to give him more space between the slot of your neck and shoulder. “You did.” His lips press more firmly this time, just below your ear, and your protest dissolves into a soft intake of breath. “And you laughed,” he continues, almost thoughtfully. “As though he had earned it.”
“It wasn’t like that,” you whisper, though the words feel thin now. Your eyes close for a second or so, trying to feel his touch deep into your soul. “No?” Another press of lips, lower this time, along the line of your throat. “Then why did it look like something I should fear?” His words are muffled against your skin, a warm breath brings goosebumps to your body as he speaks.
“You don’t fear anything,” you say, trying to steady yourself. A pause. Then, quietly, almost too quiet to hear: “Don’t I?” It stills you, just for a moment.
Long enough for him to tilt your head back more, long enough for his mouth to find the sensitive curve where your neck meets your shoulder once more—and this time, he does not hold back. The mark he leaves is deliberate and visible: a claim written in heat and pressure and something far more dangerous.
“Aerion—” His name escapes you, soft and unguarded. “Louder,” he says quietly. Your eyes snap open. “What?”
“Say it louder.”
There is something in his tone, something that makes your pulse quicken and all your thoughts scatter. “Aerion,” you repeat, stronger this time, almost biting at your bottom lip at the feelings coursing through your body and mind at that moment.
“Again.” He draws another mark from you, another soft, involuntary sound, and this time when you say his name, it is much louder, the word echoing in the space you both occupy as though it might carry beyond the walls. Anyone could hear it if passing near the stables but you find yourself not caring much anymore.
“Good,” he murmurs. “Maybe I should remind you who you married, and who is your husband because it is clear that it isn’t Valarr.” His voice is a groan as he lowers his wet lips to the valley of your breasts, sucking on the skin to mark you once more. A whine escapes you at the feeling, but your mind is pulled away from the thoughts as Aerion suddenly moves his hands to the many layers skirts of your dress. You gasp as he tugs it up, the skin of your thighs all bare before his eyes.
He’s rough when he grabs one of your thighs just to lift it up, letting the back of your knee rest on top of his shoulder. You have to grab at the fabric of his luxurious tunic to stay upward and not fall over. “Oh, Gods! Aerion, please—” You whine at your husband but he doesn’t seem to care as his pale hand caresses the skin of your bare thigh, his hand lowering closer to your cunt. His violet eyes take in the view before he scoffs. “Wet? Really?” You can only try to hide at his words.
His tongue clicks on top of his palate before he shakes his head, not arguing with your sudden shyness. All Aerion does is move his hands again, this time, to push his black drawers down, just enough to free his cock from inside the fabric.
It wasn’t your first time seeing his member and probably wouldn’t be the last, so there wasn’t much surprise when seeing the angry pinkish mushroom head leaking with pre-cum, the veins throbbing all along the length or the silver white hair at the base. The length itself wasn’t much impressive but what he lacked was compensated by the girth and by how he used it (and he knew how).
As soon as his cock was out, one of his hands ended up back on your thigh that was resting on his shoulder to keep you there, the other wrapping itself around his shaft. He started to jerk himself off dry, his deep violet eyes looking at you as he did so.
“You love my cock, don’t you?” He asked suddenly, making your eyes go wide as you lifted them to see his face. “It’s the only fucking thing in this world that can make you feel good, yeah? I’m sure you wouldn’t feel as good if you took Valarr’s.” The words made you squirm and shake your head at him and a sigh escaped your mouth before you could reply, feeling the sticky tip of his cock rubbing against your bare cunt. His hips jerked toward yours, his length pushing itself between your slick folds.
“I don’t—I don’t want Valarr, I just want you…” You ended up replying to your husband, grip tightening on his tunic, pulling him closer. He hummed at your words, pushing the tip of his cock to your hole. He teased the muscle there; acting like he was about to push inside before pulling away, making you whine at him.
“You want it, don’t you? Want me to fuck you here, where anyone could see us?” You only thrusted your hips toward his own as an answer and he understood. He could honestly just tease you all the way, make you beg; but the thought of you screaming his name here was enough.
Aerion moved his feet to spread his thighs for a better position, his hand on your thigh tightened and his eyes lowered to what he was doing before you felt the push of his tip against your hole. Wetness was already coating his tip before he splat done on it for assurance, a glob of saliva that was soon enough smeared from his tip to your entrance. “Aerion, please, I need you.” You spoke to which he grunted, pushing his shaft inside you. The intrusion made you gasp, immediately pulling him closer to hide your face in his neck.
“I’m going to fuck you so good that you’ll only remember my name, how about that?” His voice echoed in your ear and goosebumps appeared on your skin from the words. You were unable to reply as his shaft pushed deeper inside you, stretching your gummy walls and making you gasp until you felt the curly hair of his bush against your slick clit. A slight friction of his public hair against your bud of nerves made you moan out, hips rubbing against him to feel more of it.
His cock ended up slotting itself so good inside you, stretching your walls and making them pulsate around his shaft. The wetness of your cunt glistened onto his body hair, slicking them.
Aerion groaned when you mindlessly clenched around him, his violet eyes lowering to see where his body met your own. “So fuckin’ good, aren’t you? Best pussy in all the seven kingdoms.” He spoke in your ears, the words bringing a warmth in your lower belly. You moved your arms to wrap them around his neck as he started to move.
Your husband’s hips immediately slapped against yours; Aerion’s pace was fast and unapologetic as he fucked you in the empty stables. Your back hit the wooden wall and a dull thud was created by the force of it, but it didn’t matter much with how fogged with pleasure your brain was already. The white silver-haired man used the position of your thigh on his shoulder to get deeper into your slick pussy, rubbing himself against your clit with each thrust. Your head rolled backward, almost hitting the wall as well.
“Say my name, say how much you like being fucked.” He spoke and your eyes traveled to his face, lips parted as you whined. A particular hard thrust made you gasp and you nodded, “I love it! I love—I love when you fuck me, Aerion.” He groaned at your answer and your walls clenched around his fat cock at the noise escaping him.
Juice from your pussy coated at the bush above his cock, making it glisten and smear when it rubbed against your clit. The sensation made you arch toward him even more.
Aerion’s pace slowed suddenly and he watched as his cock pulled out of your pussy, a creamy white ring around the base. His tip nestled inside your warm and wet hole before he pushed his hips back toward yours slowly. He did that a few times just to tease you, his hand gripping your thigh, fingers buried in the fat there as he held you. Then, without any warning, he picked up the pace to fuck you harder.
Your lips parted wide at that, his name escaping your mouth as tears made themselves known at the corners of your eyes. “Aerion, yes! Ah, yes!” You cried out his name and heard his chuckle echoing in the space. His free hand moved to grab at your hip, pulling along to meet his thrusts and his cock deep inside your cunt. “That’s it, good girl, your cunt’s swallowing my cock so good.” He hissed, his eyebrows furrowing as his violet eyes looked up at your face.
There was a sheen layer of sweat on your forehead, tears begging to roll down your cheeks, lips parted wide to let the most melodic moans ever. Aerion moved his own face closer to yours, lips crashing against yours violently.
There was nothing romantic about this kiss; it felt possessive, hungry and wet. His tongue pushed against your lips and your jaw went slack to let him in. His hips seemed to go even faster after that, rutting against yours, pubic hair brushing and rubbing against your slick clit to bring more stimulation to you. Your entire body felt on fire, arms tight around Aerion’s shoulders.
He pulled away, a thread of your mixed saliva connecting your lips to his own. His tongue poked out, licked his own lips and the wetness there before he spoke. “This pussy is mine, understand? Say it. Say it’s mine.” You could only gasp at him in answer, his mushroom head hitting at your sweet spot when he angled his hips forward inside your cunt. Your walls pulsated around his fat cock, clenching tight to keep him there as he thrusted deeper, the muscle of your thigh now burning as your leg stayed on his shoulder.
“It’s—It’s yours! It’s yours, Aerion… Gods, please! Mhpfhhph!” You moaned, biting at your bottom lip before he spoke again. “Don’t fucking do that, let everyone hear you. Let them hear how good I fuck my wife. I want people to pass by and know what’s happening here.” Aerion groaned, his fingers buried in the fat of your body, hips rutting against yours own. A warmth coursed through your lower belly, making your head feel lighter.
Your teeth let go of your lip immediately after his words, a dull thud resonating as the back of your head hit the wooden wall and your eyebrows furrowed. You knew you were getting closer, and Aerion realized that too, which made him chuckle.
“Close already? Fuck, see, I knew you loved my cock. Only my cock can do that, yeah?” He spoke but you couldn’t reply, too busy moaning his name out loud like he had asked you. Your voice echoed around, probably even outside the stables and you found yourself not even caring at that moment. “Bet Valarr’s cock could never do that to you, mh. My wife loves my cock too much.” He kept going, and your fingers brushed at the hair at his nape before tugging on it, making him hiss.
His tip incessantly hit your sweet spot, his fat cock going deeper until it was slotted all the way and his pace fastened once more.
“I’m going to cum all the way inside you, fill you up until you’re full. Want that?” The words made you clench, and you nodded, tears leaking down the corner of your eyes. The hand Aerion had on your hip moved between your thigh and the slightest touch of his fingers on your clit made you gasp. “Aerion, gonna to come! Gods—” You screamed at him.
He circled his thumb on your slick bud of nerves for less than a few seconds before your pussy clenched and you cried out his name.” Yes, oh yes! Mhpfhphh, Aerion!” Your muscles contracted, walls fluttering around his shaft as you came. You held onto your husband tightly, voice loud as you whimpered for him to hear. Aerion kept moving and thrusting, though his pace was a tone slower now. “Fuck, yes, come around my cock. Show me how much you love it. That’s my good girl.” He voiced at you.
His fingers tightened on the fat of your thigh as he held your leg up, grunts and groans leaving his mouth. You squirmed, cried out at the overstimulation of your pussy as Aerion chased his own orgasm. It was only a few thrusts later than his upper body folded toward yours, a curse leaving his mouth as he came strongly; cock fitted inside your warm and slick cunt. Thick white creamy come filled your hole to the brinks, leaking with how much there was inside. A glob of it slowly dripped from your inner-thigh and down.
Your pussy pulsated around his softened cock before he pulled backwards, making you feel all empty. Aerion sighed, tucking himself back in his pants before lowering your leg from his shoulder; your muscle ached then, and your breathing was labored.
His violet face lifted to your face before he chuckled when seeing the state of your face and body. You pushed your skirts down, fingers moving to redo the bodice of your dress before your husband spoke. “Got your lesson? Next time I see you so close to Valarr, sharing secrets and shit, I’ll fuck you right in front of his eyes.”
He groaned but didn’t let you reply before crashing his lips back against yours, teeth clashing, tongue taking all the control. You moaned then but he pulled away before you could reply to it.
“And before you say anything... I'm just midly-jealous.”
Slashers Mentioned: Billy Loomis, Stu Macher, Bo Sinclair, Vincent Sinclair, Lester Sinclair, Severen Van Sickle, Jesse Hooker, Otis Driftwood, Baby Firefly, Foxy Coltrane
Billy Loomis:
- "I'm sorry....😒...Sorry you're such a dramatic fucking-"
- An apology is just more petty jabs and arguing. He is a spoiled rich boy that only apologized to Sidney as an act; he is arrogant and petty as it gets otherwise
- WILL bring it back up like a lil bitch because he loves manipulating to play the victim
- You will have to be the bigger person or call a truce.
- Once a truce is called he surpringly may apologize in his awkward way or just never ever bring it up again
Stu Macher:
- Spoiled rich boy number 2
- If you say something like: *Say you're sorry!*
He has a shit eating smirk " Fine. You're sorry. I forgive you, babe 😇😏."
- Absolutely infuriating. Everything is a joke to him including your anger. Only if you deny him something is he giving a half assed apology but if he can fuck you or buy you something instead then he will.
- "Alright alright! I get it, you're just all in your emotions-" He would make a mocking face "Sorry baby, ya know I don't think and just say stuff!" Followed by him wanting whatever it was he wants.
Bo Sinclair:
- His face when you demand an apology because...What is that? He never got or gave one.
- Probably the most stubborn on here. Traumatized and prideful and stubborn af.
- Will intimidate in an argument, try to play the dom brat-tamer, seduce you thinking you're just 'testing him' like he thinks you always are. That he can just 'fuck' the attitude out of you. When those don't work bc you're GENUINELY upset? Silent treatment. Both out of defensive anger and uncomfortable feeling with being held responsible for your hurt/anger.
- "I ain't apologizin for SHIT, sweetheart." And he probably means that shit too.
- But he is more giving than Billy Loomis even if their responses are similar. Billy is more moody while Bo is more explosive yet action oriented. So, even if he won't apologize; EVENTUALLY if it means that damn much to you he'll do something for you as a silent apology. Best you're gonna get from him.
- Like expect something you wanted fixed or he keeps silently bringing you your favorite things like a dog
Vincent Sinclair:
- He is Bo's identical previously conjoined twin; his muteness don't mean nothing. They are both STUBBORN and controlling in different ways. Bo more than Vincent but I promise if you got on Vincent's way or accidentally broke a wax sculpture...Yep, you'll see it. They just express it differently. Bo is nagging and controlling with his relationships and town and Vincent is his work. It doesn't help they both were probably never apologized to a day in their lives and vice versa
- Silent treatment and avoiding you. If he's mad; He's slamming things like Bo just not mouthing off. If you're mad; Unlike Bo who pokes to get a reaction; he just avoids you.
- But...He's just as if not more indebted to a partner than his twin is so you may get an apology via handwritten note but he will not be anywhere near and would prefer you just act like you never saw it and it never happened.
Lester Sinclair:
- "Me?? But-...Baby, c'mon..."
- I hc he's either much older than the twins or much younger. Either way, he too was not taught how to properly say sorry...Ever.
- He pouts. He's got a fierceness about him too when he's mad but he's not nearly as stubborn as his brothers so once the arguing is over he's bummed out.
- Tries to make his sulking obvious hoping you'll be swayed and when that doesn't work he uncomfortably tells you, "Sunshine, I ain't good at this. None of us Sinclair's are so I'm so-...I'm sor-...Sorry." He cringes like you branded him.
- As awkward as it gets but gets you flowers to soften the blow
Severen Van Sickle:
- Absolutely teases you, "Aww are ya mad at me, sugarplum?" like it's cute that you're mad because to him it probably is. If you smirk even a little, even out of nervousness, he will not take any of this seriously.
- Will tease like it's cute. If that don't work? He's being like Bo and gonna seduce you to fuck that attitude out of you.
- Has to REALLY see you mad and then he gets a bit exasperated and defensive, "Hmph, yer serious? Oh c'mon! Ya can't actually be that damn mad!"
- Welp, you are.
- Is stubborn, not Sinclair 'doesn't even know that word' stubborn or Billy Loomis 'I'd rather die' stubborn but stubborn. Ignores you but let's everyone know like a petty boy; "Oh yeah, YN over there ain't talkin' to me tonight." Looks at one of them, "Well, go ask them! Since I'M IN THE FUCKIN' DOG HOUSE-" with a glare at you.
- His hot headed, petty, stubbornness only last a night or two at best before he's wrapping his arms around you from behind
- "...Honey, I'm... Sorry." He says it softly, quietly against your skin for only you to hear but his voice doesn't waver. "Can ya go back to being friends, amigos, best pals; preferably with benefits? Pleassseee?" he'd lay on the charm thick trying to get you to crack a smile so he knows you're not mad anymore
Jesse Hooker:
- Glares coldly at you and paces like an animal in private when no one else is watching
- He's not use to any of you challenging him. He's a tough old bird but damn it you just have a way of getting under his skin. Probably over something dumb too.
- He's not making petty digs like Billy or Severen. Not Slamming things or avoiding you like the Sinclair Twins either.
- No he leads. Acts more gruff and short than usual but if he has to talk to you he will it's just very cold and quick and to the point.
- He COULD apologize...But damn he hates to. Even more than Severen.
- Probably won't; trying to see if you crack first. Only way he's cracking is if you outstubborn him. Bonus points if it's in a situation
- "...Fine. Sorry! Now can we get goin?" He'd grumble gruffly while loading his gun.
- Eventually in a few nights he's like, "YN...Let's talk." And sighs before trying to come to some type of truce here
Otis Driftwood: (Idc they should've kept him like this all 3 movies)
- Never in a million years even when something is entirely his fault. He could set you on fire and say it was your fault.
- In fact, out of everyone here, he is thee MOST unhinged and that is saying something.
- He will literally be like, "Sorry?" While mockingly laughing, "Bitch/Prick/Fucker, you outta be grateful yer ass is luckier than a goddamn two peckered fuckin billy goat I'm not gutting you like a fish as we speak!"
- ...He's not joking either. Unless you're as crazy as Baby and 'family' enough...He will. So you better drop it, sex him up or leave 😬
Baby Firefly:
- Again, never.
- In her family? Just bumping into each other is 'move outta the fuckin way' or spilling something is 'Goddamn it!-' followed by blaming someone somehow for the milk falling. They will blame a person 10 feet away like 'Look what you did!'
- Only way is if it wasn't THAT serious and she can pout and feel you up trying to use sex as a get out of jail free card very much like Severen all flirty and "Aww you mad? You're real cute when your mad, ya know that?"
- If it's serious? It would have to be life or death.
- Like, srsly life or death or she's just beyond done with your bs.
- and you're getting a "Sorry you're such a goddamn baby bitch about every fuckin thing! Now can we move the fuck on already!? Fuccckkkkk!"
Foxy Coltrane:
- Lol. Again, never.
- Most arguments end in a truce and him just groaning and being like, "Any-goddamn-way..."
- If he really fucked up his apologies are almost like Stu mixed with Severen like some snake oil salesman type charm
- "Aw sweet thang, c'mon...Look. I'm fuckin' sorry, alright!?...Goddamn-" Followed by him tsking and rubbing his beard before laying on that charm. "Ya want me to beg? I can't do that but I will lick that sexy ass body head to toe till you forget why yer mad then fuck you so long and hard in that mattress; ya forget yer own fuckin' name to boot."
synopsis :: instead of agnes catching isaac’s feast on professor orloff, you do. you make the mistake of screaming, and isaac is too smart to just let you go.
requested by anonymous !
notes && warnings :: i wrote like 1k words for this… and it all deleted. so it’s quite rushed ! and i was pissed so… if it’s not a great debut fic for this blog i am very sorry. i had trouble with this request because of it… i hope it’s up to expectations. i didn’t proofread it either (i was very angry so sorry)
You enjoyed going to Professor Orloff’s class after hours. You liked peace, quiet, solitude; and he liked when young minds appreciated learning. There was hardly anyone ever there, besides tonight. You had to come a little later because of his ‘parts’ meeting.
But that didn’t bother you, you’re a night owl anyway.
So, you didn’t exactly expect Orloff to still be there. But as you round the corner a weird, wet crunching noise fills your ears. Your brows furrow, attending nevermore brought many oddities. You’re sure you’ve seen and heard it all, even the gruesome tragedies Wednesday seems to attract doesn’t phase you anymore.
Still, you take advantage of the large doors that adorn your science professor’s classroom. They’re open in a way you can peer over them, hidden.
You don’t expect the gory sight of a tall, lanky figure leaning over the crushed life preservation system that held Orloff. The once clear tank now colored crimson. You don’t expect the odd sound you heard to be a — what, man? zombie? — devouring the brain of your favorite teacher. You don’t expect the shrill scream that fills the room, you don’t even realize it’s yours.
The half undead man’s head snaps up towards the sound, you only give him half a second to react before you’re sprinting away. The sight so jarring all you can hear is your heartbeat in your ears.
When you reach your dorm your roomie is nowhere to be found. Great, she wasn’t even here. The one day you don’t even need your alone time you get traumatized.
You go to fling the door shut, eager to keep the mysterious cannibal out. But a shoe stops the door from closing, and a desperate noise leaves your lips.
“Don’t be scared,” his voice coos. It sounds raspy, as if it hadn’t been used in far too long.
Your breathing is jagged as you lunge forward, attempting to overpower him and shut the door. But he’s quicker, pushing the door just before you’d reach it, leaving you to fall against him. The smell of him was contradicting, woodsy, earthy with a hint of metal.
Mixed with rot, death, blood.
He grabs hold of you before you can react. Oddly handsome face, even in death, peering down at you. A creepy smirk adorns his lips, causing you to wiggle in his hold in a pathetic attempt to break free.
He sighs at your desperation, “You knew him didn’t you?” It’s clear mock-pity. “I am so sorry you had to see that.” He leans closer, tilting his head. “It’s only a matter of hunger, it’s primal, irresistible. Unable to be satiated until I’m human again.”
You don’t answer him, just stare him down with a glare.
“Like now…” your eyes widen, hands flying up out of panic to grab onto his arms. You send a jolt of electricity through him, stunning him for a moment just enough for you to slip out. But clearly this weird human-zombie creature is too fast and strong.
He laughs sinisterly in your ear, “simple science, you pretty thing. I haven’t had prey escape me once,” his breath is hot against your ear, his face pressed against yours from behind. “The brain this new body has graced me with no longer regulates voluntary activation.”
You go to zap him again, but he catches you. You can’t see the look of triumph on his face as he grips your wrist.
“I’ll spare you for now,” he licks from the bottom of your neck to your ear, contradicting his statement and sending a terrified shiver down your spine. “I have a much greater use for your gift.”
Warnings: Smut 18+, dub-con, virginity loss/cherry popping, creampie/no protection used (whoops), manipulation, blood, bleeding during sex, angst, bondage, best friends older brother type trope, a bit of pseudo-incest (yeah, I truly cannot help myself), biting, clothed sex (on bro's part).
Word count: 5.3k
Summary: You fulfill Josh's last request...
Notes: Another fic that's been sitting in the drafts for like almost two years lol. I hope some of you guys are until dawn fans and are able to get some enjoyment from this fic. I remember this was one of the first games I ever watched a playthrough when I was like 10/11-ish, having a crush on this dude is prolly why I'm such a little weirdo now (I mean I had a crush on all the main cast including the therapist so idk). Anyways like I said hope you guys enjoy and yall can let me know if you all want some more fics based on some more story-based games or something. (P.S. Sorry if the reader is coming off as a "look at me, this isn't you" girl, I wanted to make the reader a little more desperate and pathetic for once lmao. Loser virgin girls I <3 you, there need to be more media where the protagonist is a loser virgin and I'm starting ten-toes down here)
“Can I just talk to him? It would just be for a few seconds, I swear— Please, Mike, I need to do this.” You beg, hands wrapped around your frozen figure as the frigid temperatures wash over you.
You had slipped away from the others at the cabin and snuck down to the shed where they were keeping Josh, you had to talk to him. There had to be some sense in what he was doing— you need to know why.
Why…
“I’m not sure that’s a good Idea. He’s lost it, he’s fucking insane. I don’t think you’re gonna get anything out of him.” Mike holds steadfast.
He knows the person in the shed isn’t the friend you all once knew, it was the psycho that tortured them all and killed Jess. He also knows no good can come from letting you talk to him, he’d probably just ramble on about God knows what.
“I know, I just… I just need to try. Please just give me ten minutes to try to talk to him and then, I swear, I’ll go back to the cabin.” You plead once more.
You and Josh had been there for each other ever since his sisters went missing. Hannah was your best friend so your whole world was shattered by her and Beth’s disappearance. You had bonded with Josh over the shared loss, it was clear to the rest of the group that, besides Sam and Chris, you were the closest to him— Mike can understand why you’re so insistent on speaking with him, even if right now he wasn’t the Josh you were close to.
“Fuck- Fine. Ten minutes, that’s it. Don’t listen to anything he says, he’s off his meds and dude’s lost it.” Mike concedes, stepping aside from the door and letting you pass.
“Thank you, Mike— I’ll try to be quick.” You mutter, walking past him and bringing a trembling hand to push at the shack’s large wooden door.
You hadn’t spoken to Josh since he unmasked himself, revealing that he had orchestrated this whole weekend to punish all of you for the prank that resulted in Hannah’s disappearance. You had been woken up by Mike while you laid, tied up on the floor, next to Sam. The last thing you remembered before coming to was hyperventilating over what happened at the séance you had taken part in with Ashley, Chris, and Josh.
Before discovering that it was all just another part of Josh’s elaborate plan, things had gotten out of hand— You thought Ashley had actually contacted the spirit of Hannah, your missing best friend you had, however naively, thought could still be alive. It was all too much for you and you ended up having a panic attack. Then you remembered that after all that commotion Josh had given you some sleeping pills to calm you down. After that everything had gone dark and next thing you knew, you were waking up to the news that Jess was dead, and some crazed lunatic was culpable only later to find out that crazed lunatic was Josh.
You didn’t know what to think, you still don’t— The Josh you knew wouldn’t be capable of killing anyone, but you also thought he wouldn’t have been capable of doing all the other fucked up things he admitted to…
Maybe you don’t know him as well as you think you do.
You muster up the courage to push the door open and go inside, shutting the door behind you with a heavy thud and slowly turning to face him.
“Well, well, well, sneaking up the trail to visit little old me while I’m all locked up, I hope it’s a conjugal visit.” Josh taunts, looking up at you from where he’s tied up to one of the sheds wooden posts.
“Josh, please… talk to me, I don’t understand. You said you were doing better, you said you were getting help- Why? Why’d you do this?” You ask, keeping your distance from him. Even though he was restrained you didn’t feel safe being alone with him, this didn’t feel like your best friend’s goofy older brother Josh, the person Infront of you felt like a stranger. You’re starting to think coming to see him was a horrible idea.
“Why, why, why, why, why— she wants to know why! You know why. Hannah and Beth, ring a bell? Or have you forgotten them too?” Josh sneers at you.
“Josh, you know I haven’t. I think about Hannah every minute of every day!” You shout, your voice breaking into a cry. “You know how much I regret getting that drunk and not being there for her that night and I know you feel guilty too but, Josh… Mike said you killed Jess. I just-I need to know, did you?”
“Does it matter? The police will come in the morning, and you’ll all point your fingers, Right there officer! He’s the murderer! He’s crazy! And off I go to the loony bin.” Josh mocks.
“Of course it matters, Josh! We care about you, I care about you. I can’t believe you would kill Jess, I don’t believe it… Please just tell me the truth. I’ll believe whatever you tell me, just please- I need to know.” You beg, stepping closer to him.
“I-I don’t know.” Josh answers, his head dropping between his shoulders as he averts his gaze from you.
“Josh, what do you mean you don’t know?” You press further, your face twisting in concern. How could he not know you ask yourself, of all the responses you could have anticipated this was the one you were the least prepared for.
“I don’t know! I don’t think I did, I would probably remember if I did, right? Fuck, I’m losing it. I wouldn’t kill her- I didn’t kill her, you believe me, right? I’m not crazy.” Josh asks, his voice shaky.
You rush over to his side, bending down to his level and caressing his face with your cold yet comforting hands,
“Josh it’s okay, I believe you- I believe you Joshie, you’re not crazy. This whole night was just some big mistake, I know that and the others… They’ll realize it too soon enough.” You try to console him, wrapping your arms around him in the best embrace you can manage given his current bondage.
“I knew you would believe me— you’ve always been there for me, you know me… but the others, they won’t believe me. They’re gonna tell the cops I did it, then they’re gonna take me away. I need you to do something, one last thing for me before they come.” Josh mutters leaning forward and resting his head against the crook of your neck.
“Sure, Josh, I’ll do anything.” You breathe, attentively awaiting his request with wide eyes as you hold him in your arms.
“Show me your tits.” Josh whispers against your ear, his teeth brushing against your skin as his lips spread in a wide grin.
“What?” You exclaim, scrambling to break away from him and falling onto the floor behind you in the process.
“You heard me, show me your tits— You said anything, right?” Josh coos, smiling down smugly at you.
“Josh, I can’t- I don’t- Why would you ask me that?” You stutter, your cheeks growing red.
His emotional whiplash has you off kilter, of all the years you had known Josh, you would’ve never expected him to say something like that to you. You always assumed he just saw you as an extension of his sister, no matter how hard you tried to get him to see you otherwise… Sometimes he would even call you his little sister, tell you to call him big bro.
“Come on— this is probably my last chance before they take me away, lock me up, and throw away the key. We’re family, aren’t we? So, just do your big bro Josh a favor and show me your tits.” He smirks, a playful glint in his eyes.
You felt like you were pinned to the spot your knees met the hard concrete floor. There was a version of you who would’ve done anything if Josh told you to, you were sweet on him ever since you first met him through Hannah back in grade school. You’d felt like such a cliché, having a crush on your best friend’s older brother. Back then all you wanted was for him to notice you— But ever since Hannah disappeared, all you’re left feeling are the sharp pains of guilt gnawing at your insides. Guilt for wandering off that night to get drunk with her brother and his friend, guilt for getting so wasted to impress him that you passed out, guilt for not being there to stop her from meeting Mike, or keeping her from storming out into the cold, or warning her about the prank, or anything…
Anything at all.
Sometimes you think everything that’s happened since that night has been your fault… Maybe, if you had just stayed with her that night none of this would have happened. The more you think about it the more you start to convince yourself that this really is all your fault— You’re the reason Hannah and Beth are gone, you’re the reason Jess is dead, you’re the one that fucked everything up, Josh was here because of you and your stupid crush…
“…Okay.” The word hesitantly slips past your lips, barely above a whisper.
An amused expression crosses Josh’s face, his eyes trace over your kneeled figure curiously— He wonders just how far he can push you… Would you truly listen to anything he has to say, do anything?
He’s eager to find out.
“I’m sorry, what was that? Could you say that louder, please?” Josh teases, turning his ear to face you and leaning as close to you as his restraints allow.
You push yourself from the ground and back up on your unsteady feet. You turn your back towards him as you let your coat slide off your shoulders. You dip your nervous fingers beneath the back of your sweater, trailing them up to your bra and releasing the clasp of it. As soon as the flimsy fabric comes undone you hurry to maneuver it off your body before your paper-thin courage wears off. You manage to slip your bra off from under your sweater without removing it, placing your undergarment gently on top of your fallen jacket before turning back around to face Josh as he watches your actions attentively.
You inhale deeply, allowing the icy wind to penetrate its way into your lungs as your shaky hands grip the bottom of your shirt. You meet Josh’s piercing gaze, his expectant eyes trained on you and urging you to hurry. You roll the thick material of your sweater over your breasts, your nipples hardening as the cold air that penetrates the weathered walls of the shed washes over the sensitive flesh. Josh’s eyes greedily drink up the sight, shamelessly ogling your bare chest.
“So that’s what you’ve been hiding under that sweater, huh? Porn star tits.” Josh smirks up at you.
Despite the cold, you can feel the heat rising into your cheeks at his comment. You avert your eyes from him, looking anywhere but his face. You’ve never felt more vulnerable than you do right now— Your naked breasts completely open to his scrutiny, his eyes free to poke and prod at every inch of your newly exposed skin.
“Why don’t you get closer? Let me see them up close.” Josh urges you.
You look back at him— He looks pleadingly up at you, like a starved dog begging for food. You sigh, hesitantly taking a small step forward.
“Come on, get over here, I don’t bite.” Josh smiles, his teeth glinting in the dim light of the shed as he tilts his head and gestures you closer.
You take a few more cautious steps towards Josh, pausing a few inches from him. Your legs feel like jelly, you never expected that the first guy to see you topless would be Josh— Especially tonight, after all the shit that happened.
You feel like you could wake up in a cold sweat at any moment, only to find out this had all been some sort of weird dream. But the gusts of frozen wind biting at your exposed skin lets you know that this is all too real.
“Closer.” Josh instructs, his voice no longer as passive as before.
You let out a small huff, you were embarrassed enough as it was, having your chest out on display like this… Anyone could walk into the unlocked door and see you practically shoving your breasts against Josh’s face. A small part of you wonders if he’s just doing this to humiliate you. But still, you obey his command, walking the rest of the way forward and closing the distance between the two of you— Your legs brushing up against his.
“Yeah, that’s good. Come, come here, sit— Let me look at you.” Josh breaths softly as he juts his hips out slightly, signaling you towards his lap.
Your eyes widen at his request. You’re beginning to wonder if this is going too far, maybe you should just walk away, rationalize that this has all just been a momentary lapse in your judgment, but something buried deep within you doesn’t want this to stop.
You pause for a moment before positioning your legs on either side of Josh’s, reaching your hands out shyly and placing them on his shoulders to steady yourself as you lower yourself onto his lap.
“Shit… look at you.” Josh exhales, his breath warm against your skin as it grows colder under the punishing wind.
His jaw clenches as he resists the urge to sink his teeth into your plush chest, swallowing hard as his hands twist against his restraints. His touch would be all over you if he could move— but, unfortunately for him, he doesn’t think you’re stupid enough to untie him.
He leans forward, resting his head against your soft breasts. The unexpected movement causes you to flinch as you instinctively go to reach for the back of his head. You hesitate for a moment, still unsure if he would welcome your touch despite your current position before gently running the tips of your fingers against his hair.
“I could die a happy man right now.” Josh chuckles softly, his lips brushing against your skin.
Your heart feels like it’s about to beat out of your chest, the sound of it filling Josh’s ears and echoing in his head. Josh presses his mouth to your breast, kissing at it. His lips feel like they’re burning into your skin, a soft moan leaving your throat at the sensation. Your hand flies to your mouth, covering it in an attempt to muffle your involuntary sounds. Josh lets out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling against your skin.
“You’re cute when you’re embarrassed— Don’t cover your mouth, I wanna hear you.”
Josh continues placing sloppy kisses on your chest, leaving a trail of saliva in his wake. He kisses up to your neck, gently teasing at your skin with his teeth. Your breath hitches, the seat of your panties damp with your arousal— Suddenly your jeans feel too constraining.
What are you doing?
You don’t even have the slightest clue anymore. Right now, your head is only filled with thoughts of Josh, and the feel of his mouth against your skin. You know you shouldn’t be doing this, you should be back at the lodge with the rest of the group.
“Josh…” you interject quietly.
If he can hear you, he makes no indication. His sole attention remains on the feel of your flesh against his teeth. Josh lets out a groan into the crevice of your neck, your scent overwhelming his senses. His tongue traces over the soft skin of the column of your neck, scraping the edges of his teeth harshly against it.
You let out a shaky gasp at the sensation— It was all starting to be too much.
“Josh, wait…”
But once again your plea falls on deaf ears. His kisses get more abrasive, his mouth harsh against your chilled skin. Josh’s lips trail anywhere they can reach, sucking at your satiny skin and leaving small, red bruises which mark his erratic path. You were intoxicating to him, your taste, the sound of your squeaky whines and heavy breathing, the way you were squirming against him, you were consuming his every thought… Despite his position, his fractured mind can only think of you— He wants to take you, needs to take you, make you his, and mark you as his own…
He can no longer restrain his urge— He sinks his teeth into your tender flesh, your blood pooling in his mouth as his canines draw blood.
“Josh, stop, please!” You hiss as you tear yourself from his grasp, your eyes wild with shock as the realization that he just bit you settles in.
Pain throbs in your neck as arousal drips from your aching cunt— Blood pearls at the shallow wounds, falling in warm, viscous drops against your spit-slicked skin.
“We should stop… You’ve had enough haven’t you, Joshie?” Your voice trembles despite your best attempts to sound stern.
“No way, baby. Now that you’ve given me a taste, I want all of you. Come on, I mean you’ve always liked me anyway.” Josh smirks, glassy eyes fixed on your face as it twists into a horrified expression.
He knows…
“W-What?”
“You seriously thought I couldn’t tell? All those longing looks, all those sleepovers with Hannah you spent talking to me instead, all those times you snuck into my room while you thought I was downstairs and fucked your fingers into that tight little pussy on my bed… I saw all of it, I mean It’s so fucking obvious— everyone can tell.” Josh’s voice is condescendingly sweet as his cruel words tear into you like a serrated knife into flesh.
Tears prick at your eyes as your face grows unbearably hot, your humiliation on bright-red display. This whole time he knew, so did everyone else apparently… God, they must think you’re pathetic. You’ve never felt more ashamed in your entire life, were Josh to finish what he started and rip your throat out with his teeth, it would be a mercy compared to the horrible sinking feeling in your chest.
“Awe, don’t cry, sissy… Don’t you see it? Now’s your chance to get what you’ve always wanted. I’m all tied up, I couldn’t stop you if I tried, so why don’t you just hold me down and fuck me.”
“I can’t!This is all just too much and Mike’s right outside the door- plus, I’ve never even…”
“You’ve never even what?” He pauses for a moment, taking in the way more blood rushes to the already reddened skin of your cheeks and the way your gaze shifts between different areas of the weathered shed as you desperately attempt to avoid making eye contact with him— That’s when he comes to the realization as to why you’re so nervous.
“Oh my God, don’t tell me you’re a virgin?” He asks giddily, his teeth on full display.
“… Well, yeah— I’ve never, you know… done it with anyone, okay? Now can you please lay off it? I’m humiliated enough as it is.” Shame tugs at every fiber of your being as the words leave your tongue, your treacherous body letting a tear fall from your eye down your burning face.
“This day just keeps getting better and better. Now we have to do it what kind of big brother would I be if I didn’t pop your cherry before they haul me off— Fuuck… I’m so hard right now,” He groans, rutting against you and grinding the prominent bulge in his pants against your clothed heat.
“Mmm… I-ah… I don’t- Josh, this isn’t right!” You try to object but you can’t deny how good his hardness feels as it rubs against your aching cunt, your voice broken and desperate as you whine into his touch.
“Come on stop being such a little tease, you got me all hot and bothered putting your smoking hot tits in my face and with your little virgin act... Plus you owe me for not snitching on you rubbing one out on my bedsheets, finish what you started you fucking pervert-slut.” He moves his hips quicker against you, frantically searching for release as his cock strains against the crotch of his overalls.
Your mouth hangs open, panting like a bitch in heat as the seam of your jeans catches on your clit over the damp fabric of your underwear— Your thoughts become hazy with desire, all reason going out the window as both your body and mind start to give into him.
Logic be damned, you want him.
Need him.
“Fuck, fine… I’m sorry, just- just tell me what to do” You mutter, finally allowing yourself to give in to your own perverse desires.
Josh’s mouth curves into a wider smirk, his lips stretched wide over his teeth, amused by your lack of resistance.
“Relax, baby— I’ll make it real good for you, I promise. Take your pants off and then you can help me with mine.” The words drip sweet off his tongue like honey as he tells you what to do, his voice significantly softer than it was just moments ago, almost patronizingly so.
You lift yourself from his lap, removing your hands from him as you begin to fumble with the button of your jeans. You undo the fastening, pulling down the zipper before you begin tugging down the cold denim down your legs.
“Slower.” Josh heaves, breathless as his cock twitches at the sliver of skin peeking out from your unbuttoned pants.
You eye him over your furrowed brow, annoyed with his ceaseless demands despite your eagerness to feed the throbbing ache between your thighs. You bite the inside of your cheek, obliging him and hooking your fingers under the waistband of your jeans along with your soaked panties— You peel the tight fabric down gingerly, unveiling the smooth skin of your thighs inch by inch tantalizingly slow. Denim pools around your ankles as you finish rolling your pants down, kicking them to the side and timidly clasping your hands over your now bare mound— The burning in your face spreading to the tips of your ears as your bottom half lays bare before his starved gaze.
“Show me your ass.”
You hesitate for a moment before shyly turning your back to him, letting him drink in the swell of your ass. You cross your arms over your chest as a chill runs through your mostly bare body, you yearn for the warmth of Josh’s body.
“Bend over.” Josh instructs, licking his lips in anticipation like a wolf eyeing its injured prey.
“Josh-”
“Bend. Over.” Josh’s voice turns harsh as he cuts you off before you can finish your objection.
You begrudgingly bend over, knowing better than to try and reason with him when he seemed so keen on studying every inch of your flesh.
“Holy fucking shit, your so wet— Is that all from me, baby? Get back here before I blow my load in my boxers, I wanna get inside that perfect little pussy.”
You sigh as he finally allows you to return to his body’s warmth, stepping between his open legs as you bring your eager hands to the straps of his overalls — You unhook them, pulling down the tattered garment just enough so they rest below his ass. You pause for a moment, the only thing keeping your bodies separate now is the thin fabric of his patterned boxers. A wet stain pools at the front of his underwear where his swollen cock begs to be freed. You don’t bother looking to him for permission before you begin to peel the soiled garment down, allowing his flushed length to spring free against his stomach. You catch a quick glimpse of his blushing head before quickly averting your eyes, your heart hammering against your chest so hard you think your ribs might break.
“It’s okay, you can look at it— look at it.” Josh stares at you through half-hooded eyes, his cock twitching desperately against his stomach as if begging your attention.
Your eyes trail down his clothed abdomen all the way down until they reach the swollen flesh between his thighs. His sticky tip gleams in the dim candlelight of the lantern hanging above. Your body is a wreck of nerves and sweat as you bring a hand between the two of you, wrapping your fingers around the intimidating thickness of his length and giving it a hesitant pump— He bucks into your hand with a desperate cry, his precum coating your clammy palm.
You straddle his lap with a deep inhale as you try not to lose the nerve you’ve built up, hovering your hips over his as you drag his leaking head over your slick folds. You guide him towards your entrance, gritting your teeth as you slowly lower yourself onto his lap. Pain shoots through your body as you sink down on his cock, your face scrunching up in obvious discomfort as you try to bite back a pained cry. Your body tenses around him, as it tries to adjust to the foreign feeling…
Just then you feel something warm dripping down the inside of your thighs— Looking down where your cunt stretches painfully wide around him, you’re met with red.
Blood pools at the base of his cock.
Your blood.
“Shit- you’re bleeding, that’s so fucking hot I didn’t know virgins actually bled.” Josh chuckles. His hips jolt up into you, spurred on by the sight of your viscous crimson coating his cock.
“Josh, stop- Jesus fuck! It hurts…” You try to hold down his hips with one hand as you cling to his neck for dear life with the other.
You’re beginning to wonder if this is really what you fantasized about all those years. All those times you laid awake at night touching yourself to the thought of Josh taking your virginity, you never imagined it would hurt this much.
“Well duh, it’s supposed to, dummy— It’s your first time. Just move, it’ll get better.” Josh groans through gritted teeth as he keeps trying to fuck up into you despite your hand holding him down.
You take his advice, reluctantly lifting your hips before sinking them back down— You repeat the motion until the rhythmic sound of skin slapping against skin fills the shed, your pain slowly fading away into reluctant pleasure. Josh’s cock drives into your poor cervix with every wet slam of your hips against his, splitting your once virgin cunt open around him. You roll your hips against his, grinding your clit over the small patch of dark coarse hair peaking out from under his shirt.
Your cunt clenches tightly around him like a vice, making Josh’s head fall back against the wooden post behind him as a strained whimper falls from his lips. His hips buck sloppily into yours, nearing his end embarrassingly fast as your bleeding walls swallow greedily around him. You notice the change in his movements as he trembles beneath you, you know he’s close.
“Josh, should I pull off?” You ask breathlessly as your hips move ceaselessly against his, chasing your own high.
“Don’t you fucking dare… Keep it in, I wanna-mmm… fill you up, you dumb… fucking slut.” Josh pants incoherently as he loses all control of his body, fucking mindlessly into you like your cunt is nothing more than a sex toy for him to fill up.
“Let me cum inside, let me cum inside, let me cum-” He repeats the words like a mantra, before being cut off by the sounds of his own whiny grunts as he comes undone and his warm, sticky come spurts into you.
You ignore the potential consequences of Josh finishing inside of you, instead bringing a hand to your slit and working at your aching clit desperately— Your orgasm comes quick and devastating, racking through your body as a voice you barely recognize as your own bounces off the walls of the dingy shed, most likely alerting all outside to what the two of you are doing…
Well, did.
The crimson of your blood mixes with the sticky white of Josh’s seed as it spills from your weary walls, pooling where the two of you still connect. Josh’s gaze rests between your bodies, eyes fixated on your cunt wrapped around him as it drips with your mixed fluids before they flick up to your face. He bites his lip, looking up at you with blown out pupils and glossy eyes as your chest heaves and your skin glows with the warm hue of the fading lantern above, to him you look almost angelic.
“Kiss me.” Josh says, the words leaving his mouth pleading and soft.
“What?” You pant, bewildered by his request in the midst of your post-orgasmic tremors and sticky skin.
“Kiss me, please.” Josh begs again, his eyes looking up at you with genuine affection for the first time since you came to speak with him.
He’s somehow managed to catch you off guard once again, from the way he was tearing you apart and causing you to hurt, you almost forgot he could be gentle. It’s why you fell for him in the first place, wasn’t it? You were always susceptible to his charms, pliant to his every whim if only he were to look in your direction.
“O-okay…” You agree, eyes wide as you look down at him.
You lean forward, touching his chapped lips to yours and connecting them in the kiss you’ve yearned for since you were a kid. As his mouth moves against yours your heart briefly returns to the state of girlish exuberance you thought had died when you lost your best friend.
The kiss is short and chaste despite your current position.
“Thanks…” Josh says, leaning his damp brow against yours as he releases your lips.
“Yeah… no problem.” You smile breathlessly, allowing your weary body a brief respite before pulling yourself from him.
You grab your panties off the floor before walking back to him, kneeling in front of him and wiping at the mess you left behind before tucking his softening length back in his boxers and helping him back into his clothes. You take your now thoroughly soiled underwear, slipping it on over your still trembling legs before turning from Josh to collect the rest of your clothes scattered on the ground.
Josh’s eyes follow your every movement, the shame and guilt of what he’s just done dawning on him as he watches you redress.
“Please don’t leave, I’m sorry for… everything. I don’t know why I said all those things, please don’t leave me here alone… You’re the only person who still cares about me.” Josh pleads, his remorseful gaze meeting yours as you turn to face him.
“Josh, it’s fine. I’m not mad at you or anything, I just have to go back before everyone starts wondering where I went… I’ll come back, I promise.” You bend down, your lips brushing softly against his cheek as you press a comforting kiss goodbye to the stubbled skin.
You walk towards the door, plunging yourself into the shocking cold that lays waiting outside it before your resolve gives way and you find yourself unable to leave Josh’s side.
As soon as you step foot outside Mike’s disgruntled face greets you.
Jess Mariano SMUT: The best friend and the boyfriend.
POV: Your best friend Rory always gets what she wants as the town’s golden girl. Well, you have had enough and its time you get what you want.
WARNINGS: 18+ (minors dni); cheating; rory slander; lorelai slander; p in v intercourse; dirty talk; unprotected sex; light choking - i think that is it
AUTHOR’S NOTE: wasn’t enough jess smut for me on here. Wanna fix that! first time writing anything so please be gentle. 2k+ words
You’re at Luke’s diner trying to get some work done before your exam tomorrow. The wetness inbetween your legs was proving a great distraction to the task at hand. You had to muster every ounce of concentration to listen to what Lane and Rory were saying. The three of you were finishing up your group project for school. You had all been friends for years, but recently you had found it hard to be yourself around them.
The reason for that, was standing behind the counter, serving customers with a surly look and a quippy comment if he spoke at all. Jess.
The whole town knew about him and Rory. How could they not? Stars’ Hollows’ golden girl drew attention wherever she went. Her and Dean’s romance had been the talk of the town - the stuff of young love! And she could do no wrong. Even after she dragged Dean through hell and back with her indecisiveness before ultimately bringing him to breaking point - people still loved her.
And hey - you did too. She was your best friend. But you couldn't help but roll your eyes at the way the town fawned over her. Even though it had been happening your whole lives. Rory and her busybody, try-hard mother were the apple of the town’s eyes. And you were used to it.
But you had been surprised that Jess had fallen for it. When he arrived in town, a sullen and brooding figure, you had immediately felt drawn to him. You could sense his angst. You could feel it vibrating off of him. And lets not pretend like he wasn’t a total smokeshow. He looked like a man.
If only Lorelai and Luke weren’t so close. Then you might have gotten your chance. But as fate had it, and as it always seemed to, Rory got in there first. Lorelai invited Luke and Jess over for a welcome dinner, and he instantly became smitten with Rory’s mild manner. It only took a matter of months - and a breaking of one Dean Forrestor’s heart - until they became an item.
At first it was all rosy. Rory wouldn’t shut up about it. But you could tell. Something wasn’t quite right. Two months passed and Rory would go red every time Jess was brought up, or came to sit with your group at lunch. You asked Rory - genuinely as a friend. She would just mumble and divert the subject. Lane also pressed, but there was no budging Miss Gilmore.
It was only a month ago when you cottoned on to what the problem was. You had been wearing jeans that hugged your ass, and a top that teased just enough of your cleavage to make anyone blush. You bumped into Jess in the hallway at school. As in, physically bumped into him, as he came around the corner. He grabbed onto you out of instinct to apologise.
“Oh hi Y/N. What are you….” His eyes trailed down to your chest. You didn’t notice at first. You thought he was dazed by the surprise interaction.
“Just on my way to Spanish. Señora Castilla is making us do a book report - I’m doing 100 years of Solitude.”
“Hmm” he responded. “That’s one of my favourites. Magical realism, love, scandal - “
And then you clock. His eyes are on your tits. His hand is still on you. On the small of your back.
This man is hungry. He hasn’t been laid or anything of the sort in a while. Or at least since he has been with Rory. Jess wants you. You avert your gaze.
“Jess. I have to go.”
He moved his hand lower, testing the waters. You don’t remove it. You inhaled, trying to retain your morals. You remind yourself: We’re in the middle of the hallway. At school. He is Rory’s boyfriend. Rory is my best friend.
You repeated these over and over to yourself like a mantra, willing yourself to move. After what seems like an eternity, he whispers in your ear: “My car. 10 minutes,” and sauntered away.
And that was how it began. A whole month of some of the steamiest makeout sessions, hottest sex, and best orgasms of your life. Did the secrecy turn you on? Maybe. Did you feel bad for Rory? Perhaps. But were those moments with Jess worth it? Absolutely.
You had to be careful. Not just to avoid Rory and Lane. But Luke couldn’t know either. If he did, he would have gone straight to Lorelai and it would have been a whole thing. It wasn’t worth it. So the two of you would sneak in quickies in his car, behind Miss Patty’s studio, in the AV room at school etc.
But Luke was out tonight. Doing something for Lorelai probably. Who knows. Jess had suggested the two of you take advantage of the situation. He had recently acquired his own room at Luke’s, ever since his uncle had knocked a hole in the wall for him. It wasn’t much, but you couldn’t wait to share a bed with him, and take your sweet time worshipping his body.
“Okay Y/N, we’re off. You coming?” Asked Lane.
“Nah, I have a bunch more work to do for my college application. I will see you both tomorrow?”
Rory went over to give Jess a kiss goodbye. You couldn’t help but smirk as you saw him looking at you as she kissed his cheek. The two girls waved goodbye and left the cafe.
The minute they left, Jess pounced on your table. He summoned Cesar to take over his shift and close up.
“Cmon baby” he whispered, taking care not make it look obvious to the other customers what was going on.
You and Jess went up the stairs silently but quickly. The minute you reached the top flight and opened the door into the living quarters, Jess slammed the door shut and pressed you against it.
“Do you know how bad you are? Sitting right next to my girlfriend and giving me those ‘fuck me’ eyes all night? It was all i could do not to take you on the table right there.”
His forehead was against yours, his hands cradling your face. All you could see was him. All you could feel was him.
“Such a good boy for restraining yourself,” you cooed, trying lure him into making the first move. Each time you were together, it still felt like new. A game of chicken. Who would break first? Fresh and dangerous, yet familiar and comforting all at once. “It must have been so hard for you” you said, moving your hand towards his crotch. “Show me how much you want me” you dared.
It was too much for him. He growled and leant in to kiss you with everything he had. He was messy and sloppy with need. His teeth clashed against yours. You moaned with need. Your hands wandered to your waist, dipping under your trousers, then your panties. You started playing with your clit and panting his name back into his mouth.
You were still against the door. Jess moved his hands under your shirt, finding the valley of your chest easily as you hadn’t worn a bra today.
“Fuck” he said, breaking the kiss. “You had your tits out all day baby girl? You are such a slut, wanting everyone to notice.”
Before you could begin to formulate a reply, his mouth was on your left nipple. You sighed as he sucking with such fervour. Just as you got used to the sensation enough to say something witty to him, he bit down hard. You yelped - this was a new move from him. He obviously felt emboldened by the new setting, being in his own territory and out of a car.
Jess went to your right nipple, sucking and making the most obscene slurping noise and his hand went to your other tit. It was too much. It felt too good. You started playing with your clit with even more until he finally noticed.
“That’s my job Y/N. Its not like you to be so selfish!“ he scolded. He grabbed both your wrists and pressed himself into you, letting you feel his bulge. You whimpered at the loss of your fingers inside your wet cunt and pouted at him. He brought your fingers to your mouth.
“Suck” he said, with a devious glint in his eyes. Like a fucking wet wipe, you did as he said. You were embarrassed at first, but didn’t care. You would do anything he said at this point.
When he was satisfied you had fully cleaned your fingers, he took them out your mouth and kissed you hard and hungrily on the lips.
You saw you opportunity to the turn the tables, to take power. “Jess?” You asked innocently.
“Hmm?” He responded, trailing kisses down your neck.
“The whole point of tonight is that we have a bed for once. Let’s make the most of it.” You pushed him off you and took his hand. You walked past the door to his bedroom. He stopped you and looked at you confused.
“Oh Jess. I don’t wanna be fucked in your single bed. I want to feel all of you” you whispered in his ear, guiding him to Luke’s room and king-sized bed.
His eyes widened with realisation and need. Was this a bad idea? Almost certainly. Did he care? At this point, not even wild horses could stop him from having you. He would do anything you said. And he had to admit, there was something hot about doing it somewhere he shouldn’t.
You pushed Jess onto Luke’s bed, unzipped his jeans and pulled down his boxers. His cock sprung up immediately. It was red, throbbing and angry. You couldn’t help but drool. Jess saw this and smirked. He knew what he did to you. He pulled off his shirt, knowing it would drive you crazy.
You dived onto his cock, unable to wait any longer. You took all of him in his mouth, as he held your head there. His pubic hair tickled your nose. You stayed there for as long as possible, until your eyes watered. You took your head off, wiped your mouth, and then began bobbing up and down slowly.
Jess propped himself up on his elbows, watching you like a hawk. His tongue was sticking out as he concentrated his breathing to stop himself from blowing his load. His dark curls were pressed wet against his forehead as beads of sweat started to roll down his face.
You moved to his balls, gently sucking them into your mouth while your hand moved up and down on his rock hard member. He started moaning and rocked his hips into your hands, desperate for more.
You had him right where you wanted him. You removed yourself from him completely and clambered to sit on top of him. His cock was nestled in your folds. So close to where he wanted to be. So close to where you wanted him to be. But you decided the chase was more fun. You lowered yourself down, so that your tits were pressed against his chest.
You whispered “Can Rory make you feel this way, Jess? Does she drive you wild like I do? Can she make you moan like a bitch the way I can? Has she ever made your cock this hard?” You punctuated each sentence with a nip on his ear.
“Fuck you,” he replied, grabbing your ass and turning you onto your back so that he was on top. He pushed himself into you and started fucking you with no mercy.
Your tits were bouncing with every thrust and you were whimpering with need every time he pulled out. You snaked your arms around his back, pulling him deeper into you. You didn’t want any space between you.
“You’re such a whore Y/N. Fucking your best friend’s boyfriend. I can’t believe it turns you on so much.”
You moaned at this words, unable to deny the appeal of the whole situation.
“Fuck baby, I can feel your cunt clenching around me as i say that! You are a fucking whore Y/N, squeezing me with your greedy pussy. Such a bad fucking girl.” Jess yelps, spanking your ass.
“I am a whore Jessy, your whore, only for you” you cried, embarrassed by your pathetic display. He grinned as you used the nickname you only brought out for him when you were cock drunk beyond belief. You groaned inwardly as you couldn’t believe you had given him the satisfaction of that ego boost.
You were lost completely in Jess. He moved his hand down to your core, adding a finger into your weeping pussy, and using his thumb to toy with your clit. It was bliss.
“Jessy?” You called out.
“Hmm?” He groaned in response.
“I want you to cum inside me” you begged.
His eyes widened as a wild look came over him. Without missing a beat, he swung your legs over his shoulders and bent you in two as he fucked into you harder than before. His hand moved to your throat, gently choking you. You stuck your tongue out like a dog in heat - animalistic and beyond a care as to what was normal.
The bed’s headboard was hitting the wall with every thrust from Jess’ pelvis, sure to cause a suspect dent tomorrow. But neither of you could have given a single fuck as the you both chased your highs. The sound of skin slapping, moans and gasps were obscene.
“Jess, have you seen Luke’s toolbox? We need it and he said it might be - Oh my god!”
You both froze and turned to the door. Lorelai was face to face with you and Jess butt naked on Luke’s bed. Sorry - lets rephrase that. Lorelai walked in on her daughter’s boyfriend and best friend fucking raw on Luke’s bed.
She narrowed her eyes and hissed: “Get the fuck out.”
and inspired by said 'new' kink... m!Yandere moaning and whimpering like a slut while fucking you (gn, bottom!reader) short drabble
(not new but I only engage w it when I'm sad lol)
18+ MDNI
You'd always imagined you'd be the vocal one if something ever happened like this. That your sounds would overpower even the sound of skin slapping together in an otherwise quiet room. That you'd have to shove your face into a pillow, silence yourself a little just out of pure embarrassment.
But when he slides into you, and the whine slips from his throat as he hugs onto your waist with a desperate need, everything changes. Your name on his voice sounding like the dirtiest thing in the world in that moment, like you were all that he needed, more than water, life.
And he fucked you like it too, so desperate to be inside you that each stroke was long but fast, his cock sometimes nearly missing your hole as he pulled out and shoved back in, trying to get the best angle to press on the sweet spots inside you, babbling about how he always dreamed about this, about being inside you.
Your own brain feels all fuzzy as he mumbles every word straight in your ear as he pounds you into the mattress with clumsy strokes that somehow nailed every sweet spot you didn't know you had.
Whimpers and nips on your neck as he tells you he wants to fill you up, wants to make your stomach distend with the amount he fills you with, no matter how impossible it might seem. His dirty talk making him whimper even more, getting himself off as his cock twitches and jerks. As all of him spasms as he holds you in place to bruising.
And God, you can't hold back noises either, and yours just amplify his own, two mirrors looking back at each other as you both tear up and whine while fucking like rabbits.
He has to bite your shoulder and stilt his thrusts, his desperation to fuck you through his orgasm problematic. He might just pass out from overstimulating himself inside you, his goal of filling you, of claiming you as completely his addictive.
The idea of seeing the aftermath of it without passing out, even more so. As he tries his best to keep his eyes open as he looks up at you cumming on his cock, as his completely red face winces as you milk him. As his ears ring and he whimpers and drools and tries his best to function so he can press on your stomach and make you leak back onto him just so he can stuff you full again.
one thing i will NEVER understand is “character x oc” books.
ho. why do you expect me to read about some bitch i don’t care about, posted up with MY man?? IT MAKES NO SENSE
“you’re self-centred if you don’t let someone write their oc with your favourite character!” so what if i am then? i want the fic/book to be about ME and MY MAN
i’m talking specifically about the non-anime fics. like the irl ones. it’s oc this, oc that, oc oc oc, FUCKING OC. like no ho, i didn’t come to read this central cee fic, just to find out that “ALAINA” is the mc.
and the population of x reader fics is concerningly low, it scares the piss out of me
