#also ~dark fic~ within reason

[fyrewalks]

RP TIERLIST !

tagged by: @heartsbreaking tagging: @nursc @parameddie @amreality @bledsoul @tricords and you, the cutie on the dash!!

[saintobio]

blank canvas. (3)

in an attempt to rekindle an already fractured relationship, you open your eyes to the harsh reality that some things, once broken, can no longer be repaired.

pairings. ryōmen sukuna, fem!reader

genre. florist x tattoo artist au, mild angst, opposites attract

tags/warnings. strong language, degradation, explicit smut, toxic relationship

notes. 8.3k wc. here’s the last part !! although there will still be an epilogue, which will be posted a few days from now (let’s not jinx it lol). but thank you for supporting this three-part fic :’) feedback and reblogs are most appreciated!

part 2 | epilogue

He loves me. He loves me not. He loves me. He loves me not. 

Sighing, you stood behind the counter of your floral shop, absentmindedly picking on the rose petals like an infatuated teenager. It was almost ridiculous what you were doing out of boredom. And although the sweet scent of the flowers surrounding you were supposed to feel calming, it did little to lift the terrible weight on your chest. 

Two weeks had passed since you had given your virginity to Satoru. Two weeks since you tried to move on from Sukuna.

Others might say you were too irrational with it. Others might say you did the right thing. But honestly, what was so good about having sex with a guy you barely knew when you spent years refusing to do it with your actual boyfriend? 

Yes, you were definitely, undeniably irrational with it. You realized it all too late after you had already given your virginity to another guy. You weren’t even sure what compelled you to ask Satoru to do it with you, but at the time, it felt right. It felt reasonable that you were trying to get over an ex-boyfriend, out of spite, for not setting boundaries with other women while you were still together. You thought it would be fair to play a similar part in this tragic tale, that it wouldn’t be too bad not to set boundaries with other men who showed attraction to you, too. 

After all, Sukuna had countless women constantly latching onto him, while Satoru was the first guy within your past relationship who developed an interest in you. 

Besides, it wasn’t some kind of fairytale scene when you two slept together. Because to Satoru, it was nothing but a casual encounter. He did his best to make sure that you enjoyed it from finish to end, and you appreciated his sincerity in guiding you throughout, yet you couldn’t deny to yourself that all you had been thinking of at the time was Sukuna. You contrasted everything Satoru did with Sukuna—like how Satoru was slow and sensual, while Sukuna was rough and vulgar. Satoru enjoyed cuddling afterward, whereas Sukuna would likely go straight to sleep. Satoru was too clingy and playful, while Sukuna was more reserved and mature.

The worst part was, your heart still preferred one over the other. And it wasn’t the guy with the white hair and blue eyes. 

Satoru was a good guy, and he had genuine intentions, but after being intimate with someone you weren’t in love with, you understood that your potential relationship would never be as good as your previous one. You longed for a man like Sukuna, because despite his typical bad boy persona, he was anything but boring. Being with him was a thrill, and no matter how toxic it was, you were addicted to him.

And that’s wrong. Your lips curled into a frown. 

You glanced out the window for what felt like the hundredth time that day, your eyes drawn across the street to Sukuna’s tattoo shop. The neon sign that once buzzed with life now hung dark and lifeless. Every now and then, you could see some of his old clients passing by the shop, hoping for a chance that their favorite tattoo artist was back in business. But Sukuna still hadn’t reopened the shop in days, for almost a month now as a matter of fact, and his absence filled you with a gnawing sense of worry and longing. 

They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, while that was certainly true, it also drove you crazy. Why hasn’t he opened his shop? you wondered, biting your lip. Did he move out? Did he forget about me entirely?

You turned back to your flowers, but your hands stilled as your thoughts consumed you. What would Sukuna think if he knew someone else had taken your virginity? The thought made your stomach twist. You could already hear his voice telling you that you had given yourself to someone else out of desperation, but it clearly didn’t work. If anything, it only made you miss him even more.

Your fingers traced the petals of a rose as memories flooded your mind. The way Sukuna used to look at you, his intense eyes softening just for you. The way his laugh would rumble through his chest when you said something funny. You missed him. You missed everything about him, even the way he could infuriate you with his arrogance.

A sigh escaped your lips as you placed the finished bouquet in a vase. The floral shop was quiet today, save for the distant hum of traffic outside. The city would be busy again during rush hour, but for now, you leaned against the counter, your gaze drifting back to the tattoo shop across. He’s probably with his ex, you thought, feeling a lump form in your throat. Yet you couldn’t help but wonder if he still thought about you. Did he miss me too? Or had he moved on completely?

You pressed your hand to your heart. You wanted to be with him. You wanted to tell him how much you missed him, how much you regretted trying to move on so quickly, how much you wished you didn’t break up with him. You had no backbone when it came to Sukuna. But the fear of rejection, the fear that he no longer cared, kept you rooted in place.

Pushing yourself off the counter, you walked to the front door and flipped the sign to “Closed.” It was best to close off early today. You needed a moment to yourself, a moment to clear your head in the safety of your bedroom. But as you locked the door, you couldn’t stop yourself from stealing one last glance at Sukuna’s shop. The light flickered at first, making you wonder whether you had just imagined it, but then your heart skipped a beat when you saw the lights completely turning on inside.

Your pulse quickened, and you found yourself drawn to the sight. If it was him in there, maybe this was your chance to talk and clear the air. Or maybe, it wouldn’t be wrong to simply check on him since he had been away for almost a month. What if something terrible had happened to him during those past weeks? What if he had gotten sick? With hesitant steps, you eventually crossed the street and approached his shop. There, you could see him through the window as you got closer, shirtless and his rib wrapped in a bandage, clearly covering a fresh new tattoo. In seeing your presence, he looked up, but his eyes passed over you as if you weren’t even there.

You knocked lightly on the glass door, and he glanced up again, but his expression remained indifferent, like he was trying to suppress his emotions. He didn’t move to open the door as you expected. In fact, he seemed to be arguing with himself in his head.

“Hey,” you started, your voice trembling slightly. “Can we talk?”

Sukuna didn’t respond right away when he wiped his hands on a rag, still not meeting your eyes. Your heart ached from the heavy silence, but before you could say anything more, the sound of a car engine broke the stillness of that scene. 

An expensive McLaren car pulled up to the curb, and you were quick to recognize its owner. 

It was Satoru rolling down his window, a bright smile on his face as he looked at you. His beam was almost blinding, distracting you from the presently awkward situation you had placed yourself in.

“Y/N,” he greeted cheerfully, completely oblivious to the tension. “Did you miss me?”

Oh, Jesus. 

The words hung in the air like a bomb, and you felt the color drain from your face as you thought of how dangerous this situation would be for you. When you saw Sukuna’s eyes flicker with interest, his posture stiffened as he finally paid attention, and you realized it was too late. Way too late. 

“Is that guy bothering you?” Sukuna finally asked, his voice unusually calm as he approached the door. The closer the proximity, the more your heart started to race. It was running at 250 km/h like it was on track. 

Satoru’s smile then faltered, now sensing the shift in the atmosphere. It was his first time meeting Sukuna, and based on the stories you had shared with him and Suguru, he was smart enough to recognize that the tattooed man was your ex. 

“I got what you asked for.” Satoru ignored Sukuna and looked back at you, holding up a small bag. “Birth control, right?”

Never in your life did you want to disappear like a puff of smoke. The sudden turn of events was so wild and unexpected. You could see that Satoru was enjoying provoking your ex-boyfriend, but the whole exchange was making you feel nauseous. The tension was so overwhelming that you couldn’t speak, or move, or do anything at all. You were simply frozen. 

It was also at that time when Sukuna’s eyes narrowed, his gaze moving between you and Satoru. The pieces began to click into place, and a dark realization settled over his features. “You slept with him?” he asked, his voice low and accusatory.

“Sukuna, I…” Your breath caught in your throat because you couldn’t find the damn words to respond. Should you deny it? Should you say it wasn’t anything like that? There was no way you could get out of this situation even if you wanted to. 

But Satoru stepped out of his car in your defense. “It’s none of your business what she does—”

“Shut up, you douchebag,” Sukuna snapped, his glare turning deadly. He looked at you with sharp eyes, ones filled with a mixture of hurt and fury. With the way he was glaring, you knew he was murdering you in his head. “So this is how you move on?”

Your eyes stung from the incoming tears. You wanted to explain, to tell him that you only did it out of spite, but the words just wouldn’t come. You knew it was still wrong and that it would be a huge slap to his face hearing that you had hooked up with someone else before him. You hadn’t even confirmed anything, yet the intensity of Sukuna’s gaze already made you feel like you were suffocating. 

As the two men stood there, locked in a silent standoff, you recognized it as the loudest silence you had experienced in your life. That was, until Satoru broke that silence by reaching for your hand. “Let’s go,” he said gently, guiding you towards his car.

You hesitated for a moment, your eyes lingering on Sukuna, but the look of betrayal on his face was too much to bear. It was either you turn away and leave him behind or you stay there and explain to him. 

Unfortunately, you didn’t have the courage to do the latter. 

— —

The roar of Sukuna’s bike echoed through the night, slicing through the darkness as he raced down the highway like a motorcycle racer on a professional track. His mind was a whirl of thoughts, jealousy and rage fueling his every movement. With every thought of you, his knuckles felt cold. 

Look, he wasn’t planning to pursue you after you left with that guy, but his ego just wouldn’t allow it. After piecing the situation together, something inside him just snapped. Like a timebomb. A very dangerous one. He couldn’t control his emotions, and he couldn’t just let you go like that. Damn it. Almost two years of forcing him into celibacy, and you suddenly threw yourself at a guy you just met?

He revved his motorbike, scoffing bitterly behind his helmet. He was riding recklessly, without a care to the other vehicles he almost crashed into. Fuck. He had spent nearly a month sulking over your pathetic breakup, he had tried his hardest to avoid you, when all this time, you were out there offering your virginity to some random trust fund-looking guy. How ridiculous was that? How utterly, goddamn ridiculous was it? Maybe you had just revealed your true colors right there. You had always felt uncertain about Sukuna because he had nothing but a tattoo shop and a decent motorbike. Now, you’ve met the picture-perfect guy your parents always wanted for you, so you found it easy to spread your legs open and allow some other guy’s dick inside.

You were worse than a whore. 

The wind whipped against his bare chest, but he paid no mind to the cold. He didn’t care anymore. Even if the police were to chase after him, he didn’t fucking care. His focus was on the red taillights of your new guy’s McLaren car ahead of him. Sukuna pushed the throttle, his bike accelerating with a ferocious growl, causing a scene along the highway. 

He mapped the situation in his head. Who was faster in this highway chase; the McLaren or his bike? While the McLaren 720 had a higher top speed, Sukuna’s Yamaha YZF-R1 was highly agile and could be more maneuverable in tight spaces. In a straight-line chase, the McLaren would eventually outpace his bike, but in scenarios involving a lot of maneuvering, he could have an advantage.

Too bad for you and your new guy though, since this highway was Sukuna’s domain. His superbike had already passed through the tightest of spaces in the midst of traffic during rush hour, so he was a clear winner here. 

And in saying that, the distance between you closed rapidly, and soon he was right behind the car, the bike’s engine roaring like a beast unleashed. With a piercing screech of tires, Sukuna maneuvered his bike alongside Satoru’s car, forcing him to pull over by kicking the driver’s side door. The car drifted and screeched to a halt on the shoulder of the highway, and Sukuna followed suit, cutting the engine and dismounting in one fluid motion. His precious bike, now discarded on the floor, all for the sake of confronting the woman he thought had loved him. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Satoru demanded, stepping out of the car with a confident swing. He tried to look tough by using their height differences against him, but he wasn’t intimidating to Sukuna at all. 

“Get out, Y/N,” Sukuna ordered, his voice dangerously low as he ignored Satoru and the countless cars honking behind them. His eyes were locked on the passenger side where you sat, your expression an amalgam of fear and hesitation. “I said get the fuck out!” 

“Dude, chill out.” Satoru tried to put a hand on his shoulder, only to have his hand swiftly rebuffed. “I’m not letting her go with a man who’s clearly upset.”

“Stay the fuck outta this,” Sukuna growled, his fists clenched at his sides. The white-haired punk should take that as a warning. He should back out before his fist lands on his precious face. Plastic surgery isn’t cheap nowadays. “Y/N, if you don’t wanna cause a scene, I suggest you get the fuck outta there.”

**

Your chest rose and fell as you looked between the two men. You knew Sukuna well enough to understand that he wasn’t going to back down. And with a line of angry cars honking at the unnecessary traffic jam you were causing, you had no other choice but to open the door and step out.

Satoru's first instinct was to gesture for you to stay back. “Y/N—”

“Satoru, it’s okay,” you said softly. “I need to talk to him.”

The white-haired man hesitated at first, clearly worried for your safety, but with your insistence, he eventually nodded and stepped back to give you space. Sukuna’s eyes burned with intensity as he watched that interaction between you two.

“‘Kuna, can we at least pull over on the side and not talk in the middle of the highway?” you practically begged, your voice trembling as a few cars managed to squeeze their way between the McLaren and the YZF-R1, throwing harsh curse words towards you and your ex-boyfriend for the road blockage you had caused. Sukuna didn’t even flinch. All you could see was the anger in his eyes, and the pain lurking just beneath his irises.

“I’m perfectly fine talking here,” was Sukuna’s reply, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Tell me why you’re with that douche. I think you owe me a damn good explanation, angel.”

You swallowed hard, your throat tightening. You just wanted to get this conversation over with. “W-We broke up. It shouldn’t matter to you anymore.”

Beep. Beep. “Get off the road, you idiots! You’re holding everyone up!”

Beep. Beep. “Who do you think you are, blocking traffic like this?”

“Is that so?” Sukuna scoffed, taking a step closer as he cornered you. “You moved on pretty quickly, didn’t you?”

You flinched at his tone, but you knew you had to tell him the truth. You knew you would not be able to escape this situation if you didn’t admit it sooner or later. “Something did happen between me and Satoru,” you finally confessed, feeling uneasy from the lingering eyes of the heated drivers. “I didn’t plan it, it was just…”

Beep. Beep. “This is a highway, not a soap opera set!”

Beep. Beep. “Take your drama somewhere else!”

Sukuna’s eyes were clouded in disgust, the color of his lenses becoming red from the fire of his fury. “So you really gave it to him?!” he demanded, his voice rising. He looked like he could punch someone at this rate. “After everything we had, you gave yourself to someone else?!”

Beep. Beep. “Learn to drive and pull over if you want to argue!”

You could feel your entire body shaking, but you tried to hold your ground. “I-I thought it was the right thing to do. I thought it would help me forget about you.”

“Forget about me?” Sukuna’s laugh was harsh, almost maniacal, because he was truly losing his shit. “You think you can forget about me by sleeping with some random guy?” He took another step closer, his presence far more overwhelming than the rest of the vehicle surrounding you. “You’re nothing to me now,” he snarled at your face, the reality of his words cutting through your heart like a knife. “You’re just another girl who threw herself away.”

Tears spilled over as you watched him turn his back on you, preparing to mount his bike again. “And what about you, Sukuna?” you challenged, despite his obvious departure. “Do you think you’re any better? You act as if you wouldn’t have cheated on me if I hadn’t confronted you about it!”

For a moment, Sukuna was silent, his anger and pain warring within him. Then he shook his head, his expression hardening as he pulled down the visor of his helmet. “But I never cheated,” he said that fact coldly, “So, don’t expect me to stick around and pick up the pieces. You’re just somebody’s leftover now.”

He turned away, the finality of his words hanging in the air to wreck you in half. As soon as he sped up the bike, he vanished into the highway, accelerating from 0 to 60 mph in 2 seconds. The roar of his bike was louder than a thunderstorm. He didn’t even care for his own safety. And as you watched him go, you could feel the rain pouring out with your heart breaking all over again, like a vase cracking against the floor, its pieces forever irreparable. 

His words hurt more than his actions ever did. And you were never one to handle it as good as you thought you would be.

— —

“I’m not trying to be biased here or anything,” Choso said, lighting his cigarette as he leaned against his Harley Davidson bike. “But even if you weren’t my step-bro, I still think you did the right thing. I wouldn’t be able to stomach hearing my ex-girlfriend be fucked by some dude after years of not giving it to me.”

Sukuna crouched next to his R1, the polished bike gleaming under the fluorescent lights of the garage. He had his shirt lay discarded nearby, leaving his toned torso exposed as he worked on changing oil. Sweat mixed with grease smudged across his chest and arms, emphasizing the taut muscles and the intricate tattoos that covered his skin. If he had women here, they would have fainted already. The sight of him sweaty and shirtless while working on his bike would have been an eye candy for them, but he didn’t need to think of that now. He merely focused on moving his hands deftly, loosening bolts and draining the old oil into a container. The methodical process offered him a momentary distraction from the chaos in his mind.

“It’s simple,” Sukuna spoke, pausing to wipe his forehead with the back of his hand and inadvertently spreading more grease, “The albino guy looks rich. She just proved to me she’s nowhere near being a good girl when a rich guy’s involved.” 

The memory of his ex-girlfriend as she was picked up by another man replayed in his head. He couldn’t stop imagining how your first night went on. Did you let him fuck you raw? Did you let him hit you from the back? Did you let him cum inside? Did you go for round two? Did you choke on his cock like a good girl? 

He remembered what your naked body looked like. How soft your breasts felt like. How sweet your pussy tasted like. Now, another man had a taste of it, and he couldn’t be any more disgusted. It was sickening to think that another man’s cock got to feel you inside before he did. And that you willingly allowed it. 

“Fuck that,” he muttered to himself, tightening the new oil filter. His eyes narrowed in concentration, but his mind drifted back to the breakup. He’d always prided himself on being in control, on not letting himself be caught in temptation. But you had pushed his buttons too far, and even though he still never betrayed you, he was sick in the stomach to see that you were the first one who did. 

“Women,” Choso agreed, grinning as he shook his head. “If she wasn’t Yuki’s friend, I would’ve cut her off.” 

The wrench slipped from Sukuna's hand, leaving it to clatter to the ground. He cursed under his breath, bending down to retrieve it, his movements were fluid and graceful despite the tension in his body. “You don’t need to cut her off. It’s between me and her. She still treated you like a brother.”

The younger man raked his fingers through his raven hair, checking himself out on the bike’s mirror. “Nah. She was closer to Yuuji than me, anyway.” 

Sukuna stood up, wiped his hands on a rag, and poured fresh oil into the engine. The task was almost done, but his thoughts remained tangled. Seeing you with someone else couldn’t stop igniting a fire in him, a possessive rage he couldn’t quite shake. He missed the way you two were before, the way you couldn't get enough of each other when you were together. He missed the connection you shared, because it was something he hadn’t felt with anyone else.

Finishing the oil change, he straightened up, staring at his reflection in the bike’s mirror. The man looking back at him seemed foreign, his usual arrogance tempered by a vulnerability he didn’t care to acknowledge. He then ran a hand through his hair, smearing more grease, and sighed.

“Maybe it’s time to go back to the old times,” Sukuna spoke his thoughts out loud, with his step-brother merely staring at him. “I’m single now.” 

With a final glance at the bike, Sukuna grabbed his shirt and slipped it on, the fabric sticking to his damp skin. He needed a ride to clear his head, to feel the rush of the wind against his face. As he swung a leg over the R1, threw his helmet on, and revved the engine, the powerful roar echoed through the space, drowning out his thoughts for a moment.

“Be careful out there!” was Choso’s last reminder.

He sped off, the world blurring around him, but no matter how fast he went, he couldn’t escape the image of your face or the sting of jealousy that burned in his chest. His mind was clouded with thoughts of you, and your face haunted him at every turn. 

As he rode, his anger simmered, his frustration building with each passing moment. The pain of betrayal gnawed at him, further fueling his reckless impulses. You’re such a piece of shit. All this time, you were claiming to be this too good of a girl who was as innocent as a bunny. When, as a matter of fact, you and your new boy toy were fucking each other like rabbits. It was funny, really, how you made him wait two years for nothing. He was your boyfriend, and yet you deprived him of sexual pleasure by pretending you were scared of it. What kind of stupid virgin would throw herself to a random guy when she’s scared to lose her virginity to her own boyfriend? 

Such bullshit. With a growl of frustration, Sukuna veered off course, his bike skidding to a stop in front of a familiar building. The apartment loomed before him as a dark silhouette against the night sky. It had been several weeks since he had seen her, but tonight, he didn’t care.

His fists clenched at his sides as he marched up the steps to her door. His heart pounded in his chest, a mixture of anger and desperation swirling inside him. He was going crazy and he wanted to blow off steam. He wanted to let his frustration out, so he banged on the door, the sound of his fist colliding with the wood echoing through the quiet street.

After a moment, the door swung open, and a stunned Yorozu stood before him, bleary-eyed and disheveled. Surprise flickered across her face as she took in his appearance, his eyes burning with intensity.

“Ryo… What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice tinged with uncertainty. The last time they spoke, he was very vocal about having a girlfriend and wanting to keep things professional. 

Sukuna, this time around, didn’t bother with pleasantries. “I need you.”

Yorozu’s eyes widened in surprise. “But you—”

“Please, Yorozu.” He pressed a hand against the door, cornering her in between. “I really, really need you right now.” 

She wasn’t naive. She understood his implication, and he had certainly conveyed that he was no longer with you. And without hesitation, she stepped aside, allowing him to enter without a word. Sukuna felt a rush of adrenaline as soon as he was inside her place, his mind consumed by the need to forget, if only for a moment.

The door closed behind him, and in the darkness of the apartment, Sukuna grabbed Yorozu’s face and kissed her lips, drowning her in the heat of passion. Things were a blur after that, because he wasn’t thinking clearly. Because he wasn’t in his proper mind. He was letting his rage cloud his thoughts, his bitterness driving his every movement. The next thing he knew, they were stumbling into her room, unable to break their intense kiss. He had kissed her like there was no tomorrow, like her mouth was suction that he couldn’t escape. 

And soon enough, she was naked in her room, knelt before him as he forced his cock inside her mouth. He couldn’t get a sense of time. He couldn’t even tell if it was already midnight. All he knew was that his next few hours were spent with Yorozu, this time around, with him burying his digits in and out of her soaking pussy. 

“Haaah!” She arched her back as an intense wave of pleasure hit her insides. “R-Ryo!” 

Fuck. Fuck it. Sukuna, without warning, put his cock inside her cunt. And her fucked her with rage, jostled her body like a sex doll, while her eyes rolled backwards in overwhelming satisfaction. She was grinning in absolute ecstasy, her breasts bouncing wildly as he continued to hit her sensitive spot before he leaned forward to suck her perfectly round breast. 

Listen, he blacked out after that. So, if you were to ask him what happened after that session with Yorozu, he wouldn’t be able to answer you because he genuinely passed out from exhaustion. All he remembered was them fucking each other’s daylights out, and the next morning, she took good care of him like she was his girlfriend again. 

No, she wasn’t. 

In fact, Sukuna was labeled an asshole for ghosting her. He didn’t contact her after that night, nor did he have any further encounter with her. Instead, he went back to his old life way before you. An addict, an alcoholic, a womanizer. 

For the next few months, that became his life without you. 

He slept with different girls every few nights, especially his clients. It got to a point where he couldn’t even recall their names, and he couldn’t remember having brought them to his apartment the night prior, because he was often too high off his mind. Every girl who came to his tattoo shop for an appointment became his companion during the night. And today, one of those girls was among the many who annoyed him afterward.

“Hey,” the girl spoke in a lascivious manner, running her slender fingers through his hair. He wasn’t sure if her name was Rina or Kiko. “You slept throughout the afternoon. Do you wanna go grab something to eat?” 

Sukuna groaned, covering his head with a duvet. “Why are you still here?” 

He didn’t need to see her face to know that confusion settled her delicate features. “But I thought we were…” 

“Leave,” was his harsh reply. “You’re just a one-night stand to me.” 

— —

“So, Y/N,” Suguru began with a playful twinkle in his eye. “Why haven’t you made Satoru yours yet?” 

You rolled your eyes at Getou’s antics. He was clearly on it with his best friend, and their goal today seemed to be to tease the heck out of you. “Maybe I like to keep him guessing,” you retorted with a smirk, though your mind was far from the playful banter. 

“But there’s nothing to guess!” Satoru, on the other hand, protested. He was even displaying a childish pout. “We’ve seen each other naked, you know—”

Before he could finish his sentence, you swiftly covered his mouth with your hand, earning a cackle from Suguru in return. Thank goodness there weren’t that many people in the cafe today, because you were never safe around those two. They were inseparable, like two peas in a pod, sharing one brain cell. Like yin yang.

“Shut up,” you merely replied. 

“Baby, don’t be shy,” Satoru teased again, giggling like an immature child together with Suguru. “You’re an adult who did adult things.” 

You sighed, wondering if you would ever get a break from these idiots. “This is exactly why I don’t date you.” 

It was a joke, of course. The delivery, however, was a bit dry. But nonetheless, your statement caused Suguru to laugh at his best friend who, in his defense, tried to recover his trampled ego by denying your statement. 

“She’s lying,” Satoru denied, as if convincing Suguru was his top priority, “You never told me your cousin’s hard-to-get.” 

 “Yeah,” agreed Suguru, playfully, “Definitely hard-to-get. The only girl who can make Sukuna pussy-less for two years.”

“Hey!” It was Yuki who intervened, knowing full well that Getou was below the belt on that joke. “Enough of that.”

In truth, you felt it was a touchy subject for you. Anything related to Sukuna, especially that aspect of your past relationship, was something you avoided like a plague. You wanted no mentions of him, and of what he did, and of what you didn’t do. He had simply become that person who can’t be named, like Voldemort. 

But the thing was, it was unavoidable sometimes. You weren’t mad at Suguru for bringing him up. You knew that him and Satoru, ever mischievous, were just playfully ribbing at you, but you couldn’t muster up the same enthusiasm to banter back. You were just upset because hearing Sukuna’s name reminded you of the very reason why you hadn’t been in the happiest mood today.

If it wasn’t obvious to them, your mind had been elsewhere since this morning, too fixated on the influx of girls you noticed had been frequently visiting Sukuna’s tattoo shop lately. You knew you didn’t have the right to feel jealous anymore, you knew you should no longer care about what he does with his life, but you couldn’t shake off the nagging feeling that something was off.

And Yuki, sensing your distraction, gently pulled you to the side for a private conversation away from the chatter of your friends. 

“Hey, Y/N. Everything okay?” Yuki asked, her tone soft and understanding. She wasn’t forcing you to open up, rather, she was allowing you to share only what you wanted to. 

You did hesitate for a moment before finding it safe to confide in her. “I just can’t stop thinking about him. And those girls at his shop... I don’t know, it’s just been bothering me."

Yuki listened attentively, her expression empathetic. “Y/N, I know this might be hard to hear, but have you considered that Sukuna might be seeing other people?”

Your heart sank at Yuki’s words. You had entertained the thought before, but hearing it from someone else made it feel more real. “Is… Is he?” 

“Well, not exactly,” she admitted reluctantly. “But Choso told me he’s been sleeping around.” Yuki then placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, anticipating your heartbreak from the news she delivered. And she was right. In just a few words, it felt like someone had stabbed you with a knife on the chest. “I'm sorry, Y/N. I agree, you deserve someone who respects and cherishes you. If Sukuna isn’t that person, then maybe it’s time to let go.”

You forced a nod, feeling a mix of sadness and regret wash over you, but you didn’t want to break down in front of Yuki. You definitely didn’t want to cry with Satoru and Suguru around. You knew deep down that Yuki was right, but accepting it was just another matter entirely and you weren’t sure if you were prepared for it.

“Listen, why don’t we go out?” she offered, a smile of encouragement spreading on her peachy lips, “Let’s have a drink or something. Anything just to keep your mind off of him. What do you say?” 

— —

It was a mistake. 

You fidgeted uncomfortably on the barstool, feeling out of place amidst the pulsating music and the raucous laughter that filled the rooftop bar. Yuki, Getou, and Gojou seemed to be thoroughly enjoying themselves, chatting animatedly over their drinks like it was a scene that they were used to. But for you, this environment was foreign territory. You weren’t accustomed to the loudness, the crowdedness, the palpable energy that thrummed through the air. Heck, you didn’t even drink alcohol. You couldn’t stand the taste nor could you see the benefit of drinking. 

But you didn’t want to be a party pooper. Yuki did you a favor here, and it was for you to get your mind off the man who kept torturing your soul over and over. If you were to leave now, it would just beat Yuki’s purpose of tagging you along. 

You were supposed to enjoy it. You were supposed to have fun, dancing with them, singing along to the music. They weren’t even the type of music Sukuna listened to. 

“Y/N, bottoms up!” You weren’t sure if it was Satoru or Suguru who said that, but they both offered you a small glass of vodka, urging you to drink it in one shot. 

As much as you wanted to, you had to refuse, speaking over the loud music. “I’m good, thank you.” 

And as you scanned the room, your eyes inadvertently locked onto a figure across the bar. 

Amidst the throng of people. 

The one person you wanted to avoid. 

Sukuna. 

He stood out effortlessly in the crowd, exuding an aura of confidence and charisma that drew your gaze like a moth to a flame. You couldn’t believe it. No, you just couldn’t believe it. You could be hallucinating because it would be too much of a coincidence for him to be here. 

But as soon as his eyes met yours, you knew he wasn’t just a figure of your imagination. Deep in your heart, you knew it was him. You couldn’t be mistaken when those eyes, those lips, those goddamn tattoos, were all him.

Though, as you two locked gaze, his expression told a different story. They were a jumble of surprise, guilt, and bitterness. He seemed just as startled to see you as you were to see him. But beneath it all, there was an undeniable tension, a silent acknowledgment of unfinished business between you.

No, you can’t walk away from me. Excusing yourself quietly, you slipped away from the table, unnoticed by your friends, and made your way through the crowd of people towards him. He was already walking away at that point, ready to avoid your presence as if seeing you was torture for him. But didn’t he know? You were too stubborn for your own good. You relentlessly followed him, squeezing in between a drunken crowd, realizing that Sukuna was heading down. 

In the abandoned part of the building’s parking lot, you finally caught up to him, your heart pounding in your chest as you faced him. 

“‘Kuna,” you called out, “Please.” 

Sukuna turned to face you, his expression unreadable as he regarded you with dark, intense eyes. “Hey,” he replied coolly, his voice a low rumble in the night air as he walked closer to his bike.

“You’re not supposed to ride when you’re drunk,” you began. 

To which he sneered at. “Why? You think I’m here to offer you a ride back home, angel?” 

Aggravating as ever. He was still that arrogant bastard you knew, and loved. “No, you’re probably doing that to someone else.” 

“Why don’t you go back to your filthy rich boyfriend?” 

“Are you jealous?” you bit back, now feeling a palpable tension transpiring between you, but you tried not to let it stop you from speaking to him. “Whatever happened to me and Satoru was just one time.” 

Sukuna scoffed at your statement. “I didn’t ask, angel.” 

Truthfully, he was the most frustrating man in the world right now. And dealing with him was definitely the hardest job ever, but your purpose of running after him wasn’t to bicker. All you wanted was to confirm something that had been bothering you. So you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what was to come. “Have you been sleeping around?” 

His expression remained stoic, his gaze meeting yours with a hint of defiance. “Are you jealous?” he mocked, returning the same question back to you. “So what if I am?” 

You couldn’t tell what overcame you more; was it the pain or the anger? But surely, a hundred percent, your frustration was definitely boiling over. “So you are,” you huffed, “See, that wasn’t so hard to admit, isn’t it? This is what you’ve always wanted to do! To sleep with those girls!” 

For a moment, silence hung heavy between you, the tension was crackling in the air like electricity. Then, without warning, Sukuna closed the distance between you, his hand reaching out to grab your jaw.

“You don’t get to turn this back around on me,” he spat, swallowing the obvious pain in his voice, “You’re the one who started it all.”  

Your breath was caught in your throat as you felt the heat of his body so close to yours, his touch igniting an altogether new fire within you. Despite the anger building inside your heart, you couldn’t deny the pull you felt towards him, the magnetic attraction that seemed to draw you together like two black holes ready to destroy one another. 

“I fucking waited for you,” he continued, his voice now deepening in a more sincere tone, “I know I was wrong for not setting boundaries, but I never, not once, cheated on you. I never fucking did! But you couldn’t trust me, right? You couldn’t fuckin’ trust me.” His pupils dilated as he raised his voice. “You’re so caught up in being too goddamn insecure about yourself when all I wanted was to have intimacy with you—”

“All you wanted was sex, just admit that!” you yelled back, jerking his hand away as tears began to fill your eyes. “And maybe I was right for giving my first to someone else, because you don’t deserve it. You don’t deserve it when you’ve always pressured me into giving it to you.”

Sukuna’s laughter filled the air, a disbelieving chuckle that bordered on frustration. He threw his head back, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. Without hesitation, he snatched his helmet and hurled it across the floor, the sound of impact startling you.

“I never fucking pressured you!” His voice was raw with emotion as he walked back towards you, frustration and hurt evident in every step. “You’re the only girl I genuinely respected. You think I enjoyed being celibate for two fucking years?! No, the fuck, I didn’t! But I waited. I waited because I didn't want you to feel forced! It was all in your fucking head, Y/N. Your doubts, your uncertainties about me. I’m a man too, damn it! Of course, it frustrated me, but that doesn’t mean I would ever leave you or cheat on you.” And just when you thought it was over, he spoke again, his words now silencing into a painful tone, his eyes shining from the tears blanketing his gaze, “Did you think you were the only one who was insecure? Every damn day, Y/N, I was scared you were gonna leave me. That you were gonna find some other guy, someone who could give you everything you want—a big house, a nice car, a successful life. I didn’t have all that. And it kills me every single day knowing that that’s exactly the type of guy you went after the moment we broke up.” 

Silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating, as Sukuna’s words replayed in your mind like a broken record. You couldn’t bring yourself to respond, couldn’t find the words to refute his accusations. Because deep down, you knew he had a point. Your doubts, your insecurities—they had clouded your judgment, poisoned your perception of Sukuna. And now, faced with his raw honesty, you couldn’t deny the truth in his words.

But accepting that truth was a bitter pill to swallow. It meant acknowledging your own flaws, your own role in the breakdown of your relationship. And it meant coming to terms with the fact that maybe, just maybe, you had let your fears drive you to push away the person who had truly cared for you.

As Sukuna stood before you, frustration and hurt etched into every line of his face, you felt a pang of regret twist in your chest. You wanted to reach out, to apologize, to admit that you had your wrongs, too. But no words came out, choked by the weight of your own self-doubt.

“I…” you struggled to respond. It was a battle you weren’t ready to fight, so your only option was to run away. To turn away like a coward, and to flee the agonizing reality of your relationship. 

But Sukuna didn’t let you. Instead, he closed the remaining space between you, his lips crashing down on yours in a hungry, desperate kiss.

In that moment, all thoughts of anger and confrontation melted away as you surrendered to the intoxicating allure of Sukuna’s touch. Lost in the heat of the moment, lost in a puddle of strong emotions. You fell deeper into the trap of your undeniable sexual tension, your bodies becoming entwined in a passionate embrace in the empty parking lot. 

His lips were soft against yours, his tongue rolling in the opposite motion as you kissed him deeper. More, more. He was hungry for more. And so were you. 

So when he kissed your neck, you allowed it. 

When he squeezed your breast, you allowed it. 

When he raised your skirt, you allowed it. 

You released a moan into his mouth as he sat you on top of his motorbike, standing in between your legs as he reattached his lips back to yours. Your mouths enveloped each other perfectly. The bittersweet taste of his tongue, now moving south down your neck. 

“Sukuna…” 

While his mouth was busy doing its own work, his hands too were occupied in touching areas he had once explored. One hand travelled to your thigh, squeezing your flesh before he reached your crotch. Two fingers touched your underwear, as if he was checking if you were wet, before he pushed them onto the side to set your cunt free. 

You ended up wrapping your arms around his neck, a gasp escaping your lips as his fingers played with your entrance. Your clit, your sensitive bud, also wasn’t ignored when he began moving his fingers in a circular motion. 

“Mmmh!” 

What was going through his head? You knew he was aroused, but why did his gaze look so dark? It was too grim, to the point where it scared you. But you were far too distracted when his other hand went to grab a hold of your tit, squeezing your mound, and kneading the soft skin. He had pulled down your neckline to release your tits in the air, quickly attaching his mouth onto one breast as soon as they were out in the open. 

“Haaah!” 

You were going crazy, both from the fingers that were entering your cunt, and the mouth that was sucking your tit. You had your back arched into a C, your arms grabbing onto his shoulder as he became more and more aggressive with his touch. 

And you weren’t exaggerating when you said he was being more aggressive with it, because when he pulled himself away from you, it only lasted for a few seconds before he grabbed your waist and twisted your body around. In a blink of an eye, he had you position against his motorbike, with your body leaning against the seat and your ass high enough for his crotch. 

“S-Sukuna, s-someone might walk in—”

He had pulled your underwear down, letting it stay in between your knees, before rubbing your pussy from behind. His breath was warm when he whispered into your ear, “Don’t act like you hate it.” 

He wasn’t wrong with that either. Because while he was touching your entrance, testing if the tip of his cock would smoothly glide in, you became an animal in heat, ready to be devoured by him. You had to cover your mouth, forcing yourself to keep your voice down as he finally buried his cock six inches deep inside of you. 

“A-Aah!” your body jerked forward as Sukuna rawdogged you from behind. “S-Sukuna, aah!”

“You’re such a fucking slut,” he cussed under his breath, feeling a painful stretch on your scalp as he pulled your hair, “Did he fuck you this good?” 

“Mmh—no!” 

The sound of skin-slapping was reverberating across the empty lot.

“Did you let him cum inside?”

“N-No…!”

He was insatiable. He couldn’t get enough of the tightness of your cunt. He, too, was moaning from the feeling of your velvet walls milking his cock like a warm glove. So he continued to thrust inside you, his hands on your hips, keeping you steady as he rammed his cock inside faster, and harder, and deeper. 

Your buttocks were becoming too sore, the stretch of skin on your bum vibrating in waves every time he hit you balls deep inside.

And while you were a moaning hot mess below him, a realization suddenly hit you in the face like a truck. Throughout your relationship, this was all he had ever wanted to do with you. He had always talked about doing it slowly, in a romantic set up with candles lit and petals around, in a place where you can lay yourself comfortably. You dreamed of him whispering I love you’s into your mouth as you two made love. You fantasized about him lovingly looking into your eyes as he reached his high. You used to picture him out, intertwining his hands with yours as he tells you you’re the most beautiful girl in the world.

Yet now, you were doing it in the basement parking lot. In a dark, dirty place. Bent over against the uncomfortable seat of his bike. 

And more importantly, he was treating you like a whore. 

Tears welled up your eyes as you felt Sukuna pull out after finishing. For a minute, he gathered himself together, his head pressed against your nape as he sighed. 

“It’s not working, Y/N,” he mumbled against your skin, voicing the exact words you were afraid to hear.

“I know…” You sniffed, pulling the strap of your dress back up and adjusting your skirt back down.

He didn’t need to say anything more. When he gave you one last kiss on the forehead and wrapped you in his jacket, you understood the full weight of his words. It wasn’t just about this moment; it was about everything that had led you here. 

It didn’t work because you had already shattered your perceptions of each other. Both tarnished the way you saw one another. He would never come to terms with the fact that you gave yourself to another guy, just as you could never accept that he had slept with the same girls you had always warned him about. It would only lead to a constant game of back-and-forths, of pointing fingers, of toxic love.

So you watched him mount his bike, rev the engine, and look at you one last time before speeding away. His figure disappeared into the dark like a shadow, like a dream you only once knew. 

That was the last time you ever saw Ryomen Sukuna in your lifetime.

[alvojake]

SIM JAEYUN HARD THOUGHT

「warning」 : 18+ MINORS DNI!!

「notes」 : this is for all my girlies with an oral fixation and a tongue ring... I am also girlies... I have had this thought stuck in my head for the longest time imaginable so I've finally brought it to life. might make a full fic based off this in the future, idk yet.

「word count」 : 0.7k

you knew jake had an oral fixation, always needing to have something in his mouth, whether that be his lips, yours, or a piece of candy. however, as your relationship grew, he would find any reason to have his lips on your skin.

though during your time with Jake, you, yourself, had started to form an oral fixation. it even got to the point that you had gotten a tongue piercing in hopes of quelling the urge to stick random things in your mouth.

and it did... for a short amount of time.

until you realized the effect it had on your boyfriend whenever you would give him head. the whines and whimpers that would fall from his kiss-swollen lips every time you would press the piece of jewelry against his swollen cock.

"f-fuck baby." he groaned once more, his fingers lacing through your hair, tugging softly as you moved further down his shaft. his eyes rolling to the back of his head when the tip of his dick hit the back of your throat.

when it came to moments like this, when you have him cumming in your mouth within minutes of wrapping your pretty lips around his hard dick, you knew that the piercing was a good idea. just maybe not for the original reason that you had gotten it. if anything, it just made your oral fixation worse because now you wanted to take any chance you could to use your new 'toy' on your sensitive boyfriend.

"c-cummimg. fuck I'm cumming!" jake let out what you would call a mixture of a whine and a groan. his hips buck up into your mouth as he paints the walls of your throat white with his seed.

you hummed at the taste causing his grip to tighten on your hair in hopes of pulling you off of his overestimated dick, but you stayed put for a few moments longer before slowly pulling off. your thighs rubbed together underneath you as whimpers fell from jake's pretty lips.

pulling off of him, you give him a few kitten licks to his tip, making sure to drag your piercing along his slit, relishing in the way his whole body shivered at the feeling.

you continue to tease him with your tongue and hands, licking up all of the cum and spit that coated his length. not stopping until he was rock hard in your hands once more.

"baby, p-please... n- fuck. no more, please." jake hissed through his teeth as you traced along his slit once more, hands tugging at your hair.

with one last lick, you pulled away from jake's throbbing dick resulting in a deep groan to tear from his lungs at the sudden loss of touch. however, you didn't stray too far for too long, kissing up his toned tummy and chest, nipping at his collarbone, neck, and jaw before sealing his lips with yours.

he groaned against your lips at the taste of himself on your tongue, hands finding your hips to pull you into his lap. your tongue runs along the inside of his teeth; a soft rattling comes from how your ring hit his teeth.

pulling away to catch your breath, you watched in amusement as jake chased after your lips, his eyes hooded as they bore into yours. his grip on your hips tight as you shifted to allow his tip to prod at your entrance.

"think you can handle another one, jakey?" you asked teasingly as he leaned forward to latch his lips to your neck, nipping and sucking at the skin until dark purple and red splotches were left behind.

he didn't give you any response except for the harsh thrust of his ups upward to fully encase himself in your heat, resulting in a strangled cry to leave your lips at the sudden intrusion.

"f-fuck, jake!" you cried out as he started to piston his hips up into yours, stars dancing across your vision as his tip rammed into your cervix mercilessly.

"wanna be such a fucking tease?" he growled against your skin before biting down harshly, making your body tremble, "then you're gonna have to reap what you sow, princess."

@alvojake | Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or repost any of my work

𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ ꜱᴇʀɪᴏᴜꜱʟʏ.

[changbunnies]

Angel of Music (18+)

♡ Pairing: Phantom!Minho x Opera Singer Fem!Reader

♡ Genre: phantom of the opera inspired au, horror themes, dark romance, age gap, smut, dead dove? read the warnings carefully and come to ur own conclusion on what you're willing to read before engaging pls :'), the ending is also a lil dark, sorry!

♡ Word Count: 5.8k

♡ Summary: A phantom exists in the opera house– he controls every production from the shadows, lurks around every dark corner, always watching. In your dreams exists an angel– a guardian that sings to you, guides you, and comforts you. When The Phantom appears before you in your dressing room mirror, you begin to realize that he and your angel may be one in the same.

♡ General Warnings: slightly less extreme age gap than the source material that inspires this fic but it's still fairly large (reader is ~mid 20s and minho is ~40), briefly described attempted murder of minor characters, implications of stalking, hypnotism, hallucinations + doubts of reality, so much usage of the words "phantom" and "angel" it's not even funny, this fic is not an accurate representation of how hypnotism works irl but it's fiction so i'm taking liberties!

♡ Smut Warnings: dubcon (due to reader being hypnotized), additionally to not being in their proper state of mind, there are also moments in which reader does not feel to be in full control of their body, light dom/sub dynamics, soft pleasure dom!minho because i want more of him !!, mask kink (does it still count if the mask doesn't cover his whole face?? idk i hope so!), some biting, oral (f rec), overstim, multiple orgasms

♡ Notes: i've known for ages that i wanted to write a phantom!minho fic, and my kinktober series gave me the perfect reason to finally write it! also the fact that both my uploaded minho fics are age gap romances?? that was not intentional i swear lmao

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

All inhabitants of the opera house have been on edge these days– consequence of the new owners of the Opera Populaire, who decided to disregard all of The Phantom's demands.

The Phantom, as the name suggests, is a ghost story of sorts. According to your castmates, he has been here since long before you joined the Opera Populaire's trainees last year, but his activity has begun to increase since your arrival.

He controls all in the opera house, and his demands of the previous owner were always quite simple; perform what shows he instructs you to, follow his casting down to the letter, and keep the seats in Box Five free at all times. Evidentially, Box Five is his favorite place to watch the shows from– and sometimes, his dark silhouette can be spotted in the shadows of the booth, indiscernible but unmistakably there.

No one has ever truly seen The Phantom beyond a shadow, nor have they heard him speak. He communicates with notes, always left within feet of the recipient without anyone having seen him come or go. His notes will even appear in broad daylight, with not a single person having caught a glimpse of him despite all the eyes in the room.

Well, more accurately, no one has seen him apart from the Madame– an older woman who used to be a performer for the Opera Populaire herself, but has taken the role of choreographer since her retirement from the stage. In the 15 years it's been since The Phantom made his presence known to the opera house, she's the only one who's ever seen him, or heard his voice.

A brief encounter, she explained when asked about it– had barely seen him for more than a few passing moments. He spoke little, but the beauty of his voice was striking, completely unlike any other she’d ever heard. And all he asked of her, in that fleeting moment, was to remember that the Opera Populaire is his home– and as long as the inhabitants respect him, he'll respect them in turn.

The previous director, the Madame, and The Phantom all had a mutual understanding of what was to be done. As long as they listened to him, shows would go off without a hitch; but refuse, and there'd be dire consequences. As such, the Madame has been doing her best to express the importance of listening to The Phantom to the new owners.

The Monsieurs view it as no more than silly superstition– every opera house has their own beliefs and customs, things they consider good and bad luck before a show, things they view as omens of a show's future success. The Phantom is simply one of those things– and with a guiding hand, they can dispel such superstitions, show the cast and crew that there is no shadowy phantom to fear.

The first note left for the Monsieurs went disregarded– a barking laugh leaving the elder of the two before he tossed it in the bin. The instructions on the note were clear enough– you were to take the role of Eurydice in the opera house's production of Orpheus and Eurydice, and not Carlotta, as they originally casted.

You were just as baffled as everyone else to learn that The Phantom wanted you to take such an important role– you'd only been here a year, were still so new to your opera training. It's true enough that you have a good voice, and your dancing has improved with all your diligent practice, but you're still young, and the tragic role of Eurydice is not so easily performed.

Natural talent for bringing emotion to performance aside, you lack stage experience– experience that you can easily gain from background roles. To make you such a crucial stand-out role after only a year of training was simply unheard of– no opera house would do it!

This is to be your first production, your first time on stage in front of an audience; and so regardless of what The Phantom wants, Monsieur Reyer opted to keep you strictly in the supporting chorus roles, where you would go from shepherdess, to nymph, to spirit as the acts progressed. Not a glamorous, shining position in the cast by any means, but more than enough to help familiarize you with the reality of performing with hundreds of eyes watching.

It wouldn't take long for The Phantom to make his displeasure with the decision known. And what started off as just small accidents and stage mishaps quickly turned violent and dangerous as each week passed with you still not given the role that The Phantom felt you deserved to have.

The first violent turn came during rehearsals for Act 3, right in the middle of Eurydice's climactic aria, when the chandelier above the stage came crashing down. Carlotta was standing directly beneath it just before it fell, and it narrowly missed her– purely because she happened to take a few steps forward whilst singing.

“An unfortunate accident,” the Monsieurs said, “it had nothing to do with The Phantom!” But the veterans of the opera house knew better– and the conductor swore he saw a dark shadow on the scaffolds just before the chandelier fell; a shadow that could belong to none other than The Phantom.

Carlotta screamed as it crashed just mere inches away from her, right where she's just been standing, and cried as everyone rushed to her side to ensure that she was unharmed. Again, the Madame tried to persuade them to heed The Phantom before another such “accident” occurred.

"Good God in Heaven, you're all obsessed! These things just happen sometimes– there is no phantom!" Reyer cried in exasperation over everyone's insistence, still unwilling to give in to the idea that the opera house's ghost was real.

And tonight, just after rehearsals came to a close, another terrible stage accident occurred– this time happening to Monsieur Reyer himself. He was up on the scaffolding when it happened, making sure all the stagehands properly rigged the lights in preparation for tomorrow night's premiere of Orpheus and Eurydice.

He was bent down, inspecting the bulbs and wires, when a dark figure appeared behind him. The shadow wrapped a noose around his neck faster than anyone could even react, pushed him off the scaffolding before swiftly retreating back to the shadows.

Reyer almost didn't survive– he was lucky that the nearby stagehands were quick on their feet and in their wits, managing to grab his arms and pull him up while another cut the rope that served to hang the poor man. And as if the message from the accidents alone weren't clear enough, another note was left behind right in the middle of the stage.

It was astounding, really, that not a single person saw The Phantom leave the note behind– and while some could argue that it was because all eyes were on Reyer, or because the stage became chaos as they worked to save him, the Monsieurs realized that maybe they should start to believe that there really is a ghost inhabiting the Opera Populaire.

The moment the note was noticed, the Madame picked it up, and read it aloud for all to hear. "Again, I remind you that Y/N will play the role of Eurydice. As I instruct, Box Five shall remain open for my use. These seats will not be used by another. This is my final warning– disregard at your own risk."

Realizing they had no choice, lest they wish to continue putting themselves and other cast and crew in danger, the Monsieurs begrudgingly declared you the new Eurydice, right then and there.

Given that you're at every rehearsal, you know Eurydice's lines by heart, and are confident that you can sing them well– but still, you're nervous. It's your first production, the premiere is sold out, is set for tomorrow night, and suddenly you're in one of the most pivotal roles in the entire opera.

You don't even understand why The Phantom is so adamant about giving the role to you; what is it about you that he likes, what is it that he sees in you? You wish you could ask the Madame, but she met him so fleetingly, and so many years ago– she has no way of knowing The Phantom's heart beyond an educated guess.

Sitting before your dressing room mirror, you sigh, utterly exhausted– now that you're Eurydice, it was vital that you do a last minute costume fitting and makeup test. As such, you've been in the opera house hours past the time you'd normally be here. The moon hangs high in the sky now, you're sure; you wonder if you should just spend the night here, sleep in the dressing room instead of making a late trek home.

Regardless, you hope your angel comes to you tonight. You know no one would believe you if you told them, but you really do have a guardian angel; and in your dreams, he comes to you– always when you are most lost and in need of guidance. He's a gentle, calming presence; always comforts you, talks to you sweetly when you're filled with self doubt, sings to you in the most beautiful of voices.

You've never actually seen your angel clearly– only heard his voice calling your name and whispering, singing, in a way that could only be described as angelic in its serenity. In your dreams, he's nothing but a vague, blurry image– even at his most clear, you can't define any of his features.

Still, you think of him fondly– and you suspect that as an angel, you aren't meant to be able to fully perceive him. And your angel always, always, knows when you need him– you suspect that even now, he's waiting; waiting for the moment you fall asleep, so that he can come to your side.

You look at yourself, still dressed as Eurydice. A beautiful, off shoulder bateau gown in the prettiest, purest ivory. There's lace appliques throughout the gown, has a beautiful cinched bodice before the tulle skirt fluffs out. It's elegant, makes you feel like a bride waiting to walk down the aisle.

Your makeup shimmers– extra glitter applied on your eyelids to make sure the stage lights catch it. Your jewelry too, is extravagant– made to sparkle and shine every time a light shines on you, to twinkle with each subtle move you make. It's a shame you have to take it all off just to put it all back on tomorrow– but the effort to make sure everything fits you was necessary.

You reach your hands up to one of your ears, prepare to remove one of your dangling earrings when you hear a voice you know all too well call your name– your angel's voice.

You look around the room, bewildered, but see nothing and no one. And surely you were mistaken– you're still awake! Your angel only comes to you in dreams, and you haven't fallen asleep... right? You are still awake, aren't you?

Again, you hear his voice, another whisper of your name. You rise from your chair, look around the room once more– no one. You turn back to the dressing room mirror, and jump in surprise, realizing that the view reflected in it has changed. You no longer see yourself, or the reflection of the dressing room around you– instead, you see a man.

He looks just as the Madame described her memory of The Phantom– dark hair, and even darker eyes, with a white mask that covers the right half of his face. Not completely– just from his hairline, down to his pretty, plump lips. Every inch of his skin is covered, head to toe, all of his clothes pure black apart from the ornate red vest.

Sleek boots and dark trousers, a tall collar that obscures most of his neck, long sleeves that cover his arms, even gloves covering his hands. He wears a cape, long and as dark as the rest of his clothes, and it blows behind him as if there’s a breeze rolling through.

You’re confused, a little frightened, but you can’t tear your eyes away or will yourself to flee– and as the figure speaks your name, you gasp; he truly has the voice of your angel. But he’s The Phantom, isn’t he? 

The blurry, vague scenery behind him begins to sharpen, coming more distinctly visible to your uncertain eyes. A dark corridor full of candelabra, glowing in dull yellows and shades of orange, held by incorporeal hands with no discernable origin.

What little of your dressing room you see in your peripheral shifts and warps as you stare at him, blur together into dark shadows as the table holding your hairbrush and makeup begin to fade and disappear, leaving the view through the mirror as the only thing you can see.

The figure– your angel, The Phantom?– holds his hand out to you through the mirror, as if the glass that should separate you no longer exists; perhaps it doesn't. Smoke– or maybe fog, mist? you can't be certain– pours into the room as you approach the mirror.

As if under a spell, you reach out to take his hand, thinking not of logic as you follow the beckoning call of your name. Your angel; you trust your angel. He smiles as you place your hand in his, and carefully, you step through the mirror, into the corridor.

Entranced, you stare at him; even with half a mask covering his face, he's utterly beautiful. He appears to be older than you, hints of fine lines beholden around his mouth and eyes, and even that adds to his mysterious charm. He holds your gaze as he takes a step back, a candelabra in his hand now, beckoning you to follow him down the corridor.

You squeeze his hand as you follow, and finally he turns around, walks with purpose as he guides you, glancing behind every so often to look at you in what you think to be adoration. You too, glance behind– and where the mirror once stood is now a desolate, barren wall.

You do not see any hint of your dressing room, or of the mirror you stepped through. And as you continue further down the corridor, the candelabra that were once behind you slowly begin to blink out and vanish from sight, leaving only pitch black darkness behind. A spiral staircase made of stone manifests, and you descend it, hand in hand with your angel.

You're so enchanted and bewildered, you can't seem to find your voice– all you can do is follow, let him guide you along to where it is he wants you to be. Even the staircase dissipates when you've finished descending, and for just a moment, you wonder– is any of this truly real?

Finally, you stand in the middle of a beautiful room, lit candles both resting in more candelabra and strewn about the floor, with dark, intricately woven tapestries hanging from the stone walls. There’s a grand piano, sleek black with gold accents, with even more candles resting atop it, as well as a sheet of music sitting pristine on the music desk, black ink seemingly freshly dried, just waiting to be played. 

There are several mirrors, though only one remains uncovered– the rest are obscured by cloth, for reasons you do not know. There is a bed, in what you suppose would be called a “corner” in this otherwise circular space, inviting and plush in its appearance, with blankets colored a rich red. Naturally, candles surround the bed as well, covering it in a beautifully soft, yellow-orange glow. 

“Where are we?” you finally find your voice to ask, and the man smiles as he beckons you to follow him towards his bed. “We are home,” he replies, and though it’s a strange answer, you feel you understand– yes, you are home. This is home. 

You gaze at him curiously after you sit on the bed, just as comfortable as you expected it to be, and he mimics the way you’ve tilted your head at him. “You’re.. My angel, aren’t you? Or are you The Phantom?” you ask, and the man laughs ever so softly, melodious and beautiful. 

“I am Minho,” he responds, as if that alone is a sufficient enough answer– in a way, you suppose it is. What else is there to know? He is Minho. That is enough.

“I have longed to touch you, to bring you here,” Minho whispers as he reaches one of his gloved hands to your face, strokes your cheek slowly, gently. The sensation, though simple, feels so tender– it sparks something inside you, fills you with a warmth you’ve never felt before. You close your eyes, bask in the comfort his touch provides you. 

You feel his hand move, travel down until his fingers are under your chin. He tilts your head up, and you open your eyes to see him gazing down at you warmly. “You are so beautiful,” he whispers, speaking to you as gently as he always does. He’s said it before, in your dreams– that you are beautiful, talented, deserving of all you wish to have.

He never lets you linger on self-doubt, never allows you to think you are lesser than someone else, or undeserving of the opportunities you’ve been granted. Your angel knows you– you think he’s appearing to you now, like this, because he knows you are uncertain of playing Eurydice; he must think that he needs to remind you of just how special you are. 

All of your doubts about tomorrow’s premiere– he will dispel them from your mind, as he always does. He kneels before you, gazing at you carefully as he inches closer to you, his hands softly rubbing over your shoulders and down your arms. His attentive stare as he caresses you makes you breathing quicken, your heart starting to pick up speed.

“Do you trust me?” Minho asks suddenly, and with not an ounce of hesitation, you nod. You’ve no reason not to trust him– in the year it's been since your angel first appeared to you, you’ve always trusted him. There is no one else that makes you feel so secure, so at peace, so.. Loved, cared for. Yes, your angel, Minho, loves you, cares for you like no other. You trust him. 

“I wish to clear your mind of worry and doubt– to make you think only of me, and the music we can make together. I wish to touch you, to kiss you, to hold you," he says, and oh, he knows he shouldn’t be pouring his heart out like this, for it’s too soon, much too soon. But he’s been enamored with you since the first moment you stepped into the Opera Populaire, has been infatuated with you since first hearing the passion in your voice.

He can’t help it, it seems– now that he has you here, in his lair, his defenses falter, all of his desires pouring out of him. To have you here, and to touch you like this, even so simply– it’s everything he’s wanted. And instantly, unconsciously, you reach out to him. Your angel sees you, knows you– you wish to know him too, to understand him the way he does you.

Your mind is somehow as clear as it is hazy– clear, because you know what it is that you want. Regardless of who he is, what he is, you want Minho to have you. Anything he wants, you feel compelled to give, as if it’s all you know; and in this moment, perhaps it is. In the very back reaches of your addled mind, a reminder blares– The Phantom always gets what he wants. 

And what he wants now, most of all, is you; and despite what logic may tell you to feel, you trust him to have you. He sees all that you feel in your expression alone, knows all that you think as if he’s seen into the depths of your mind. Even now, perhaps more than ever before, he sees you. 

Sees all that you are, and all that you want– and a charming smile plays on his lips as you gaze at him with wanton desire to let him take you. To let him have, to give yourself over– you wish to offer yourself wholly to your angel’s desires.

Your eyes flutter closed as he kisses you, a soft press that you could almost call chaste, his hands slowly moving over your body, each soft touch lingering. You don’t feel his gloves anymore, you realize– did he take them off without you noticing? You suppose it doesn’t matter– his hands are warm, a bit rough and calloused against the soft skin of your arms, and you like it.

Even as his kisses become less chaste, deepen as his hands travel to your hips, they remain slow and purposeful. His hands eventually find the bottom of your dress, begin to lift it ever so slowly up your thighs– not to expose you, but so that he can slot himself between your legs. Somehow, innately, you understand this– and easily, you spread your legs for him, allowing him to find his place between them.

His arms wrap around you after, pulling you closer, pressing your body to his. Your chest is rising and falling rapidly by the time he pulls away, breathless as you look to him with eager, impassioned eyes– a gaze that heats his otherwise cold heart. You reach up, bring your hands to his face; he nearly flinches when you touch his mask, though he knows you mean no harm. 

Minho feels himself ugly under his mask– too scarred and disfigured to be appealing to you in any regard; at least like this, with only the good parts of his face on display, you may find him handsome. Your touch is as soft as your gaze, and though perhaps you should, you make no move to remove his mask; you simply rub your thumb over the cold porcelain.

It’s a vulnerable thing, really– how softly you touch his ugliest spots. It doesn’t matter that you can’t see them from beneath his mask– the tender regard you seem to feel for him, even without having seen the scars that mar him, is more than enough. It’s ironic, in a way, that you seem to think he’s an angel; in reality, the only angel in this room is you. 

“I want to please you, if you'll let me,” he breathes as his fingertips ghost over your thighs. It makes your breath hitch, blinking at him slowly as you process his intent. There is much your angel wants– but chasing the pleasure of his own flesh isn’t one of those things. He doesn’t need it to feel satisfied; your pleasure will more than suffice him.

His dark eyes bore into yours as he awaits your answer, can tell from his wanting gaze how serious he is about pleasing you, and it makes your cheeks slowly bloom with heat. And it’s not just what he wants– it’s what he needs, really; when you surrender yourself to him, he wants it to be for your pleasure, not his own. 

“Oh, please– touch me,” you answer, plead– because something from deep inside you screams for it, wanting it beyond all comprehension. Your darkest, most innate desires manifest for him; desires that you didn’t even fully realize you had. They possess you, drive you to kiss him again, urgent and passionate. 

Minho returns your kiss with equal fervor, lets his tongue slip past his lips to meet yours. They share a dance, swirl around each other until you’re breathless again; and then he’s guiding you back, urging you to lay down as he hovers over you. He pulls the skirt of your dress further up your body, until your thighs are entirely exposed and he can see your dampening panties. 

He lowers himself to you, but doesn’t go immediately where you expect him too– he takes his time trailing wet, lingering kisses over your thighs instead. Your inner thighs are sensitive, ticklish, and you can’t help but squirm from each kiss he grants you.

You also can’t help but jolt each time the cool porcelain of his mask presses against the hot skin of your thigh, and again when he carefully sinks his teeth into your pliant flesh. He doesn't do it hard enough to hurt, or even fully leave indents of his teeth behind– just enough to leave you panting and squirmy; and he lets out a soft, airy laugh every time he succeeds in the endeavor. 

Your bunched up skirt is so full that you can hardly even watch him work you up; but there are times, while kissing and biting over your trembling thighs, that he lifts his head just enough to let you catch his gaze. It makes your heart skip a beat, butterflies dancing in your stomach every time he locks eyes with you while kissing around where you need him most.

You reach a point where you’re no longer squirming because his attention tickles, but because you’re becoming desperate, impatient; and the way he stares at you as he does it all doesn't help in the slightest. “Minho, please,” you whine, shameless; and you can feel him smile against your skin before he lifts himself up from his place between your legs. 

“Needy are we, angel?” he asks, grinning as you pout and nod. “Need you,” you mumble, but he hears you loud and clear; he’s attuned to you, your angel is. He lowers himself between your thighs once more, kisses your pussy over your panties– and it’s not quite what you need, but it’s enough to have you gasping and quivering. 

Again, he takes his time, as if not a single ounce of urgency resides within him. And make no mistake, it does– but Minho knows how to restrain himself. He’s a stubborn man, that is certainly true, but he’s also perfectly in control of himself; for now, anyways. 

And he likes the way you whine for him when you feel his tongue lick you up over the fabric of your panties. It’s not a full enough feeling for you, or a full enough taste of your pussy for him, but the desperate, whiny sounds it draws out of you are delicious enough to satisfy him.  

Still, while he’s enjoying the way his soft kisses and kitten licks over your panties is making you writhe and cry for him, he also can’t deny how badly he wants to finally taste you directly on his tongue. He’s been patient enough, he thinks, and so have you– why not indulge just a little sooner than planned?

In contrast to how sweetly he’s treated you up to this point, he’s quick to tear your panties away from your body. The sound of the fabric ripping makes you gasp, and maybe later he’ll apologize– but for now, lapping his tongue between your folds is of more importance. You moan when his tongue finally meets your bare pussy, as does Minho– and despite the hunger that he feels, he continues to lick you over slowly. 

The languid pace makes you crazy– you want more, so much more, but your angel has been waiting for this; he needs to take his time with you, needs to embed the taste of your dripping sex on his tongue, needs to make sure it’s something he’ll never be able to forget. And he isn’t trying to tease you by keeping the slow pace– well, maybe he is a little; he does enjoy it, after all– but he’s sincerely craved this for too long to let the moment quickly pass him by. 

He brings his hands to your thighs, squeezing them in his hands and preventing you from closing them around his head. You’re sure it’s partly so he can keep you spread out for him, to keep enjoying the easy access to your pussy, but it’s also so that your trembling thighs don’t cause his mask to shift, and fall from his face. 

You gasp when the cool, smooth and rigid porcelain covering the right side of his nose bumps your clit as he shoves his tongue into your hole. And while he isn’t purposely trying to get you to cum just yet, his slow but diligent ministrations are getting you there regardless– with his tongue dipping in and out of your heat, always pushing in as deep as he can make it go, and his mask-covered nose nudging your clit. 

You let your head fall back against the bed, your every high pitched whimper and moan echoing off the stone walls surrounding you. You try to tell him you’re going to cum, but you fail miserably– all that leaves you is a quick succession of whines before your eyes are rolling, back bowing off the bed as release on his tongue. Minho moans with you, hums happily as he licks the mess from your pussy like the cat that got the cream. 

He laves over your clit when he’s done licking up your cum– and it's sensitive, swollen from your orgasm; but that doesn’t stop him from swirling his tongue around it, and positively knocking the air from your lungs. The sensation is overwhelming, he knows it is even without you telling him, but it’s still so good that you don’t want to squirm away, or ask him to stop– or perhaps you can’t. 

You get the distinct feeling that even if you tried, your limbs would resist, would fight to keep you in place– despite your best efforts, you would remain just as you are now. Spread open and trembling, exactly how Minho wants you. “You make the prettiest music, angel,” he separates from you long enough to speak, “want you to keep singing for me.”

And sing for him you do when he dives back in, flicks your clit with his tongue a few times before wrapping his lips around it, sucking it like a piece of hard candy. Your moans, the smacking sounds of his lips, the way he hums when he returns to your hole to collect the cream– it’s an orchestra, just for the two of you.

You cum again in record time, of course you do. Minho finds it cute, the way you incoherently babble away as you let go for him again. And he isn’t done just because you came again– no, he’s far from finished with your pussy. He doesn’t tire in the slightest, ceaseless in the way he lavishes with you his tongue and suckles with his pretty, perfect lips. 

When you cum for the third time, you don’t even know if you truly ever stop cumming at all– the pleasure just keeps coming in waves, never fully receding before it builds again, washing over you like a tsunami before it all repeats. You writhe and twist, back repeatedly bowing off his bed before falling back, but your thighs stay spread for him, even when his hands stop holding them down. 

His hands have found their way beneath you, cupping and squeezing your ass as he eats away. Your hips wriggle, and he helps grind you up against his face, moaning and humming all the while. It’s too much and not enough all at once; your body screams that it can’t take it, and yet your mind screams that it needs more, and God, you can’t think straight– but is there any point in this night that you were?

You’re hot and heaving, sweat dripping from your brow as you tremble and bend. Minho is hot too, of course– his hair sticking to his forehead with sweat, his face red from his cheeks to his ears, and even down his neck. And were you not so far gone, you’d have noticed that his mask has shifted and fallen from his face. 

It was because of you, too– when another high took you and tugged on his hair hard, crying as your hips jolted and bucked against his face. He should’ve swiftly put it back on, lest you see his scars, but he didn’t– he just shoved it aside, against his better judgment, so he could keep licking you up without interruption. 

You feel positively delirious by the time he’s finished, eyes heavy and bleary, body utterly limp and boneless. He crawls his way up to you, and your gaze is unfocused, blurry; you can hardly distinguish his features anymore– similar to the way he always appeared in your dreams before now.

Regardless, you smile at him before you close your eyes; a weak, but content one that Minho finds oh so endearing. You’re beyond fatigued, but also feel an unmatched sense of elation as your angel strokes your head and whispers sweet nothings for you to fall asleep to. “You belong to me now,” you hear him say, just before you drift off– and you know it’s true. 

You think, perhaps, you’ve always belonged to him. From the very first moment Minho saw you, he knew he was never going to let you go. And just as Orpheus had done for Eurydice, he’d gladly walk into the depths of Hades itself if that’s what it took to keep you by his side. 

He gently caresses your cheek as you fall into a deeper sleep, presses a soft kiss to your lips and whispers a final soft utterance of love before he covers you with a blanket, and your mind goes completely dark for the night. 

You wake the next day with a struggle– at least, you think it’s the next day; it’s too dark in the room you’re in to tell for certain. You reach out for Minho, but don’t feel him anywhere– and as you sit up, and your eyes adjust to the darkness, you realize that you are alone. Your brows furrow as you look around; you’re still in his room, but it doesn’t look quite the same. 

There are no candles, not on the floor or in the candelabra that now lie empty. The tapestries adorning the walls are torn and dulled in color, the piano dusty and the gold decorating it chipped. The sheet of music that sits on the piano’s music desk, that last night looked so fresh and pristine, now appears weathered and yellowed.

As you grab the blanket to pull it off you, you realize it isn't a blanket at all that is covering you, but a cape– Minho’s cape. And on the bed, just an arm’s reach away from you lies a note– the same kind that The Phantom always leaves behind inside the Opera Populaire.

Your hand trembles as you pick it up, eyes straining to read it in the darkness. The message he leaves behind, when your eyes focus on the words well enough to read them, is quite simple. “To my beloved and beautiful Eurydice; welcome home.”

[hayatoseyepatch]

𝕯𝖊𝖘𝖈𝖗𝖎𝖕𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓: You swore grief followed you like a cloud. Losing those who you loved at every turn, but there was one positive at least you had Bachira to turn to for comfort. But you were soon to find out the mysterious deaths surrounding you werent such a mystery afterall. 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖙𝖊𝖗: Meguru Bachira (Blue Lock) 𝖂𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝕮𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙: 1.9k 𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖆𝖎𝖓𝖘: Fem!Reader x Yandere!Bachira. ⚠️NSFW Dark Content⚠️. 𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖓𝖙 𝖂𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘: Knife play, stalking, NONCON, mentions of voyeurism, gas lighting, mentions of murder, obsessive behavior, blood, oral (fem!receiving), pussy slapping, degrading, mind break.

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗’𝖘 𝕹𝖔𝖙𝖊: WE DID IT YALL! We have officially made it to the end of Kinktober!! This was my first time taking a stab (hehe) at this challenge and we may have had a few hiccups along the way, but we got here! I really wanted to end this month with a bang! So this is probably the most intense of the ones on this list. For this one more than all of the others, please be mindful of the tags. This is the most intense and dark fic I’ve done this month. You are responsible for the content you consume, if this is not for you please have a look at my complete masterlist for Kinktober here. This is also my second submission for the "No, You Hang Up" Ghostface server collab that I'm hosting with our other server owner @rindous-starlight I really hope you enjoy and thank you for sticking with me through it! Merry Samhein/Happy Halloween my loves!

Bachira’s eyes were locked on you, unblinking. His gaze was so intense he was surprised that you didn’t feel it through the glass of your window. You were so trusting, but oh so naïve. Not thinking for a moment that your sweet, ditzy, neighbor had such a deep-seated obsession with you. Couldn’t imagine that nearly nightly he sat by his window, the same one that was directly across from yours, eyes locked on your frame. As you changed, danced around, scrolled through your phone, and especially late at night when you let your hands roam your body. To Bachira, in his twisted mind, this was all intentional. Because for what other reason would you, in clear view with your blinds open, let your fingers sink into your delicious cunt? To Bachira he took it as you simply teasing him. Aching for him to make the first move.

You had moved to this neighborhood nearly a year ago. And you would be lying if you said it had been an easy year. The past year had tested you to the extreme. Within only a month your long-term boyfriend went missing. You and Reo had been together for almost ten years, high school sweethearts. You didn’t know what you would do, he had been all you’ve ever known. After spending weeks worried sick, never stopping looking for him, his body had turned up in the middle of the woods. Murdered. You couldn’t imagine who could do such a thing. Bachira had happened to return to his home when you were just wrapping up talking to the police, offering you a kind smile and a warm hug.

Bachira.

You don’t know what you would have done without him this past year. He had been there for you all through your grief, comforting you every step along the way. Despite what anyone said, you were eternally grateful for the sweet man. You best friend, Karasu, hadn’t liked him. Claiming something about “the guy’s vibe being off” and that he “seemed happy with your boyfriend out of the picture”. You two had gotten into an argument that night, after telling Bachira about your squabble the next day you were certain he was right.

Karasu had never liked Reo, claiming you could do so much better. That he and his best friend Nagi’s relationship was weird. But, no, Bachira was right he was projecting. Projecting that Bachira was the one happy Re was out of the picture when it was really him. That didn’t mean that he deserved what happened to him, however. You spent too many nights lying awake relaying the last conversation you both had on repeat. Screaming back and forth before he stormed out. Sure he had been so nasty to Bachira, who all he wanted was to be there for you, but he didn’t deserve…

He didn’t deserve to die.

Enough time had passed since Reo’s passing that you had begun to consider moving on. After Reo, and now Karasu, your late boyfriend’s best friend had begun checking on you more frequently. You weren't sure how it happened, maybe because you were missing Reo and being with Nagi felt like there was still a piece of him left behind. The both of you seek comfort in each other, eventually escalating, blossoming into a bit of an arrangement. The both of you weren't dating by any means, more seeking a body to keep the bed (and your cunt) warm. And it was working, going so well. It was nice having Nagi around, a familiar face you had known for so many years. Not having to rely on Bachira so much.

It wasn’t that you didn’t enjoy the sweet man’s presence, but you were starting to feel guilt for leaning on him so heavily. Bachira had been there for you through both tragedies this past year, now being your only friend in the world with the recent developments in you and Nagi’s relationship. When you had moved here, it was a distance away from your family. Having moved here to be closer to Reo’s work. Karasu was a good enough friend that he had found an apartment nearby, not wanting you to be so far away with no one. But, with him gone now too, it seemed like all you had was Bachira and Nagi. You were so grateful for Bachira’s presence, so lucky to have him in your life.

But oh how wrong had you been.

You wished you had listened to Karasu, that you had never moved here in the first place. Not as your feet slammed against the hardwood of the spacious home left to you in Reo’s absence. Not as you had come home that day to see your couch stained in his blood, his lifeless body being hovered over by the mysterious masked killer. And certainly not as the same man chased you throughout your home, his manic laughter seeming all too familiar. Once you were sure you had put enough distance between you both you ran toward your bedroom, slipping inside your closet.

That had been your first mistake.

The hand you had clamped over your mouth must have not been doing its job well enough

“Come on out, honeybee. I just wanna talk. I promise I wont hurt you, I’d never hurt you. I love you.”

You froze in place where you were hidden, your heart dropping to the pit of your stomach. You knew that voice. It couldn’t be. This couldn’t be happening …Bachira?

You let out an audible gasp, in hindsight that was most likely what had led him to your hiding spot. You let out a scream as the closet door is thrown open, mask discarded from his face now, allowing you to take him in. Crazed look in those honey-colored eyes you had grown to feel so safe when looking into, now causing bile to rise in your throat. Blood staining his hands and smeared on his cheek. Knife tossed aside somewhere on the bed as he collects you into his arms. An embrace where you once felt safe, now making you feel trapped, fear creeping up your spine. You let out a full body shudder as his nose nuzzles into the side of your neck.

“There you are my honey bee. Are you done hiding from me now?” His words come out muffled against your skin, tears pricking the back of your eyes.

“Bachira…why?”

His grip tightens on your figure, surely displeased with your words. His hand coming to your face in a harsh grip, eyes narrowed when looking into yours.

“Meguru.” He nearly growls. “You call me Meguru. People who are in love call each other by their first names. Now say it.”

You let out a hush whimper of his name and that seems to snap him back into his bubbly personality. Before you could comprehend what was happening his lips collided with yours, his tongue invading your mouth. Walking you backward until your knees hit the back of the mattress, causing you to fall back your body hitting the plush mattress with hm still on top of you You whimper, low and in the back of your throat, weakly trying to push him off of you.

“Please… Meguru, stop.”

This seems to upset him one again, his fingers curling around the bladed weapon that lay discarded on your mattress. You felt the cold blade caress the side of your face, cold metal, sliding down the column of your throat. His lips pressed to your ear as he speaks.

“It’s a shame what happened to your boyfriend.” Bachira purred, hand still coated in Nagi’s blood, caressing the side of your face. “All those muscles didn’t help much.”

You feel sick to your stomach, the knife against your throat a reminder of what could happen if you continue to disobey him. You shudder as his hand moves swiftly, cutting through the fabric of your dress and bra, eyes locked on your now-exposed chest. Hearing is mumbled ‘so beautiful. Before he ducked down, capturing one of your nipples between his soft lips. The hand not still holding the knife thumbs your neglected bud to a peak before pinching it between blood-stained digits. With every touch to your skin, more of the evidence of what he had down stains your body. He pays attention to your sensitive buds, grinding his hips into your own. You know you should feel appalled, feel disgusted that the very man who had caused you so much grief was on top of you. Touching you.

So why did it feel so good?

Why did you crave more of his touch?

Why were your hips meeting his own?

Perhaps it had been because it had been a while since you had been touched like this. Nagi found most things to be a hassle, often falling asleep almost immediately after he came. Whatever the reason you were mortified to find yourself craving more. Allowing him to slip your clothes properly off of your body. Not fighting when his lips traveled down your frame. And certainly not when he used his index and middle fingers parted your folds so he cold duck his head down and lick a fat stripe up your soaked cunt. Bachira’s body had a visceral reaction to your taste, burying his face in your cunt, his tongue alternating between licking fat stripes against your clit to pointed circles tracing shapes against the bundle of nerves. His hips grind desperately against the mattress in search of friction to his achingly hard cock. But his head was too pussy drunk already, your taste having his eyes rolling back in his head, eating you like a man starved. Like his life depended on the sustenance of your juices.

He leans back after a moment, admiring you being so exposed for him, hand rearing back to slap your exposed cunt. You cry out, pain immediately being replaced with pleasure as he dives back down, burying this face into your folds once more. His nose bumps your clit as his tongue invades your entrance, curling inside you. He collects your juices on the wet muscle, withdrawing from inside you he pushes himself up. Tongue lolling out of his mouth, allowing your juices, mixed with his own saliva, to drip down on your neglected clit. You whine, the warmth contrasting to the cold of the room. You’re shaking, trying to hold the position he’s placed you in.

Hands gripping your waist tighter than before, which you were sure would leave imprints, if not bruises on your skin in the morning. Lips attach to your clit, tongue flicking rapidly, only pausing to occasionally bite or suck on the sensitive flesh. Your hips pick up speed, practically riding his tongue as your hips buck against his face. The familiar feeling of warmth spreads throughout your stomach, your body hurtling toward your orgasm at an alarming rate. Bachira feels your thighs spasm, both hands now gripping your ass, to pull your cunt down further onto his face, head bobbing to coax you into cumming for him. You release with a scream, thighs trapping his head between your legs, only releasing once you’ve come done from your high. Your chest rising and falling with heavy pats, not noticing Bachira throwing the cloak off of his body, freeing his cock from the confines of his underwear. Only snapping back into reality as you feel the drag of his cock between your folds, the tip of him nudging your entrance, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke.

“Now, be a good girl and scream for me, yeah?”

𝕯𝖎𝖛𝖎𝖉𝖊𝖗𝖘 𝖇𝖞 @/𝖈𝖆𝖋𝖊𝖐𝖎𝖙𝖘𝖚𝖓𝖊 & @/𝖘𝖆𝖗𝖆𝖉𝖎𝖐𝖆-𝖌𝖗𝖆𝖕𝖍𝖎𝖈𝖘.

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙: @pixelcafe-network @interstellar-inn @littleplantfreak @maruflix @umemiaa @stunies @eevees-hobbies @143-ilyuu @uzxotic @princesstiti14 (𝖕𝖑𝖊𝖆𝖘𝖊 𝖋𝖊𝖊𝖑 𝖋𝖗𝖊𝖊 𝖙𝖔 𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙/𝖉𝖒/𝖆𝖘𝖐 𝖎𝖋 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖜𝖔𝖚𝖑𝖉 𝖑𝖎𝖐𝖊 𝖙𝖔 𝖇𝖊 𝖆𝖉𝖉𝖊𝖉 𝖙𝖔 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖙𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝖘𝖔𝖒𝖊 𝖔𝖗 𝖆𝖑𝖑 𝖔𝖋 𝖒𝖞 𝖐𝖎𝖓𝖐𝖙𝖔𝖇𝖊𝖗 𝖋𝖎𝖈𝖘) (ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ.ﾟ

[minnophee-writes]

His Judgement

A/N: Been in such a Dead by Daylight fixation that I don't think it can be stopped. Pyramid Daddy can smash, I don't care - don't @ me. It was a great crime that BHVR took his ass away from us! Also, I wrote this fic while listening to 'Insanely Illegal Cage Fight' by Dal Av + Jackson Rose. For some reason it gave Pyramid Head vibes. This isn't beta read so any grammar and/or spelling mistakes are my own.

Fandom: Dead by Daylight

Pairings: Pyramid Head x Female Reader

Fic Warnings: Character death, blood, violence, betrayal, slight angst, blade / knife, death, dub-con touching, dub-con, smaller female / taller man, size difference, hair-pulling (brief), dark smut, injuries, mating press, long tongue action / tongue fucking (brief) / tongue deepthroating, claiming, breeding, squirting (brief), creampie, (🔞MDNI this fic is for ADULTS! Begone minors🔞)

Summary: When things go from bad to worse during a trial against the Executioner, Reader finds herself standing face-to-face with the large killer himself, ready to accept whatever judgement he deems fit to bestow upon her. However the situation doesn't seem to go as she suspected.

Word Count: 4,311 words

Taglist: @stygianoir

You grabbed onto the hips of Feng and dragged her off the hook, her groans of pain audiable but she tried to quieten them as you herded her behind a large rock to mend her wound. Blood oozed from the gaping hole in her right shoulder but you worked quickly to bandage the injure to slow, and hopefully, stop the blood. Feng nodded to you in thanks before you guided her toward the generator that you were working on before going to her aid.

The realm the entity chose for this trial just so happened to be the Midwich Elementary School, the home of one of the most terrifying killers in the entity's realm. It didn't help that the entity wanted to rub salt in the wound and have the killer actually be the Executioner, he was known to be ruthless during trials, showing no mercy, and defying the entity's rules by outright slaughtering people in these sick, twisted matches. Feng was able to run the large man but he managed to outplay her, ensnaring her within his trail of barbed wire - also known as his 'Trail of Torment'. You had taken shelter in a locker nearby when the Executioner placed her on the hook.

Rushing footsteps startled you and Feng, the sudden appearance of Yun-Jin Lee panting and breathing heavily should have been the first sign to let you know of the oncoming danger yet you and Feng continued working on the generator, now with the help of an anxious Yun-Jin Lee. Everything was quiet for a moment, the only sounds were the generator pistons powering up when you noticed Yun-Jin Lee glancing behind Feng for a few seconds before pushing Feng and running off in the posite direction. You stared after the suspicious woman in confusion and agitation when the sound of Feng's scream caught your attention. The looming figure of the hulking Executioner had pierced his heavy weapon into Feng's torso, the tip of the knife sunk deep in her stomach while her arms scrambled for purchase, rapid gasps left her lips and her eyes were wide in absolute fear.

Time seemed to operate in slow motion, your brain now just processing that Yun-Jin Lee sacraficed Feng to the killer to save herself and fled, leaving you to fend for yourself once he was done punishing Feng. Your heart lurched in sorrow and disappointment, more so disappointed in yourself for not having seen the large killer coming toward them, maybe you could've saved the poor woman - if only Yun-Jin Lee hadn't just selfishly pushed Feng toward her death.

Feng turned her head toward you as her arms weakened in strength, her eyes pleading for something that was not an option, something you couldn't give her. The Executioner yanked his knife from her body before driving it back in, a dark puddle of blood and barbed wires appeared around Feng and devoured her into the ground, taking her and leaving no evidence that she was ever there. Your heart skipped a beat, seeing someone you viewed as a close friend, due to being in many trials together and forming a bond, hurt you deep down and caused tears to slightly blur your vision. The scraping of metal on metal brought you back to the present and you're terrified eyes stared at the large killer a few feet from you, his triangular helmet looking in your direction - his helmet tilting slightly to the side as he seemed to glare you down.

In a sudden rush of adrenaline your body shot into action, you quickly spun around on your heels and sprinted in the last place you saw Yun-Jin Lee and prayed for the best. Your legs carrying you down a flight of stairs and turning down a long corridor, your lungs struggling to intake oxygen and vision slightly unfocusing from how hard you were pushing your body to work in running away from danger. By the time you had reached the end of the corridor you pressed your back against the steel wall and attempted to collect yourself. You didn't hear any heavy footsteps coming after you, and a timid glance down the direction you had just come from proved that the Executioner wasn't pursuing you. You seemed to be in the clear.

A breath of relief escaped your lips before a faint whistle caught your attention, your head turned to the right to see David waving you over into a classroom he was holed up in. You rushed over to him, glad to see a friendly, familiar face, and agreed to help him on his generator. You were tempted to tell David about what Yun-Jin Lee did to Feng, how she willingly sacraficed a teammate - a friend, to the killer and left you for dead just to save her own skin, but you thought against it. Your main concern and goal was to repair the generators so you could get the hell out. The elementary school chilled you to the bone, the disarray of everything in the school and classrooms - they they all left in a rush, almost as if they were quickly evacuated unerved you to no end. So your main motivation on completing your generator tasks were because some of the realms absolutely creeped you out. As the third piston started to pick up speed the woman that had caused you grief appeared in the doorway, making her way arogantly to the other side of the generator, acting as if she hadn't just betrayed a teammate.

An occasional spark would fly as the three of you worked on the gen, the progress slow but surely going, David giving quick glances at the only doorway in and out of the classroom. Your nerves were on alert for any sign of the Executioner, waiting for his sudden arrival and hoping to be able to distract the killer long enough for David to get out of dodge. Any creak or groan from the steel structure had your head turning behind you and toward the door in search for the large man but was greeted with nothing which only calmed your racing heart slightly. Your eyes took note of the vault window on the other side of the classroom which led into the other, a good escape route in case the killer were to appear and block the doorway. David must have seen you looking at it and gave you a subtle nod, acknowledging your find and piecing together two wires which completed the generator, the engine running smoothly now and the three of you made a slow approach to the window vault in the classroom. You were first in the line, then David, leaving Yun-Jin Lee to carry the back but as you neared the vault the loud, piercing sound of metal scraping across metal brought their attention to the classroom doorway.

The bloodied image of the Executioner almost seemed to freeze the trio, his shadow loomed and seemed to swallow the entire room before he then took thundering steps toward you. Yun-Jin Lee rushed passed you and David, shoving the both of you toward the killer while she vaulted the crumbled opening. David lost his footing and was tumbling right into the path of the Executioner when you quickly reacted, grabbing onto David's wide forearm and pulling him back, adrenaline giving you the strength to drag David over to the vault as the killer closed the distance between you.

"Go, David! Run!" You shouted before turning around to face the large man.

His knife was embedded in the ground leaving a trail of torment, cutting off one of the paths to getting out of the classroom. You didn't want to lead the killer in the direction of David so you chose to try and run around the Executioner's left side - the one unaffected by his torment. Just when he was within arms reach you bolted to his left and rushed passed, jumping over a small section of the unforgiving trail and making a mad dash down the hallway, the killer's heavy footsteps storming after you.

He was a man on a mission, only having eyes for you, and you were hoping he would lose track of you soon because your stamina was rapidly draining, but he seemed to always know where you were going. You've run through the bottom floor before attempting to lose chase upstairs, quickly turning corners before dipping into a random classroom and ducked behind an overturned table while you took the time to catch your breath. David slowly exited one of the many lockers that were lined against the wall and rushed over to you, a relieved expression painted on his face.

"Thank God you're okay! You're not hurt, right?" He then looked over your figure for any injuries.

"I'm fine, lets just focus on getting that last gen done." You got up and started to dust yourself off before looking David in the eyes with concern yet certainty after your second run-in with the untrustworthy woman, "Don't trust Yun-Jin Lee... She's the reason Feng is dead..."

"...Shit."

David looked shocked and opened his mouth to say something but the approaching march of the Executioner caused you two to run back over to the lockers and hide next to each other, hoping the beast of a man would just keep walking but those hopes were dashed away when his large figure stepped into the room. His helmet slowly scanned across the room in search for you, his eyeless gaze fell upon the lockers that you and David were hiding in, your breath hitched in anticipation. His steady stride carried him across the spacious room, your muscles growing more tense the closer he got to your lockers, when you noticed a little too late that the Executioner was looking at a different locker - the wrong locker.

The Executioner's thick arm shot out from beside his lent body and grasped the locker door and ripped it off its hinges, David's surprised shout ringing throughout the room as the larger man pulled him out of the locker, and placing him onto his wide shoulder. You bursted out of your locker and clung onto the killer's arm that seemed to put him off balance and dropping David. You grabbed David's hand and began to run away, a very angry killer hot on your heels. One of the hallways had a pallet in the middle that you knew you could use to block the Executioner and gain some distance so you made sure to head toward it, your feet carrying you faster while David kept pace and followed your every move. When the pallet was in sight a few feet away a smile started to grace your face for the first time that trial, but that all came crashing down when you noticed Yun-Jin Lee standing on the other side of the pallet, staring you dead in the face before tossing the pallet down and bolting around the corridor. Your feet stuttered for a split second before you decided that one of you were gonna have to vault the pallet first. You looked over your shoulder to see that the Executioner was a lot closer than you thought and was reeling his arm back to strike at David and your brain went into a panic.

"David, watch out!" You screamed as you pushed him ahead of you, the edge of the knife sliced into the outside of your bicep.

The flaming sting of the injury caused you to let out a squeal as you held onto your arm and made a run for the pallet, David waving encouragingly to you on the other side. Your staggered gait didn't get you far when a strong hand gripped a decent amount of your hair and pulled you back, dragging you into a warm, soild body, ripping another screamed from your lips. You heard David shout your name from where he stood before rushing back over the pallet to get to you.

"No! Let her go!" David readied up to throw a punch but the Executioner just thrust his knife upward.

The blade kissed David's skin, cutting through his button-up and exposed his chest which now displayed a deep, flowing wound from where the blade cut him. David winced and clutched his chest, a groan left his mouth as he looked back toward you. You were terrified, uncertain if anyone was going to survive, and it didn't help that the merciless killer had you in his hold and was readying up to strike David again - this time a killing blow. In a desperate attempt to save at least one of your friends this trial you decided to try begging and bargining. Right as the Executioner drew his arm back to deliever a deadily strike you clung onto the arm holding your body to his and began pleading.

"Wait, no, please!" You cried while squeezing your eyes shut, "I-I'll do anything, please... You can k-kill me right now if you want but spare him!"

You were rambling but you were hoping that the killer would at least pause long enough for David to make an escape. The Executioner slowly glared down at you through his large helmet, his head tilted in feigned thought before suddening swinging his arm overhead and implanted his knife into David's neck, blood spurted out everywhere, and his eyes bulged out while his gasps were wet and thick. Whimpers and whines left you as you watched the light fade from his eyes, his body steadily sinking to the floor before it slumped down and hit the floor with a thud. Before you could process anything you were then thrown against one of the steel walls and lifted a few feet of the ground by your throat, a large hand encased it and made it a struggle for you to take deep breaths. He stared you down while he watched you struggle to get out of his grip, his suffocating presence suddenly making you have flashes of some of the children drawings scattered around the school - some of the drawings depicted said killer in front of her, a name scribbled on top that made sense for a child; Pyramid Head. 'Seemed fitting for him', you thought brieftly.

Pyramid Head jabbed the knife into the floor next to you both before using his other hand to grope your body, using it to spread your leg to insert his hip between them and opening your legs wider. The position caused you to have to wrap your legs around his waist to try and lessen the pressure on your neck but he just placed his hand on your ass and held tight, hitching you up higher and pressed you between the wall and his solid body. A deep rumble spread from within his chest and a slick, slimy appendage timidly appeared from under the pulsing puss under the helmet before it confidently started to lick your face, covering your face in thick saliva. The tip slid across your lips a few times before forcing its way passed them, exploring your mouth and worming itself down your throat.

You let out a squeal in rejection but that didn't seem to do anything to the Executioner as he continued to thrust his tongue down your neck, sliding it back and forth, as if it got pleasure from it. His hips humped into your crotch which shot small waves of pleasure up your spine, strained moans escaped your lips while you tried to find where to place your hand before settling with clutching onto the arm that's holding you by the neck. He let go of your ass to ruck up his filthy apron to expose his pulsing cock, the tip red and leaking with pre-cum. You choked on his tongue in horror, trying to angle your hips away from him but he took that as some sort of invitation to shred your pants from your legs, your underwear disappearing with it while he rubbed his thumb against your folds in an attempt to get you wet and wanting. He retracted his tongue from your throat to then go down to your pussy, smearing his saliva over your vulva and clit, teasing your hole by probing it in exploration before plunging in deep.

You yipped from the wet intrusion of his tongue, you could feel it wriggling around inside - pushing against your spongy walls until it found your g-spot, your body eliciting a full-body spasm. Your mouth opened and closed from the onslaught of pleasure his tongue was giving you once he discovered your hidden spot deep within you, not even your toys could find it half the time and yet this large, brutal killer found it within seconds. It left you stunned more than anything else, your brain going fuzzy and all logical thought disappeared. His thumb pressed into your clit again which made you clench your pussy around his tongue, a moan left your throat at the pleasure flowing through your in waves, your body warming up from the growing arousal.

Your head flopped to the side as you let out a sigh, your eyes fluttered opened and your vision was then filled with David's cold corpse lying on the floor, his glazed eyes staring in your direction and your stomach squeezed - threatening to make you throw up any sustenence inside. You shut your eyes tightly before righting your head straight, a cool chill creeped up your spine at the mental image of your dead friend only a few inches away. Once you opened your eyes again you stared up at the helmet, hoping you were looking where his eyes may roughly be.

"Pyramind Head, please-" You managed to rasp out, "- I-I wanted you to spare him... why?"

Tears fell from your eyes and down your cheeks as you continued to look at him but you got no response, the only response you got was a deep, rumbling growl and his tongue thrusting in and out of you faster, his thumb rubbing circles on your clit rapidly as well. Your breath hitched and a loud, prolonged whine echoed around you both, your walls spasming before hot, white ecstasy burst through you - the tight knot that had quickly formed in your lower stomach suddenly snapped that caused you to drench Pyramid Head's lower sternum and tongue. A foamy, white ring surrounded the base of his appendage and smeared itself across it with each thrust, it drove him feral and the pulse in his cock couldn't be ignored anymore.

Pyramid Head thrusted his cock against your wet cunt, soaking his dick in your juices before attempting to align the tip with your twitching hole and as he steadily pushed in it stretched you in an impossibly delicious way. The moan you let out rang down the corridor but your attention wasn't on how loud you were being, your thoughts were on how big the Executioner was and how he may have ruined any other man for you and he wasn't even halfway in yet. He thrusted in a few more inches before the base of his cock was snug against your pelvis, his hips grinded on your swollen clit, your cunt clung to him from the stimulation. After giving you a brief moment to get adjusted to his cock he began to back his shaft from you before driving it back in with a deep, powerful thrust, punching noises and air from you. Each strong thrust loosened your legs from his waist and he decided to wrap his thick arms under them, he brought them up so that your ankles rested on his shoulders and the angle made it feel as though he was fucking into you deeper than before. Your nails dug into his biceps as he drilled into you, the wet sound of skin slapping skin and your meek moans were the only sounds that could be heard, his tongue hovered over your clit as a large glob of spit splattered onto it - his hips smeared and grinded it into your clit and your toes curled.

A silent scream left your lips as your pussy splashed the Executioner in your juices, your back arched sharply as the walls of your cunt throbbed intensely as it milked his cock. A rumbling groan vibrated inside his chest and his hips stuttered for a few thrusts before burying it deep within you, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix and thick, heavy ropes of cum coated your walls. His cock pulsed with each shot of cum and he gave a few small thrusts to fuck some of it into your cervix, laying claim over you by hoping to breed your fertile womb.

You let out a drawn out whine as you felt his cock slowly withdraw from your abused pussy, your gaping hole twitched as it tried to suck in the cum that slowly dripped out of it. Pyramid Head carefully set you onto the ground as he readjusted his apron, his hand grasped his weapon's handle before yanking his knife out of the floor. You lazily stared at the looming figure accepting your fate, knowing it was only going to last for so long before he killed you in painful ways only he can imagine. Your eyes closed as you waited for the final blow, hoping that he would be nice for once and show mercy with giving you a swift death yet none of that happened. You opened an eye to see what he was up to prior to opening your other eye to glance up at his still form.

A horrified gasp came from your left and you turned your head to see Yun-Jin Lee peeking around the corner, her hands covered her wide mouth and her eyes were almost popping out of her head, a disgusted and petrified looked was etched onto her features. Her eyes bore into your tired figure on the ground, too drained to even properly cover your exposed bottom when, faster than you had ever seen him move, Pyramid Head clutched a fist into the other woman's hair and threw her across the air, her body colided with the hard with a hard smack. Yun-Jin Lee yelped in distress and attempted to crawl away from him but he drove his knife into her calf, the blade sliced and shredded through her muscle and bone, and she let out a piercing scream that had you flinching away.

Yun-Jin Lee stared up at the Executioner with pleading eyes but they wouldn't reach him for he has already decided her fate. Lifting his blade high in the air he brought it down with fierce strength, swinging his weapon multiple times and created many deep, slash wounds - each one becoming more violent than the last. Pyramid Head slammed his blade across the forearm of Yun-Jin Lee, her right arm became detattched and slumped to the floor, while his foot crushed her mid-spine between him and the ground. Yun-Jin Lee was getting desperate and frantically thrashed around hoping to wiggle her way from under the intense judgement of the Executioner yet it was useless, he only put more of his heavy weight onto her spine and a cry of pain was torn from her. With two hands he raised his knife and, with the swiftest movement you've ever seen, he drove the blade into her back - a loud crack pierced through the air and a wet squelching could be heard when the knife sliced through Yun-Jin Lee.

The last of her breath escaped her dry lips before her body fell limp, her still figure stayed face down as Pyramid Head removes his weapon, from the now dead corpse, and turned his helmet toward you once again. A small feeling of dread shot through you for a split second but your brain was still foggy from the rough fucking he had given you just moments ago, and your limbs felt like they were made of lead - anytime you tried to move your arms or legs you were met with no response from your muscles. You watched as the Executioner walked over to your slumped body, examining your for a minute or two before he leant forward and wrapped an arm around you, lifting you from the ground and over his broad shoulder.

Pyramid Head started a steady gait toward one end of the corridor, his destination unknown, yet you weren't afraid of being hooked and being sacrificed to the Entity. He walked passed many hooks on his journey, your mind growing more and more confused while you watched one of the hooks fade around a corner as Pyramid Head continued on, his steps only speeding up once the howling, whimsical noise of the hatch could be heard. Pyramid Head turned quickly into a classroom, the hatch a few feet away from you both when he gently set you on your feet, his hand clutching onto your hips to steading you - and to grope you one last time. You warily glanced between the hatch and the Executioner, as if waiting for him to then crush your hopes of escape by beating you to the hatch and closing it, but he just stood there.

The Executioner subtly nodded over to the hatch, giving you a slight nudge toward it and you timidly made you way over to it. You looked back at Pyramid Head one last time and muttered a hushed thank you before disappearing into the hatch, the opening then slammed close and a black, smokey abyss surrounded the Executioner, teleporting him back into the killers realm. Somewhere in the back of his mind a faint voice promised him that within due time you'd be his, that you would become his pet and that was going to be his reward for being such a loyal being.

~~~~~~~

A/N: Hope you enjoyed this fic! Make sure to like and reblog this to let me know that you want more <3 Had heaps of fun writing this and hope to write another banger soon 😎

[azsazz]

Evening Roost

ACOTAR Omegaverse Week Day 1: Cassian x Reader [Nesting]

Summary: This was supposed to be for omegaverse x acotar day 1 but now it just is. Prompt was: Surely there’s a perfectly normal, completely unsuspicious reason they’re feeling an irresistible urge to arrange and rearrange the blankets and pillows…. right?

Anon Req: for omegaverse day 1, I could so see reader spending AGES every year to make a nest, only for cassian to destroy it within like two minutes every heat cycle bc he's too distracted by his mate and excited to pay attention to little things like that ... and one year reader gets mad and is like "you're not f*cking me in here until you're not a threat to its structural integrity" and cassian is very regretful & apologizes & makes it up to her by making her cum until she can't think straight ...? (if you don't like this prompt feel free to ignore it this was just an idea ... also I'm a big fan of your work & I'm excited you're writing more!!) 🩷🩷

And also fulfills anon reqs : Not sure if you’re taking requests but could you write an omega/alpha fic with Cassian where reader is in heat? Love your writing! —and—Heyyyy! Once your requests might be free, can you do a Omegaverse heat fic but with Cassian, something with both angst and some spicy smut?

Warnings: Smut, dom/sub dynamics, light breeding kink.

Word Count: 2640

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“And…perfect,” you sigh, smiling contently to yourself as you shift the last pillow into place. Sitting back on your haunches, you admire the nest you spent the entirety of the week building, piled high and far away from where anyone can see it. Or touch it. 

Namely, your mate.

Yes, Cassian is everything you want in an alpha and more: muscle upon muscle that he uses unabashedly to carry you around, to throw you over his shoulder when you’re pouting and grumbling when you should really be riding his cock. Or when he smacks your ass with that rough, calloused hand of his, the one you’d like stuck right between your legs right now.

You shift, biting your lip as you rub your thighs together, eliciting a sensation you know all too well, a flood of warmth pooling deeply between them.

Your heat has been building for a few days now, as if waiting for the perfect moment to appear. Your body must have sensed that Cassian’s rut was on its way as well, forcing your body to respond to your alpha’s scent. You’ve been feeling the familiar discomfort of your oncoming cycle, irritable to anyone who wasn’t Cassian, sensitive to sounds and smells, especially blood, and feeling like your body is always just a little bit too hot. 

Which is why you’ve been patiently awaiting the other paw to drop, busying yourself by building the perfect nest. It has taken careful meandering and pawning of objects from throughout your home: a cord of leather that Cassian had taken out of his damp hair before climbing into the tub with you last night, the worn scabbard of one of his knives, a day old shirt that hadn’t been used for sparring, and another one that had.

In the corner of your closet, you sit, burrowing deeply into the fabrics and reveling in the scents of your mate. The mead he drank until he was dizzy still lingers from where he’d sweat it out the night after. The lingering scent of his soap, brash and heady and all male. The faint tinge of your juices from where they’d gotten on the sheets, the ones you hadn’t allowed anyone to clean, to touch when he fucked you into them two nights prior.

It feels like a secret, you think as you smile into the dark. All the way at the back of the expansive closet, nestled between hanging clothes and boots, nestled beside training boots and hidden weapons should you ever need them. It’s the perfect place, the perfect size for someone like you, an omega blissfully waiting for her alpha to fall into the throes of his rut.

“Little omega,” Cassian sing-songs. You hear the door to your bedroom opening and closing with a quick snap and your anticipation spikes. The heat between your thighs grows as your body goes hot. There’s a keen alertness to his voice that makes your stomach fill with butterflies, your cunt drench with need.

His rut is here.

“Where are you?” He wonders aloud, and a bolt of thrill zips up your spine at the thought of this game you have the chance to play. Hunter and prey. How he’s going to sniff you out like the depraved man he is, capture you and bend you over this pile of goods to take you long and hard and hot, just the way you both need. You know that within minutes you’ll be succumbing to the full effects of your heat, your body attuned so beautifully to his rut.

You eagerly await your mate's arrival.

You can hear it the moment he catches a whiff of your scent. The low growl has you clenching your thighs, sending your heartbeat galloping. What follows is what makes you want to moan, to give your spot away to him, to bare yourself to your alpha and have him claim you over and over and over again.

The bite mark on your throat pulses as the sound of his belt hits the floor, his weapons soon following. The dull thud of their sheaths are each a throb to your clit. You don’t need to imagine how perfect his body moves as he prowls closer to the door, already knowing that each muscle of his is coiled tight with the same anticipation you’re feeling. It zips down the bond, flooding your body with a pleasurable feeling. 

The closet door cracks wider and you only get a glimpse of those hazel eyes—all pupils with the untamed actions of a rut—before he lunges inside.

It’s tight with the both of you in here. Cassian’s fingers claw at your clothes, and it’s not a tear that can be sewed up like new to be worn another day. No, this is Cassian shredding your clothes into strips, buttons flying off of fabric and clicking against the walls. It’s the delicate lace of your panties he tears off with his teeth, wrapping the remnants around his wrist like he’s won himself a new bracelet. You love that he’s so desperate for you, but he’s being careless, dislodging items in your nest that were perfectly built while he scrambles to expose your body, more than ready to ravage you for this week-long cycle. 

You cry out at the feeling of Cassian’s sharp teeth nipping at your shoulder when you try to shove him off. You’re all too aware of how he’s displacing your pristine nest, the one you hadn’t hardly wanted him in in the first place because of this very reason.

He always destroys it.

“Cassian!” You shout, and only then does it seem to cut through the haze he’s already giving into. He pulls back quicker than an asp, fear a dark ring around his eyes as he stares down at you.

“Did I hurt you, mate?” He questions, frantically looking you over. His fingers trace your skin and your body buzzes in response. But as you look at your nest, now a mere mess of twisted blankets and skewed knick-knacks, your heart plummets and your brows draw together, your eyes prickling with tears.

“No, you didn’t hurt me physically,” you say, throat tight. Cassian frowns, not quite understanding until you gesture to the mess around you. “I know what it’s like to submit to the rut grating through your bones right now,” you speak quietly, enough for him to grasp your feelings. “But you wreck my nest every time you have a rut. Even during my heats. A burrow that is sacred to me, and should be to you too. It’s one of the only places I feel safe—” The other being in his arms.  “—When I’m going through a heat. And I want you there, mate, I need you there, but not if you’re going to ruin my hard work.”

You watch the regret lance his eyes, but before he can say anything, you’re continuing, fighting through the wetness coating your throat, ignoring the wetness coating your thighs.

“I’m sorry, my love,” Cassian leans forward, caressing your cheek. You allow it, lean into it even, but you will not continue with this rut until you feel fully at peace and comfortable to do so. “Please, what can I do?”

“Fix it,” you murmur, almost helplessly. There’s a hollowness to your chest that may be heightened by the effects of your oncoming heat, but right now it feels like you’ve lost something greater than a pile of blankets. You’d feel embarrassed, almost, if you were more clear-minded. “You won’t be fucking me in here until you’re not a threat to its structural integrity.” 

You watch Cassian’s throat bob, his cock twitch at your demands, a pretty pearl of precum making its presence known. You quirk an eyebrow, trying very carefully to keep your face stern, shoving back the teary sensations as you tear your gaze from the sight of his leaking cock.

He likes it when you make demands of him? 

You tuck that thought away for later.

“Of course,” Cassian agrees vehemently, already reaching for the first blanket.

You shuffle out of the way. It’s difficult in the space of the closet, now that you’re trapped inside with your behemoth of an alpha who trapezes around as he begins his work. The air is hot and thick already, your forehead is dewey with sweat. You might be regretting building your nest in the closet sooner rather than later. 

You find yourself wondering if you can convince Cassian to move the entire nest later, if he’ll make it just as perfect as this one.

“And Cassian?” You ask, waiting for him to turn. When you have his full attention, you allow your fingers to drift up your bare stomach to your peaked nipples, pinching and rubbing at them. Cassian growls in response and your cunt clenches at the sound. You nearly tell him to forget it and take you up against the racks of clothes instead. “For every item you perfectly fix, is the number of times we’re going to cum together.”

It’s a futile promise at best. Once the both of you succumb to your respective heat and rut, there will be no counting. There won’t be anything but the primal urge to fuck and breed, the both of you cumming more times than you could even imagine. There have been times when the lust was so consuming, you hardly remember anything besides the pleasure Cassian stoked into you, pumping you so full of his seed your stomach bloated with it. How he fucked you on his knot again and again until he fucked himself into a blacking out.

Your mate growls and nods eagerly. The breath whooshes out of his chest as he turns away, snatching a pillow that had fallen from the pile. You know that he’ll never get your nest back to how you had it, that he hadn’t taken a single glance at your work before crashing into it like a bull in a china shop, but you’re more distracted by the curve of that toned ass on display, his cock hanging heavy between those glorious thighs, dragging over one of the blankets and leaving a line of precum in its wake. You watch, entranced by his strong shoulders and wings, how they glide under his tan skin like butter.

“A little to the left,” you advise when Cassian turns to look at you after placing a discarded sheath in place, an expectant look on his face. You bite your lip to hold in the delightful purr that rages in your veins as he follows your command.

“Like this?”

“Perfect, mate,” you agree, taking one step closer. Your fingers smooth down your body, dipping between your legs because with the way he’s perched on his knees for you, you need some sort of stimulation or you’re going to pounce on him. Cassian’s eyes zero in on the movement, iris’ consumed by the black of his pupil. His nostrils flare at the scent leaking from your thighs.

Cassian begins to work even faster.

“Cassian?” You question when your body plunges right over the edge into want. Your heat slams into you full force, and all you crave is to be laid in that nest of yours, built by both of your hands, and give yourself to your alpha.

He hums, peeking over at you. He’s almost done, almost has it perfect, and then he’s going to be mounting you so fast that you won’t even know what hit you. His cock is leaking all over your nest, eager for your cunt to bury itself home in. All he can think about is how he hopes you don’t mind the mess he’s leaving behind while trying to clean up his other one. 

Every muscle in his body reacts to the scent that’s emanating from you. His cock is thick and hard, swollen and ready. He’s going to knot you within the first two strokes, he can already feel it, can imagine the way your cunt will swallow him eagerly, milking him desperately, latching for a pup. He’ll make it up to you though, he can promise that, because Cassian has days and he can be a very inventive male when he wants to be.

When he blinks the haze from his eyes, pupils finally settling their attention on you, you breathe, “It’s great, alpha. But one thing is missing.” 

Cassian frowns, his thick brows pulling tight in confusion. “What’s that, love?”

“It’s missing me.”

That’s all the invitation he needs. You shriek at his speed, the strength that he uses, wrapping an arm around your waist and hauling you back into the nest. 

You land with a breathless laugh that melts into a needy keen when Cassian splays your legs wide for him and licks a fat stripe up your cunt. You both shiver, you at the feeling of his wet tongue, and him at your taste.

“I won’t last,” he admits, but neither of you care when he pumps himself into you in one long stroke. Your body melts into the blankets and pillows beneath you, feeling so full. You could live like this forever, you think, Cassian’s cock buried deep inside of you, the warmth it provides, the pleasure, it’s all too much.

“Me…neither,” you pant, crying out when he hits your cervix. Fuck, he’s going to put a pup in you by the end of the week. Maybe a whole litter. You can feel it this time. “Fuck, Cassian! You feel so good!”

“You feel like heaven, mate,” he growls back. His breath is hot on your throat, his sharp teeth grazing your skin. It lights your body up like a star and your eyes roll into the back of your head, nails scratching down his back as the feeling builds. “You are my heaven. The stars in my sky and the breath in my lungs. You’re—fuck,” he chokes, quickening his thrusts. “You’re fucking mine.”

Cassian’s fingers slide between your bodies as he slams his mouth against yours. He’s devouring you in more ways than one, and when he starts circling his fingers against your throbbing clit—not too hard and not too soft, just fucking perfect like he always does, even when he’s lost in the throes of his heat—you cum.

You gush, even, and then Cassian’s cumming too, releasing with a growl that shakes the house built into the mountain. You wouldn’t be surprised if the noise causes a landslide.

He pulses inside of you, thick, hot ribbons of cum filling you. His knot grows with each pump, with each spurt, until you’re whimpering with overstimulation, writhing against his body. Cassian doesn’t let up, he’s still going, grinding down on you until there are tears in your eyes, until his incessant rubbing onto your clit turns from sensitive to all out wanting again. You chase that orgasm, jerking your hips against his until you’re drowning in the sensations of it again, until you’re drowning in the feeling of his cum stuffing you full.

Cassian watches you with rapt attention. Waits until you’ve calmed. Opened those pretty eyes. Then, does he cradle you in his arms and roll onto his back, letting you rest against his chest to catch your breath. He wipes the hair from your face, brushes the dampness across your forehead and kisses it tenderly, before dipping down to capture your lips sweetly. This is only the first of the orgasms you’ll both share, and it might not have lasted long, but it rocked your world entirely.

You blink up at him sleepily, moan a little when you feel his cock throb with another squirt of cum. 

“Rest now, mate,” he says gently, and the rumble of his voice is a lullaby all its own. “I’ll be keeping you up for many nights to come.”

[safetypinxtales]

400 years | Azriel

summary: drinking with your best friend takes a turn when you happen upon some of Feyre's art supplies.

words: 3.2k

warnings: steamy 18+ mdni, nudity, sex is insinuated but not described, kissing, alcohol consumption (drink responsibly), reader and azriel are drunk, making out, big dick azriel, fluff, no use of y/n, neutrally described reader/no reader description

notes: happy valentines day, here's some azriel for youuu🤍 I got the inspiration for this whilst reading this fic by @solbaby7 bc who wouldn't want to draw az like one of your French girls?? Frankly there is nothing I would like to do more. Their fic is amazing and you guys should totally check it out if you haven't already! Anyways, I'm sorry for the "shut the door" type ending, but I cannot write smut to save my life so this will have to do. Hope you enjoy!🤍

masterlist

Thud.

The sound of Azriel accidentally smacking his head on the wall as he plopped down on the sofa across from you echoed within the walls of the cabin, and you couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled out of you. Azriel’s own shaking shoulders and scrunched up nose let you know that he couldn’t help it either. 

But that was to be expected wasn’t it? The past hour had been filled with nothing but bubbling laughter from the both of you, giggles from Az, and some very graceful snorts… also definitely from Azriel. 

The reason why he had brought you to Rhys’ cabin in the mountains was long forgotten after the two nearly empty bottles of alcohol on the table in front of you. The heartache of getting stood up on your date earlier that evening buried under a considerable amount of drinks. 

“As long as the glass is never empty in between refills, they don’t count.”

Azriel’s words from earlier came back to you, only fuelling your cramp inducing giggles. 

That had always been your motto in times like these. A consistency that had lasted centuries. 

“I can’t breathe,” you wheezed out in between fits of hysteria, your arms coming up to wrap around yourself. But your laughter didn’t die down, and neither did Azriel’s. Your uttered words only seemed to fire him on as he tipped over on his side, hand landing a slap on the armrest.

Seeing him like this, so free and relaxed, was rare. You could probably count each separate occasion on your hands. He only really let go like this when you needed it. When the urge to drink your walls down and flush the pain away seemed like the only remedy to whatever situation you were dealing with.

It was a very rare occurrence indeed. But one of your favourites. 

Azriel’s carefree giggles, that luminous light in his eyes; you swore it could make budding flowers bloom.

You sat up straight, and the situation stopped feeling so funny as you laid eyes on Azriel’s still laughing frame. The uncontrolled giggles, and the way his wings shook in time with his chest. It was enchanting, the sight of your best friend being so relaxed, so happy. 

The shadows that were usually crowding his frame were nowhere to be seen – with the exception of the lone swirl of darkness slowly snaking its way around your wrist, coming down to entwine with your fingers every now and again.

It took a couple more minutes until Azriel’s laughter had finally seized. You both sat on separate sofas, smiles stretched wide and eyes glazed over from the alcohol you had ingested, and as your breathing started to return to normal a thought struck.

“What?” Azirel asked as he leaned forward on his elbows, a curious glint in his eyes. 

“What?” You prodded back, more confused than curious, blinking a few times to try and rid the alcohol-induced veil that surrounded you. What was he on about? 

“Well,” he waved one floppy hand in your direction, “you just perked up, it was like you grew ten inches,” he exclaimed, before continuing in a slightly lowered, bemused voice, ”and that means you just had one of your ideas.”

The corners of your mouth quirked upwards as you slowly nodded your head. He was right – you had come up with an idea.

“Well, I was just thinking about how Feyre mentioned after the last time she was here,” you stood up from your seat, swaying slightly but quickly finding your balance, doing your very best to not bump into the table separating you. “Something about forgotten art supplies.”

Like a predator sighting a prey, Azriel’s interest piqued in a moment. His razor sharp focus was on your every step as you walked towards the supply closet at the other side of the room. 

The closet was unusually dusty, a strange thing for being Rhysand’s property. He was usually very meticulous when it came to things always being spotless and presentable. But you supposed that a small, rarely used supply closet in the family cabin wasn’t a priority of his. Keeping it clean was not a good enough use of his magic. 

Luckily for you, that just made your quest easier. You just had to look for whatever was covered in the least amount of dust bunnies.

“Aha!” You whipped around to face your friend, triumphantly displaying the sketch pad and charcoals in your hands. 

Azriel’s eyebrows shot up at your revelation, grin still present on his beautiful face.

“That’s your big idea? Drawing?”

“You should know I used to be quite the whiz with the charcoals when I was younger,” you rebutted and Azriel’s eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly. 

“I have seen your penmanship, so I will believe this talent of yours when I see it,” he muttered and you couldn’t help but gasp at the sheer audacity in his words. Your penmanship was not that bad.

Taking a few steps back in his direction with a huff, you flipped through the sketch pad in search of an unused sheet of parchment. You were gonna show him, alright…

You couldn’t help but admire Feyre’s old sketches as you went through the pages. Some you recognised as early-version sketches of paintings you had seen around the river house, and some were–

“Oh!” Your fingers froze as your eyes landed on what seemed to be an anatomical study. A very detailed, very beautiful, anatomical study of – oh my Gods. You felt your cheeks heat up. 

“Is that Rhysand?!”

At the screech in your voice and the mention of his brother’s name, Azriel shot up off the sofa to get a peek at whatever had managed to pull such a reaction from you. 

The warmth of his body radiated into your side as he peered over your shoulder at the drawing of the very naked high lord. 

You noticed him stiffening out of the corner of your eyes and then, like a tether snapping, laughter started to boom inside the walls of the cabin. With a steadying hand on your shoulder he doubled over in giggles so contagious it didn’t take long before you joined in with his hysterics. 

“No way,” he wheezed, “oh Gods – I can’t wait to tell Cassian!” 

The mere thought of how Cassian would react to such a revelation, the look on his face, had you clutching your stomach. Poor Rhys would never hear the end of it.

And by the cauldron, if you don’t wake up with rippling abs tomorrow from the amount of laughter this night had brought….

“You can’t blame her though,” you mused once you managed to get your giggles under control, “I mean, nice job Feyre.” A low whistle left you as you peered down at your clearly blessed high lord.

The laughter quieted down beside you and you raised your gaze to look at Azriel, only to be met with an incredulous look. 

“What, I’m just calling it as I see it!” You exclaimed and raised your hands in defence, charcoals and disrobed Rhysand still in your grasp.

His eyes flicked down to the sketch pad, before slowly coming back up to meet yours, that look never leaving his face.

“Oh, please.” 

The words fell from his lips with such cool confidence your smile faltered momentarily, eyebrows knotting together.

“You can’t be serious?” He asked, and when you stayed quiet he continued, “that’s nothing.”

Nothing?

From where you were standing, respectfully, it looked like everything.

“What? Like you can do better?” 

Your challenge seemed to light a spark in his eyes and time slowed as he took a step backwards, fingers coming down to grip the hem of his t-shirt.

One swift movement and his shirt was off, muscles rippling under his bronzed skin as he tossed the dark fabric on the floor, his eyes not once straying from yours. 

He kept backing up, step after torturous step, until his legs hit the sofa. The corners of his mouth tugged up in a smirk as he plopped down, arms behind his head, far leg propped up, large wings casually draped over the armrest.

“Draw me then, whiz,” he challenged, using your word from earlier, “let me be your muse.” 

The heat crawling up your neck, scorching the tips of your ears, were not solely from the liquor as you padded over to the opposite sofa. 

No, it was from something very different. Something strikingly sobering, yet oh-so intoxicating. 

You sat down and carefully placed the pad in your lap, flipping through it until you reached a blank page. You moved some hair out of your eyes and tucked it behind your ear, picked up a charcoal and brought it to the parchment – when you felt yourself hesitate. You took your lip between your teeth as you contemplated your next move. The risk. The absurdity. The excitement. 

He was your friend. Your best friend, and yet…

You lifted your gaze to find Azriel’s eyes locked to yours with such focus, such challenge. Like he was sizing up an opponent on the battlefield. 

His eyes flicked down to your hand, if only for a split second, as you gently put down the charcoal. He cocked an eyebrow when his gaze once again found yours. 

“I just,” you took a deep breath, “I just don’t think it’s really fair on Rhys, you know?” The shadow around your wrist flickered, as if sensing what you were about to do. The lines you were about to cross.

You watched as Azriel’s eyebrows drew together, and you fought the twitching of your lips as you continued, “I mean, you are still half clothed.”

With a slight shrug of your shoulders, you watched as your words sank in. How his eyes seemed to darken, the corner of his mouth raised in the smallest of smirks. 

“Is that so?” He mused, and you tried your best to level his stare. To not back down. Not shy away. 

With an incline of your head, you nodded. And watched his hand inch closer to his pants. Down past that dark trail of hair, to the laces tied together at the waistband. Watched as he grabbed a hold of the string… and pulled. 

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t focus on anything other than his hand. How his fingers untied the font of his pants so slowly, so delicately it felt like torture. You were transfixed by his fingers. Loosening the laces, his thumb slipping beneath the waistband…

You snapped your gaze up to his face, to find him still looking at you – studying you. 

Your breath hitched in your throat at the sound of his pants hitting the floor. With your eyes still locked to his, your heartbeat pounding in your ears, you wondered what you had gotten yourself into. Here you were, in front of your fully naked best friend – about to draw him. 

Let me be your muse.

His words from earlier echoed in your mind as you tore your gaze from his face and dragged it lower, and lower, until…

Your head emptied. Your tongue felt about as dry as the beaches you had visited in Summer last year. Because the sight that beheld you was breath-taking. 

The length between his legs, standing aroused and proud, really did make Rhysand’s portrait look like nothing. 

A part of you had almost hoped that Azriel’s confidence had just been for show. That it was just his competitiveness shining through, a feat to best his brother. 

The reality?

Monstruos would have been a fitting word had the sight not compelled you so. Had it not caused you to burn for him. Crave him. 

Delicious seemed to be a better word to describe your friend. Beautiful. Mouth-watering. A thing of art.

Which is why you picked up your discarded charcoal and put it to the parchment. 

You studied the planes of his body, the hard lines, the soft skin. The muscles that could have been carved by the Mother herself. You avoided looking at his face though, instead focusing on the various scars that marred his skin, telling stories of battles and fights. Of brawls with his brothers. 

You felt him looking at you, however. He hadn’t stopped looking at you. Not since the sketch pad came into play.

It made it annoyingly hard to focus. 

The scratching sound of charcoal on paper stopped. 

“How long have we known each other?” Your voice wavered, mouth dry. You cleared your throat and raised your gaze to finally meet his. 

Azriel tipped his head to the side, contemplating, “about 400 years.”

400 years. And never before had you seen him naked. Not like this. Not splayed out like a feast, waiting to be devoured. Not with his gaze so burning you were afraid it was going to singe your clothes to ashes. 

“Right,” you mumbled, eyes flicking back down to your hands. They were smudged with soot, your thumb and index finger blackened, that lone shadow still curiously snaking around your wrist. 

That is a very long time.

Azriel seemed to notice how the little confidence you had faltered, for he straightened somewhat from his leisurely sprawl. 

“You okay?” There was only soft concern enveloping his words, a drastic change from the tension flooding the space between you just seconds before. 

It was a very long time, indeed. So why didn’t this feel wrong? 

You let out a deep breath, “yes, I think so.” 

Your answer apparently didn’t settle his worries though, because he raised from the sofa and rounded the table between you. 

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him as he stopped in front of where you sat. 

Only when he lowered his hand – fingers coming to rest under your chin, tipping you face up – did you meet his eye. 

The heartbreaking concern written all over his face seized your heart. The soft furrow of his brow. The slight dip at the corners of his pouty lips. The brutal softness swimming in those hazel eyes. 

It took your breath away.

“Are you sure?” He questioned, voice barely above a whisper.

You didn’t trust your voice, not with the vulnerable proximity between you. All you managed was a meager nod. A small up and down bob of your head. 

His fingers tugged on your chin, and as if in a trance, you followed the wordless command and rose to your feet. 

“I need you to use your words here, sweetheart,” his voice was soft, but the underlying command was undeniable, “please.”

Your heart was pounding in your chest as you swallowed and managed to breathe out “I’m okay.” 

That seemed enough to ease Azriel’s concern, a breath of relief fanning across your face. 

“Good,” he murmured, almost as if more to himself.

His eyes left yours, and flicked down. To your mouth, you realised, as his thumb moved from your chin up to graze your bottom lip.

That intensity was back in his gaze, that predatory focus – all directed at you. His thumb pulled at your lip before letting go, and the shudder that overtook your body could have made the earth shake.

There couldn’t be more than a foot of space between you. 

So dangerously close.

He was your friend. 

Right? 

“400 years,” you whispered, eyes flicking down to follow the bob of his throat as he swallowed. “400 years of friendship.” 

You felt light headed. 400 years, and all could be thrown away as easy as breathing. All you had to do was take half a step.

“Three,” Azriel’s voice grumbled above you as your eyes trailed down to inspect the shallow rise and fall of his chest.

“Hmm?” Your mumble was absent minded, your thoughts being too preoccupied by the male in front of you. What he would feel like. Taste like. The sounds he would make if you dipped your head and licked up the drops of sweat beading at the center of his chest.

“That’s how long I’ve loved you. Three hundred years.”

You froze. 

The thickness coating Azriel’s voice was not something you were familiar with. Nor were the words he uttered.

Your gaze snapped up to his, scanning his features for any sign that he was, for some reason, making the cruellest joke in all of Pythian’s history. But all you found was open, unguarded truth. 

Azriel loved you?

Azriel loved you. 

The rapid beating of your heart was a stark contrast to just how very safe you felt. How right it seemed to take that half step forward. To cradle his face in your hand, the other coming to rest on that glorious chest – right over his own heart. And as you felt that wild drumming beneath his ribs echo your own, nothing seemed as easy as rising up on the tips of your toes and slotting your mouth against his. 

The kiss was tentative, like the two of you were just dipping your toes in – testing the waters. You moved your lips against his, gently, savouring the feel of his pillowy lips. The feel of his body so close to yours. How the scent of him seemed to envelop you. You savoured how easily he took all of your senses hostage. 

He was everywhere.

The sound of Azriel’s wings rustling behind him, the rapid beating of his heart in his chest, the taste of liquor on his lips – it intoxicated you in a way you didn’t know was possible. 

You stayed like that, gently exploring each other's lips, savouring each other's closeness, until you had no other choice but to break away for air. 

You pulled away only a few inches, rapid breaths fanning your faces. The pounding of your heart didn’t seize, and neither did his. You could feel every rapid beat under the hand still planted on his warm chest. 

“Your heart is beating very fast,” you whispered, voice shaky from your breathlessness. 

He swallowed, “It is.”

“So is mine,” you revealed. 

“Yes, I can hear it.”

Oh. 

“Will you kiss me again?” Your voice was so low, you wouldn’t have known he heard you if not for the strangled sound he let out. 

Or for how he grabbed you by your waist and captured your lips with his. 

This time the kiss was less gentle. This time he pressed your body against his as he devoured you. It was all tongues, and teeth, and needy gasps.

His teeth pulled on your bottom lip and you thanked the Mother he was holding you so tightly, for your knees almost gave out. A throaty groan escaped you as his hand cupped the back of your neck, angling your head upwards and deepening the kiss further.

Your own hands found his hair – and pulled. The deep rumbling in his chest and the way he moaned your name into the kiss was your undoing.

This kiss wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t tentative.

It was claiming.

And so you let him claim you. 

Your clothes were quickly discarded as you laid down on the sofa, Azriel’s body on top of yours. And as you crashed together, entangled limbs and sworn promises, you let those 400 years of friendship, of tension, of longing dictate the start of this new chapter.

A chapter of what would hopefully be 400 years of something more.

Want to be added to my taglist?

tags: @missus-shadowsinger

[littlecrittereli]

DECODED

"Martin was the self-sacrificial type. He was the one who woke up every night just to pull Chris out of a nightmare. He was the one who tested the more questionable technology Aviva whipped up. He was the one who took on extra tasks when someone wasn’t feeling well. He was the one who would take the blame when the brothers landed themselves in trouble. He was the one who would carry the burdens of everyone else around him, while locking his own away in a dark corner, and never once complain.  And Chris knew for a fact, the only reason Martin didn’t trade places with him when Diego dragged him away and locked him within his own mind was because his brother couldn't work miracles. But Chris didn’t think he could share this burden with Martin. He decided he wouldn’t even give him the choice."

Reprogrammed part 2: Decoded's first chapter will be posted this Saturday.

Also special thank you to @nervousloveheart for suggesting the name "Decoded"! It's honestly stuck with me and I kinda just started subconsciously referring to the fic as that before I even officially chose the title lol

[afterglowsainz]

guilty as sin? | oscar piastri

summary: you and oscar can't be together, but that doesn't stop either of you from wanting each other

warnings: drinking, mentions of masturbation

word count: 2k

a/n: this song is my hyperfixation rn! also, i don't write smut (which is not what this is) but i had to include the last part of the fic, the nature of the song forced me to!

the tortured athletes department series

everyone and their mother knew that you and oscar liked each other, but things were never that simple between the two of you.

oscar being an f1 driver for mclaren in his second year and you being a pr manager for f1, dating within the workplace was a complete no; besides the fact that it just made things more complicated than they had to be, it was also forbidden by your boss. that and also the fact that the two of you were too proud to be the first one to give in, so neither of you did. it was a bit immature, sure, but it was what it was.

so since you couldn’t be together, the only way to fight the feeling was simply date other people, and you both did that well. for oscar it was easy because he usually just went back to his ex, which made you extremely jealous because she was the only woman you thought you couldn’t compare to, they had years of history, and you were the relatively new girl, how could you stand up against her? easy, you couldn’t, or so you thought. finding someone for you wasn’t hard either, unlike oscar, you didn’t date the same person the whole time because you didn’t have an ex, so you just picked a boy of the month and made oscar jealous, which was quite easy because oscar got jealous of every guy who even looked at your direction.

at this moment, at the after-party of the miami grand prix, it was one of those rare moments where none of you were dating and you were both single, but still, not together. you had to admit you’ve been drinking shots of vodka since you arrived at the place and haven’t stopped since, which made you a bit tipsy but not drunk. you were on your way out of the bathroom when you accidentally slipped on a wet patch at the club’s floor and you had to lean on the person closest to avoid falling.

“oh.” a small shocked sound came out of you. “sorry, i’m sorry.” you apologized to the person next to you, who put his arms around your waist to avoid you from falling.

“it’s okay.” you hear your favorite voice in the world and look up to see his face close to you.

“hey.” you smile.

“hello.” he answers with his beloved australian accent.

“didn’t see you there.” you look at your surroundings, the bathroom was in the dark side of the club and not many people were around

“yeah, i was hiding.” he admits. you nod in understanding.

“alone?” you arch your brow after not seeing any of his friends nearby.

“i just need a second.”

you nod again. oscar can get overwhelmed very easily so you knew what he needed.

“have you been drinking?” he asks now. you avoid his eyes, focusing on the people dancing in front of you.

“yeah.” you admit. “that’s not why i almost fell though, the floor is wet.” he chuckles and nods with a smile. “have you?”

“just a little, not much.” you turn to look at him and it was now him who was avoiding your gaze. “where’s your boyfriend?” he asks.

right. you forgot to tell oscar that you broke up with the last guy you were seeing. it was stupid, really, you just didn’t like the way he dressed, he wore skinny jeans and hoodies most of the time and that irritated you for some reason. he was also not oscar.

“we’re not together anymore.” you say waiting for a reaction which you get.

“oh?” he asks, arching his brow and looking back at you. his expression however, stays the same.

a scary thought crosses your mind and you feel sick almost thinking of it, but now that you thought of it you can’t forget it, so you just ask.

“did you get back with lily?” you wait for what it feels like an eternity for his answer, but it only really takes him about three seconds to respond.

“no, we’re not together.”

you felt like breathing out all the air in your lungs in relief, but you didn’t out of respect.

“nice.” you say instead, which earns oscar another chuckle.

“yeah.” he says simply.

you stand by each other in silence, just watching the people around you not having a single care in the world. like it was a gravitational force pulling you to him, you started getting closer and closer until your hands were touching each other. you were feeling bold that night, bold enough to maybe make the first move. when you felt his finger rubbing against your hands you snap your head to look at him, but before you could talk you hear a male voice interrupting you.

“y/n”. they called you.

at lightning speed, oscar gets away from you and you feel like punching the person who interrupted you. when you turn you see the face of one of your best friends who also happens to work in formula 1.

“just wanted to make sure everything was okay.” he says. “you left a few minutes ago.”

you smile at him like you internally didn’t want to kill him.

“all good.” you answer. “just catching up with oscar here.” you tilted your head towards the australian until your friend finally noticed him.

he looks a bit shocked when he realizes he interrupted you.

“hi mate, how are you?” he asks him, a bit shy, trying to play it cool. oscar just smiles slightly at him.

“all good.” he looks at your friend and then back to you. “well i should get back with them.” he tilts his head towards lando and some of the other drivers.

you couldn’t think of anything fast enough to make him stay, so you just nodded. he said his goodbyes and left you two alone.

“mate!” you finally recriminate your friend and playfully slapped his arm.

the laugh that erupted from him was a mix between amusement and regret.

“i’m sorry!” he apologized, taking you back towards your other friends through the club. “i didn’t know you were together, we were actually worried.”

“that’s fine.” you respond while rolling your eyes. “let’s just drink.”

you spent the next hour forgetting about the world around you and just drinking and dancing with your friends like it was the last night on earth. it was also pretty fair to say that you were already drunk at this point. not embarrassingly drunk, you could still stand on your feet and have a conversation without dragging your words, but you were definitely beyond the point of being sober.

“i have to go to the bathroom again.” you screamed at the ear of your friend and she nodded in understanding.

“do you want me to go with you?” she screamed back at you. you shook your head.

“i won’t take long.” she just nodded and let you go.

this time you weren’t planning on taking as long as it took you last time, you just wanted to go back to your friends as soon as possible to continue having fun. but just like the first time, the only person in the world that you wanted to be with was right there again, next to the bathroom exit and somehow hiding in the shadows, but this time you saw him.

“oscar!” you screamed over the music.

he snaps his head towards your face, always finding you in a room full of people. a smirk appears on his face as you approach him and you can tell by the look of him that he has also been drinking more.

“thought i wouldn’t see you for the rest of the night.” he whispers once you’re close enough.

you take your time to answer, just taking him in.

“hiding again?” you ask.

“too many shots.” he says. “needed to take a minute.”

you bite your lip shamelessly and he notices it, immediately wishing it was his instead. 

“oscar.” you smile and whisper his name.

“y/n.” he whispers back, his eyes fixated on your lips.

you mimic him and lower your eyes to his lips as well. since you were drunk and every ounce of shame left your body long ago, you’re bold enough to touch his chest, your hands traveling all the way to the back of his neck, pulling yourself closer to him.

“oscar.” you whisper again, touching his cheeks, just wanting to feel him. “oscar.”

you felt his arms wrapping around your waist, bringing you as close to him as possible. your face inches away from his.

“y/n.” he whispers again.

you think that is gonna happen, it’s definitely gonna happen right here right now, but everything comes crumbling down when you feel a different pair of arms pulling you away from your waist.

“hey, there you are!” someone exclaims and the connection between you and oscar immediately breaks. “sorry mate, she gets touchy when she’s drunk.” the voice says and you instantly recognize it as one of the friends you came with.

“i’m not drunk!” you defend yourself, facing him with a frown on your face for ruining the moment.

“right.” he says incredulously. “she’s touchy all the time.” this was now directed at oscar.

you felt like screaming at the top of your lungs for having your moment with oscar ruined for the second time in the night, but you controlled yourself, allowing your friend to grab your back and direct you to your friends.

“bye, oscar.” you whisper, waving your hand slightly.

he doesn’t answer back, but you can see the strained smile on his face and the nod he gives you. when you’re far enough, you look at your friend with impotence.

“what the hell was that?” you yell. “didn’t you see i was busy?”

“that was me saving your ass.” he says without major emotion. “you were about to kiss oscar drunk and you and i both know that’s impossible.”

you sighed and crossed your arms like a little girl throwing a tantrum. working in formula 1 was hard, and trying to date in it was even harder, almost impossible.

“is it ever going to be easy?” you ask no one in particular, but your friend answers anyway.

“well, it’s you and oscar, so probably not.” you think about it for a few seconds until he interrupts your train of thought. “come on, we were leaving already.” he says.

you follow your friends to the exit of the club and get into the first uber that’s taking you back to the hotel. the trip doesn’t take long and you just chat with your friend for most of it. once in the hotel you say goodbye to everyone and go up to your room, trying to catch some sleep. 

it shouldn’t be hard to fall asleep considering that you’ve been working all day and you just spend hours at the club, however, there was one thing at the back of your mind that didn’t let you rest. you couldn’t shake the feeling of oscar’s hands in your body back at the club, almost cornering him into the wall, the two of you just feeling each other. you were frustrated for sure, tossing and turning in bed for an hour straight until you couldn’t fight the feeling anymore. 

you bit your lip for a moment, thinking if this was actually appropriate, but soon enough the intrusive thoughts took over your mind and you just think fuck it. 

you touch yourself that night with only one person in your mind, wishing it was him that was making you feel good, knowing that he would make you feel even better; you screamed his name when you climaxed. before you can think of what you just did you decide to go to bed as soon as possible, finally feeling tired enough to sleep.

ten minutes after you went to bed, you missed oscar’s text asking you if you were still awake, which he deleted five minutes after you didn’t answer him.

[norrizzandpia]

hey, totally ok if it’s not ur vibe, but i’d love to see an oscar fic where he’s helping his girlfriend or a childhood best friend when she’s feeling a bit down.

i keep thinking about that man helping clean a depression room and telling his girl not to be embarrassed and he’s there to help and they get it sorted and he just holds her. makes sure she’s eaten and drank something.

even if it’s just a drabble, i’d really appreciate it :) need that kinda care in my life rn, even if it’s fictional.

I made this girlfriend because it just felt softer idk

To Be Loved Is To Be Seen (OP81)

Summary: Oscar knows his girlfriend well and it’s obvious to him when she starts breaking down. He’s happy to help or, more specifically, remind her how worth it she is.

Warnings: this one is HEAVY on the family trouble, depression, anxiety, VERY ANGSTY but def cutest HAPPY ENDING

Note: i didn’t know if you wanted reader to be in a rut or have a reason for it so i just made a reason

Y/n’s first few months of university were hard. Not only was it due to the new course load, but also because of her parents lack of interest when it came to her life. It had been a gradual shift, starting from her last two years in high school and only getting stronger as time went on. They had always been there, overbearing at times, but, now, they posted pictures of their trips around the world, failing to answer her calls and texts. She felt selfish for wanting her parents’ attention as much as she did, but it was hard to fight. There were situations she had never dealt with before, she wanted her mom’s wise words and father’s funny remarks to get through it all. But, she sat alone in the darkness of her room without the guidance counselor she usually could count on. It felt as if she wasn’t enough to keep them there anymore. It was heart wrenching and it stewed within her at such volumes, it became too much.

That’s when Oscar noticed. Her boyfriend had always been attentive, noticing small things about her that no one else did, but the second her smile didn’t reach her eyes and her text messages became less frequent, it was almost as if he was staring her down in anticipation of some sort of sign. He didn’t begin to realize it was related to her parents until he caught a glimpse of her phone when they were together, the screen open to her conversations with her mother and all of the recent texts going completely unanswered. He knew she had always had a rocky relationship with them, but she spoke about them with such respect, he knew it would’ve bothered her to feel so unimportant.

Knocking on her door, his hands clutched the bag of her favorite food he had got on his walk to her apartment. He had planned this evening out for weeks, not telling her about it in worry that she would slip into a facade put together with a fake smile that made his skin crawl.

She opened it, her body tense and tired in a ratty shirt and shorts, “Oscar? What are you doing here?”

It was as if he saw her front go up, her posture straightening and that haunting smile which told him all too well how much pain she was in. He smiled softly, “I thought we could spend the night together.”

She closed the door enough to only peek her head through, “Osc, I’m so sorry, but I can’t tonight. I’m so busy.”

He stayed put, “That’s okay. I can wait on your couch.”

“No, Osc,” She said firmly, her face turning in the light and exposing the dark bags under her eyes.

He stepped closer to her, putting his hand on the door and looking down at her with a look that made her feel loved, “Y/n, let me in. I know you’re going through it. Let me be with you.”

Her resolve cracked, her smile dropping for a second and water suddenly pooling in her eyes, “You don’t want to come in here.”

He leaned against the door and cupped her cheek, “It won’t make me love you any less.”

With a sigh, Y/n pushed the door open, beckoning the boy into her home. He knew what to expect, he knew what it was like to reach the place she was in. So, when he saw the piles of clothes, half-eaten food on the counter with old dishes in the sink, and her little accessories put in the wrong places, something she would never usually do, he wasn’t surprised. If anything, he was happy she had let him in, literally and figuratively.

She picked at her nails beside him, swaying on her feet as she analyzed his every move. Part of her was trying to ready herself for him to walk out the door, give up on her because of whatever stood before them, but he gently set the food on the floor and ushered her into his embrace. His cheek laid against the top of her head, nestled in her hair, as he tightened his grip around her body. She smelled his cologne and felt his sweatshirt which made him feel all the more warm. There was something about his presence, she would later learn it was how safe she felt, that made the turmoils of her mind quiet as she began to cry. Y/n had promised herself that she wouldn’t cry for people who clearly didn’t care, but as Oscar rubbed her back and whispered how much he loved her, she realized it was never going to work.

Her breaking down wet the material of his sweatshirt, but Oscar just held her tighter, whispering how it was going to be okay and this would all pass.

“You’re so worth it all, Y/n,” He whispered, pecking the top of her ear as he smoothed down her hair.

She clutched his back before Oscar was moving her hands under his hoodie to feel the bare of his skin. He knew she loved that. And she did. Y/n’s tears began to dissipate as he told her why he was there.

“I’m with you in this. You aren’t alone. I’m here for you and I always will be. This,” He gestured to the space around them, holding her face in his hands and forcing her eyes to meet his, “doesn’t scare me at all, love. What does scare me, though, is the attempts at eating on the counter. Have you been eating other than that?”

She shook her head, “I tried. It’s too hard. I’m not hungry ever anymore.”

He titled his head with a small frown, “Well, maybe your favorite food will help, yeah? We’ll sit together and eat. We can go as slow as you want, or as fast. All up to you, baby.”

He kissed her forehead lightly before guiding her to the living room, one of the less dirty places, and setting her down on the cushions. He set it all behind him, not wanting to overwhelm her with everything he got, and took out what he knew she would want first. There was a dull sparkle in her eyes when he handed it to her, his heart lifted. It hadn’t been there when he first arrived.

She opened it slowly, eyeing the food she once ravished in seconds, and taking a utensil to pick at it. He looked at her, waiting patiently for her to take a bite. When she did, however small, he did too. When she did again, he did too.

She stopped, “Why aren’t you eating faster?”

He smiled, “Because I’ll take a bite when you do. I don’t mind, Y/n. I told you I’m in this with you.”

Her eyes gloss over as they dart between him and the food before taking another bite, giggling a bit when Oscar takes one of his own dish. She eats, he does too and their eyes never leave each other, offering unspoken support.

When the plastic boxes are gone and empty, Oscar has glasses of water randomly appearing in his grip, offering them to his girlfriend who has found herself tangled in that soft blanket he got her last Christmas. Her cheeks are a soft pink from the warmth of it coupled with the candle he lit in the midst of their dinner and she smiles when the cool liquid flows down her throat. Oscar stands over her, hands in his pockets and wondering how anyone could possibly ignore her texts. He wants to take a picture of her, remind her parents of the beauty they have in their reach. But, he also knows that any text he sends to them wouldn’t be one he should send to his potential (very likely) in-laws. So, he stays quiet and looks at her with the love she deserves.

“Do you need anything else?” He asks, pushing the hair out of her face.

She shakes her head, “No, I’m good. What movie do you want to watch?”

He kisses her cheek, “It’s up to you. I won’t be watching.”

Her eyebrows knot together and she cocks her head, “Why not? Is this some random pickup line where you’re going to tell me how you’ll only be watching me?”

He laughs, his head back, as he walks toward her room, “No, but that’s a good one. I’ll keep that for later. You put on whatever you want, baby. I’ll be cleaning.”

She crawls to the corner of the couch, watching him begin to pick up her room, “Clean? What? Why?”

He stops, turning around to look at her through the door, “Because I want to help you feel better and I know your apartment is stressing you out. You shouldn’t have to worry, love. Just relax. I’ll be done in a few hours.”

Her mouth is agape as he moves throughout her room, putting things away as if he knows where everything goes. He does, apparently. And when the shock of it wears off, a smile cements itself on her face as she turns on a random movie. She enjoys the soft humming of Oscar in the other room, answering his occasional question about the plot of the movie she’s watching. When he moves to the kitchen, out in the open and available to see what’s on the screen, Y/n falls asleep to the picture of her boyfriend doing her dishes and taking out her trash. Falling asleep with a warm heart mended by someone that has always loved her unconditionally.

—

She’s awoken by the feeling of soft mattress beneath her and Oscar’s arms heavy around her torso. He’s deep in sleep when she opens her eyes, has her completely enveloped in his grasp on her side. The room is dark, the window open and allowing for a cold breeze to flow through the room. She loves it. It’s cold outside, but Oscar keeps her warm. Her hands move their way up to his head, playing with his hair and staring at the man who has treated her so gently.

Tears fall down her face all so suddenly, sniffling lightly but still waking Oscar in the process.

He’s immediately worried, “What’s wrong?”

Her head drops to his chest, “I just love you so much and can’t tell you how much it meant to me that you stayed here even after seeing the state everything was in, including me.”

His soft hands leave her body and pull her face up to him. His eyes are dilated as he looks at her, “I would’ve done it yesterday and I’ll do it for the rest of our lives. I don’t want you to struggle alone. You don’t deserve that. You’ve done too much of that before you met me.”

If only her younger self could see her now. A younger girl worried she’d never find a man who loved her by seeing her now wholly adored by someone who didn’t just see her, but understood her too. She doesn’t even need to utter the problem, he already knows and she’s caught on to that since the moment he showed up at her door. His carefully chosen words about her worth and how easy it is to love her were all strategically placed in order to fix the cracks deep in her soul that have come undone at the hands of her parents.

“It’s just upsetting that they only loved me.” She whispers and for a second, Oscar doesn’t understand what she’s saying. But, the tense of her words dawns on him and the look on her face unleashes anger in his body. Loved. It’s upsetting that her parents loved her. They no longer do in her eyes. She once had parental support, love, but it’s obvious how transactional, conditional it was now. She got a taste of what it was like to be loved by them, but it was taken away when she needed it the most. She had mentioned to him before that growing up, she felt as if they used her presence to shy away from the problems of their marriage. When she was out of the house, she thought they would separate, but the opposite has happened. She served her purpose, now they throw money at trips to fill the void of what they have refused to face. Disregarded and thrown away, that’s the implications of what she’s confided.

He nods, tears in his eyes, “It’s so unfair of them to treat you this way. They’re your parents. They should be there for you, but they have never known how to love and you were just an unnecessary victim in it all.”

She wipes the moisture from her face, “I should just move on from the way they’ve treated me. I should give them grace because they’re my parents. I should just make peace with it all because this will never be fixed in the way I want it. But, I can’t.”

Oscar kisses the top of her head, “It’s okay that you can’t. That’s completely understandable. Giving grace just because they’re your family members isn’t right, Y/n. Just because there’s a blood relation doesn’t mean you can excuse their behavior. They’re your parents and they have neglected you for ages. You can’t keep giving everything to them, only to get nothing in return. Parents or not, you distance yourself from people who bring you down as much as they do.”

More tears smear against his chest, “But, they’re my parents, Osc.”

It’s as if he doesn’t know what to say because he knows how much she praises their drive and determination, giving her a life of privilege. Though, he stands firm on the idea that no one should be given a second chance if they “love” this way.

“I know, Y/n, and it’s so horrible that you’ve been put in this situation, but I think it would do you some good to let go of a part of them. You’ll go home and see them for birthdays, Christmases, but, in the time between, you don’t have to chase after them. You can find love in other things, happiness in other things. I’ll even do some of it with you. We can take up painting classes like you always wanted, walks in that park down the street that you love, studying in coffee shops, and watching the sunset. Life without them can be freeing.”

He’s right, she thinks. Life without them will be freeing. But, the story of letting go is never easy and finding yourself flipping to past chapters to hold onto something that isn’t there anymore is usual.

However, as she lays tangled in the limbs of Oscar, she finds future chapters to be more exciting, more fulfilling. Her whole life is ahead of her, one including Oscar, and that sudden revelation fills her with an overwhelming relief. His listing of all the things she loves, wants to try desperately reminds her just how in love with her he is. Every action of hers is noted by him and she’s spent years begging for that from her parents. She never got it, but maybe that was because something else softer lied in the cards for her. At times, her parents needed her, but they would always need something else more. Glamorous, shiny, new things that would satisfy them for a time. She would never be enough in the minds of them, but in the mind of Oscar, she was more than enough. It was clear she was everything to him.

A life with him would be different from the one handed to her on a broken, rusty platter. She wanted that with him and the way he looked at her told her he did too. Letting go of the dismissal of people she has killed herself for to make proud was maybe for the best, pushed her in the direction of focusing on Oscar and everything she’s ever wanted. Was this her mending old, deep wounds?

Loved and cherished, she found sleep once more, rejuvenated with hope and a sense of moving on.

[mmogurl]

Last to Fall Chapter 1 - My Demons

18+ | 10k | Aegon II Targaryen X Female Maid / Dragonseed Reader | miserable, alcoholic, often dissociative, needs comfort Aegon | virgin reader, maiden, emotional abuse, first time sex, P in V, smut, wholesome, fluff, this whole thing is actually kind of sweet compared to what I usually write.

This fic is heavily inspired by the infamous 'Nothing' scene with Aegon and Alicent. Her cold words and the way she lashes out really bothered me and I felt a strong need to stand up for him, protect, and console him. So that's really what this whole fic is about. Enjoy! Also went with a lot of musical vibing for this story. I started off listening to Collective Soul's Heavy, because I imagine it as Aegon's state of mind in the opening scene towards everyone and everything happening. And by the end we transition into Starset's Last to Fall - and the title of the fic. I know, I'm a sappy mf.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 On AO3

Retroactive update 10/29/24: I've also decided that I'm going to try my best to fit every chapter to a Starset song because the whole Series is based off the title of one (Last to Fall) which was originally going to be a oneshot and got extended. I'm enjoying the challenge of finding one that suits each theme/ story! They're not all going to be perfectly aligned, but I'll try my best. This one is Starset - My Demons adding onto the two songs I already referenced here - but this one just felt so perfect!

Complicate this world you wrapped for me I'm acquainted with your suffering

All your weight it falls on me It brings me down All your weight it falls on me It falls on me

~Collective Soul - Heavy

—You

You have worked in the castle for as long as you can remember, always hearing the whisperings of the chamberlain, the laundress, and any other keep staff prone to gossip, that you were the late king’s bastard. There were always underhanded comments of jealousy uttered in your direction, like ‘It must be nice to have a king’s blood runnin’ through yer veins... To have yer needs met for life.’ In truth, you were worried that the Queen Dowager might see fit to dispose of you now that her husband had passed.

So far, it seems your fair looks, expertise, and agreeable demeanor has secured your position, at least for the time being, but you are not so naive as to think that will last forever.

You tended to King Viserys for six summers, and with his death you’ve been reassigned to serve the new Protector of the Realm, Aegon II Targaryen. You are mildly concerned about this development considering the rumors you’ve heard about the young prince over the years. Drinking and philandering to excess, he was rumored to be a true hedonist, only taking satisfaction when drowning himself in pleasure. It is for this very reason, that you’re surprised by your observations of your new lord within the first weeks of your employ as his chambermaid and general attendant.

You find he spends a lot of time sitting in near darkness with barely a couple candles lit in his room at night, kept company only by a carafe of wine and wearing a disassociated look on his face that could be taken for misery if it didn’t appear so apathetic in nature. It was as though he were actively trying to force himself into a mold that he would never fit into. This became even more apparent as you witnessed more of his interactions with his family, especially his mother and grand-sire. It seemed they were constantly trying to orchestrate the ruling of the Seven Kingdoms, nitpicking at every little decision Aegon made, pulling his strings just like a puppet.

You had listened from the sidelines of the Great Hall as the Hand second-guessed the king’s rulings. Even when the Aegon tried to embrace his seat upon the Iron Throne, he was made impotent by those not fit to govern. You could do nothing but stand by helplessly in saddened silence when he suffered the loss of his eldest son to assassins, while Otto Hightower forced him to parade young Jaehaerys’ corpse to the public along with his grief-stricken sister-wife, Helaena.

Day by day, your heart was beginning to ache for the emptiness you saw growing behind his amethyst eyes. And yet still he tried on most days to put a positive foot forward, even if by nightfall he usually turned back to engulfing his sorrows in drink. You couldn’t even blame him really given the complete lack of moral and emotional support the king had to endure.

This feeling of compassion built within you, until one day it peaked to a head as you made your way to Aegon’s chambers with fresh linens in hand, ready to fulfill your afternoon chores. You passed several Kingsguard as you made your way down the hall and paused outside the king’s rooms as you heard voices coming from within. The two white cloaks standing watch at the open threshold glanced at you in warning, so you simply waited with folded bedsheets in hand for the opportunity to complete your duties.

You knew you should not listen, but it was hard to ignore the distressed voice of the king from within, met by the indifferent attitude of the Queen Dowager. Oh no, you think to yourself sympathetically, she is at it again. It really did seem that tearing Aegon down piece by piece was not only a habit for his mother, but something she relished in.

“Do you think simply wearing the crown imbues you with wisdom,” Alicent’s voice echoed out against the vaulted ceiling of the room, her voice patronizing and condescending. “Those men at your council table earned their seats. It was my hope that once enthroned you would honor the burden of your new duties, be silent, and strive to learn from the more studied minds around you. In the hope that you might be half the king your father was…”

You tried to swallow the lump forming in your throat at hearing such baleful words. The king was not responding, and you could just imagine the pained look of agony that Aegon was sure to be wearing under the constant criticisms he faced as of late.

“Tread carefully,” you heard him say, barely carrying enough volume to hear from where you stood. You found yourself holding back a smile at that, happy that he was standing up to her for once. But, that only incensed the Queen Dowager more, her thirst to harm not yet quenched.

“Or what?” she says with venom coating her tongue. “You’ll hang me, as you did your rat catchers? Or have me banished as you did your Hand? I ruled in your father’s absence throughout his long illness, and Otto Hightower was as cunning a statesman as ever lived. You should humbly be seeking our opinions and counsel. You have no idea the sacrifices that were made to put you on that throne.”

You shook your head, unsure how any mother could ever speak to her child in such a manner, let alone to the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. Perhaps it bothered you so because you had never known the tenderness of a mother’s love, but had spent many a daydream imagining what it might be like. With your idealistic and sometimes naive mind, you wanted to think that there was more love out there in the world than this, especially within the royal family. You wanted better for the young king you had grown to feel so protective of in such a short amount of time.

Aegon’s next words break your train of thought, “Wha-“ he started with an exasperated tone, “What would you have me do, Mother?”

“Do simply what is needed of you,” she replied and the frosty chill of her cold voice was evident even from the corridor. “Nothing.”

You feel tears well up in the corners of your eyes and try your best to ignore them. It was important as part of the castle staff to never appear to be listening, to always remain professional, but it wasn’t always possible when one was witness to such cruelty.

Quickly, you wipe the errant tears away as the Queen Dowager exits her son’s apartment, walking swiftly with a scowl on her face. With the king now alone in his chambers, you nod to the guards and head inside, pausing to close the doors behind you lest Aegon had wont of some privacy.

As you turned to face the room, the king sat off to the side of his table, leaning against the back of a chair, his head resting upon his hands in defeat. He did not stir as you entered and so you cleared your throat to let yourself be known. Aegon still made no move and so this time you spoke up.

“Your Grace, might I change the linens? Or should I come back later?” you ask, your voice hesitant, but filled with understanding.

He finally lifts his head, glancing at you for a moment before returning his attention to the nearly empty decanter of wine on the table.

“Fetch me some more wine instead,” he demands sullenly, and to this you nod and hurry off to fulfill his request. After what you’d heard him endure, you’d do just about anything to cheer him up now.

With a speed you did not think yourself capable, you retrieved, not just one, but two pitchers of strongwine for the king and prepared a small platter of snacks for him as well, consisting of cheese, crackers, figs, and grapes. You hoped he’d be pleased with your thoughtfulness, and sure enough, he did perk up a little at the sight of the tray you presented on the table before him.

Aegon got to his feet, walking around the chair he’d been leaning against and sitting in it instead. You filled his chalice and placed it before him, wearing an exaggerated smile upon your face, anything to lighten the onerous mood. The king surprises you when he actually notices, his composure faltering as he looks upon your benevolent countenance.

“Did you hear all of that then?” he asks, his jaw clenching slightly as he peers down at the crimson fluid within the cup before him.

“It is not my business, Your Grace,” you answer softly, not wanting to sound cold, but knowing it is not your place to comment on such things. “But, if I can do anything, or get anything more for you. Please just ask.”

“I never wanted to be be king, you know,” Aegon says abruptly, picking up the chalice and swirling the wine around inside it. “They hunted me down, forced me to be crowned… And yet, Mother tells me I do not deserve it, even though she has placed me upon the throne herself.”

You flounder with your words, uncertain of how to reply. Should you even say anything at all? Perhaps he just wants someone to listen who won’t respond with a scathing rebuke.

“She spoke of the rat catchers, bringing up the death of my eldest son as though it were nothing to me,” he continues without your input, staring into the contents of his chalice as though it might hold some insight. “She treats me as though I am nothing.”

He finally takes a long swig of the cup, emptying most of it in one gulp. Aegon sets it down on the table with a clatter of metal and wood, an almost despondent look on his face as he adds, “Perhaps I am nothing.”

“Your Grace, no! That is not true!” the words slip out, unable to hold back your feelings at his self-denigration. You immediately cover your mouth with startled surprise, knowing that you’ve overstepped.

Aegon halts, his shoulders tensing as his eyes drift up to you and his brow furls downwards in confusion. He regards you in earnest for what feels like the first time ever, his discerning gaze sweeping from your face, down to your skirts and back up again, sizing you up. “What would you know of it?”

You bite your lip anxiously, unsure of how to proceed, even though it seems by now that you’ve already gone past the point of returning to obscurity. Ultimately, you decide that if you’re going to lose your position within the Red Keep, that you’d prefer to let the king know how you feel first.

“I have seen how determined you are,” you say quietly, a lack of confidence in your voice as you address the king. “Even though it is obvious how much hardship you must abide.”

“I am the king. I do not abide anything,” he replies gruffly, but there’s no tooth in the words.

“Of course, Your Grace,” you reply as you cast your eyes downward, your posture stiffening as you stand more upright, waiting for the hammer of discipline to fall.

There is a pervasive silence that hangs heavy in the expansive chamber as you wait for the king to cast his verdict. Does he intend to overlook your impertinence or will he punish you severely?

You hear the trickle of liquid pouring and then the glass carafe clattering against the wood of the table. The sound of swallowing is audible, followed by Aegon’s lips smacking softly as he puts the chalice back down.

“Come here, girl,” he says suddenly in a low monotone.

You look up once more, hesitating; your eyes questioning as you try to understand his intentions, his expression inscrutable.

“Do I have to repeat myself?” he reiterates, his tone a little more firm, yet without the sound of malicious intent. “Come here.”

You gulp and step gingerly towards Aegon, standing before him as he sits in the high-back chair. “Yes, Your Grace?” you ask with an uncertain look on your face.

The king startles you when he turns his chair to face you, his hands wrapping around your waist as he pulls you towards him in one fluid motion. Before you even realize what is happening, Aegon has his face buried against your stomach while his fingers dig into the fabric of your dress at the small of your back.

For a moment you stand there frozen in shock, your arms out as if in surrender, unsure of how to respond or interpret this intimate gesture. But then, you feel his shoulders shake quietly, and it's that movement that clues you in to the nature of the king's actions. He is crying, albeit in his own restrained way.

Slowly, you lower your hands down, one resting on his back as the other smooths his white locks back against his scalp. You can feel him melt into your affectionate touch, his entire body slumping forward even as he continues to whimper quietly into your apron.

“Shh,” you say softly, trying to comfort him in a way that feels somehow natural to you despite the gap in caste. “It will be alright.” You are not fully convinced that it will be, but the young king needs some reassurance and you know you are the only one likely to give it to him.

You have secretly longed for a moment such as this to occur for awhile now, wishing you had the opportunity to provide the king with some semblance of reprieve. When you served Viserys, he never seemed very troubled, and was almost willfully ignorant to the problems that plagued his family. Aegon on the other hand, was tormented not only by his mother, but by the pressure he put on himself to please everyone, which was an impossible feat.

To soothe Aegon now and hold him in your arms, felt like putting one of the many wrongs he’d endured right, even if it was only a small fraction of what the man was owed.

Your fingers rake through his wavy tresses and you feel a surge of raw emotion as you tend to the king’s needs in a way you never imagined you would. Soon, his shaky breaths and silent tears begin to cease, replaced by sniffles as you continue to soothe him in the way his mother should have been for all of these years. You can sense his reluctance to leave your embrace, but there’s also a shame weighing heavy in the air for confiding such weakness in a simple chambermaid.

He nuzzles his eyes against the fabric of your dress, wiping his tears on the brown cloth before he abruptly pulls away and clears his throat. Aegon avoids looking directly at you, embarrassment evident in his now red and puffy eyes. He lets out a heavy sigh and you’re left feeling quite dumbfounded as he turns back to his wine.

For a long moment there is a tense and overwhelming silence, the only sounds present in the room are the soft pouring of wine into Aegon’s chalice and the glass clinking as he sets the carafe down.

You stare at the side of his face, feeling a knot form in your stomach at the growing distance. It’s as if he’s punishing you for witnessing his vulnerability, desperate to maintain the barrier between king and servant. Despite his aversion, you can’t help but feel the significance of what you shared, the way he pulled you in and how good it felt to hold him close.

The quiet stretches on, Aegon now occupied with emptying his cup as if trying to fill the void with drink. He speaks up once more, his tone now devoid of any traces of the exposed emotion you just viewed.

"That will be all," his words are devoid of any warmth or familiarity. "I don't need anything more from you tonight." Aegon’s fingers tremble subtly as he brings his glass to his lips, betraying his cold facade.

“Your Grace,” you say in acceptance of his decision, bowing your head to show deference. You turn and glance at the linens still stacked on top of the king’s bed and fret for a moment that you will get in trouble for not fulfilling your duties and changing the sheets. “Should I change the bedsheets before I leave?”

Aegon doesn’t even turn to face you, his eyes fixed on his chalice. His expression is closed off, distant, as he responds with a simple grunt of confirmation.

“Yes, yes. Do whatever it is you usually do,” he mutters dismissively, his voice lacking any real feeling. He lifts his cup to his mouth once more, drowning himself in the bitter taste of the wine.

You nod with the typical words of respectful assent and begin making the bed as you always do, except this time it feels different. Today you flew so very close to the sun and felt your skin bask in its heat. The absence of that warmth now leaves you feeling chilly, an overwhelming nothing replacing the typical humdrum of your chores. You can feel his presence in the room like a beacon calling you to shore, but you dare not approach him again.

When you finish your task, you leave the king’s chambers without saying a word, closing the door behind you as silently as you can.

For the next few days, the typical royal indifference that Aegon shows you is substituted for complete and utter disregard. He at least showed you a degree of quiet appreciation before, but now it seems he’s going out of his way to make it known that you do not exist to him. Aegon always keeps his eyes turned from you and makes no acknowledgment of your proximity, giving the impression that you are little more than a ghost.

Gone is the care-free spirit that the king usually possesses, always trying to pretend that he is happier than he actually is, at least when you are around him. It seems that Aegon erects a wall of guarded apathy the moment he becomes aware of you, sometimes so severe that you can actually see him transition into a frown at your approach.

You find yourself slinking around quietly whenever you must occupy his room at the same time that he is present. The mornings are especially tense, when you must bring breakfast and fresh wash water for his basin. Sometimes, you feel his eyes on you when you’re preoccupied with adding wood to and stoking the fire, but you try your best to ignore it since you can’t make heads or tails of his behavior.

For the most part, you attempt to finish the majority of your duties once the king has left for the day and not before that point. You hope that in time, the king will forget about what transpired between the two of you, and that everything will revert back to how it was.

—Aegon

Aegon has made a concerted effort to maintain his frosty disposition towards you. It’s a constant battle between his heart, which secretly admires and yearns for you, and his head, which refuses to acknowledge the vulnerability he allowed you to witness. Even still, he can’t help but feel a slight pang of sadness whenever you try to slip in and out of his chambers undetected, nor can he control the surge of resentment when he feels that he might need you in any way.

The king simply doesn’t know what to make of the tangle of emotions that twist inside of him whenever he sees your face. It’s as if the memory of his shortcomings and your comforting embrace is a fresh wound that refuses to heal. He wants to shove you from his mind, but your image is permanently branded on the backs of his eyelids.

Even his nights have become restless, with no amount of drink or pleasure helping to ease his troubled heart. In fact, he’d already tried visiting one of his favorite brothels, dragging along his drunken friends for the chance to brag at how loud he could make the women scream. He was so distracted by thoughts of you that he couldn’t even stay hard and had to call it a night without release, defeated even by the the carefree abandon of a whore’s cunt.

The only thing that helps him drift off to sleep lately is recalling the moment he shared with you, and imagining how it might have gone differently if he had not pulled away from you. His hand enveloping his rigid cock, stroking it eagerly as he envisions what it would be like to reach under your skirts and feel the heat at the apex of your thighs. The resulting climax is strong, but it always leaves him feeling ashamed and guilty afterwards, as though he’s given into an urge worse than the crudest of debaucheries.

It’s becoming more and more obvious, that no matter how much he denies himself, he wants you in an unbearable way. He wants to reach out to you, wants to apologize and thank you for your soothing care. He wants those arms wrapped around him once again, that gentle hand running through his hair. He wants to confess all of his troubles to you. How he is tired of being treated like a child, of being scolded and slapped around by his mother, and never being taken seriously by his own small council. Aegon wants to hear the solutions you might propose to his growing list of problems, instead of relying on the wine that he drinks to excess more often as the days pass, an answer that he knows is mere avoidance.

And so, the king finds himself at a crossroad, facing a decision that can’t simply remain unsettled. He can either choose to embrace his feelings for you and allow himself the chance of experiencing the compassion he so badly craves, or he can continue to repress those feelings and bury them under the weight of his own self loathing and fear.

At the end of another long and monotonous day, he finds himself sitting at the end of his table in the very same chair where he had shared a moment of weakness with you. He sighs as he pours himself another cup of wine, the burgundy liquid not doing much to take the edge off tonight.

He shivers slightly as gooseflesh erupts over his pale skin. Glancing out the window, he can see that the skies are grayer than usual and that autumn is settling in over King’s Landing. Aegon begins to worry as he considers the already dwindling food supply and the civil war that is ravaging what little they have left. His grand-sire and mother both seem to be ignoring the constant plight of the commonfolk, but he’s spent enough time amongst them to know that revolt might loom on the horizon.

The large wooden doors to his chamber suddenly open and his attention is drawn from the window, snapped to the form now entering the room. It is you, his chambermaid, carrying a bundle of blankets. You stop dead in your tracks as you notice him sitting in the dwindling light of the gloaming hour.

“Sorry to disturb, Your Grace,” you offer sheepishly. “I didn’t know you had already retired for the day.”

Aegon turns his chair outwards, sitting sideways as he leans an elbow against the table and lifts his cup to his lips, taking a sip of his favorite sweet Arbor red. He doesn’t acknowledge your apology, and instead regards you with a steadfast gaze as he tries to hide his conflicting feelings.

“What is it?” he asks, his tone tinged with disinterest.

“It’s supposed to be chilly tonight,” you answer with a soft voice. “I wanted to bring you some extra blankets and build the fire up so that you are comfortable.”

“Hm,” he grunts, taking another swig of his wine. He doesn’t respond more than that and simply watches as you begin to lay two massive quilts upon his bed, then approach the fireplace to add more wood and stoke the flames. Even now you were doing your best to take good care of him, doting on him as though he were your very own husband.

He can’t help but discreetly study the shape of your body as you kneel before the mantle, appreciating the way the firelight projects shadows over your kneeling figure. The flickering orange light bounces off your face and he can’t help but notice the softness of your features, the curve of your cheek and lips. As you rise back to your feet and turn to face him, he’s finally made his decision.

Perhaps it is time to lay these fears to rest.

He sighs softly, his shoulders slumping somewhat with the release of breath, as he gestures to the chair across from him.

“Sit,” his word is quiet, almost a whisper.

You look at him perplexed as though you did not hear him properly, an apprehension soon settling in as you hesitate to respond.

There is an air of determination in his eyes as he nods once more, encouraging you to sit. His voice now holds a trace of insistence as he shifts in his seat, sitting upright as he repeats himself. “I said sit.” Aegon points at the empty chair once more, his gesture sharper this time.

You oblige him swiftly at that, taking a seat in the ornately carved high-back chair, your legs are pressed together and your hands fidget awkwardly on your lap. Aegon reaches forward and grabs an empty chalice from the silver tray before him, pouring you a glass of wine.

“Here,” he says, his voice strangely calm in your presence now that he has finally given in to his wishes. He hands you the cup across the table, his fingers brushing against yours for just the briefest of moments. He relishes in the heat of your touch, no matter how fleeting, and offers a clumsy smile. “Have a drink with me.”

You take the chalice reluctantly, the anxiety of such taboo evident in your expression. Aegon knew it was unheard of for the staff to share a drink with members of the royal family, but it was also not typical for the king to be denied anything he desired either.

“T-thank you, Your Grace,” you offer appreciatively.

Aegon settles back into his chair, his posture becoming more relaxed as he spreads his legs. He takes comfort in the fact that no matter how much he has tried to avoid you, that you still humbly show him gratitude. That small act of polite civility has him convinced that what he is attempting will not end in rejection.

He raises his cup and toasts to you, a courtesy which seems so simple and yet holds so much significance when coming from a king. “To your service.” His eyes gleam in the fading light of day, bright with unspoken promise.

“I don’t even know what to say, Your Grace,” you squeak out in embarrassment, your face impossibly red as you direct your gaze away from him.

He can feel his confidence returning as he sees the flush of color bloom on your cheeks. It’s a sign that his attention is not entirely unwelcome, and that thought alone is enough to make his heart beat steadily in his chest.

Aegon leans forward, trying to capture your attention once more, his eyes pleading for you to look at him again. After so much time evading this very situation, he now feels hungry for it.

“You don’t have to say anything at all,” he reassures you, his tone softened but with a hint of authority as he motions for you to drink your wine.

Without wavering, you grasp the heavy brass chalice in your hands and with courage etched in your features, take a long draught of the Arbor red.

As you drink, Aegon raises an eyebrow in mild surprse, watching as you take a rather ambitious swig of strongwine. He finds he’s actually impressed with your ability, and his expression soon transforms into a smirk of amusement.

He takes a sip from his own chalice before setting it back down on the table. “You drink deeper than many of my knights, I can tell you that,” he jests with a good-humored ease, testing the boundaries of this fledgling dynamic.

Your cheeks blush once more although this time it is likely due to the wine as well as your timidity. “This is much better than the swill the staff typically has access to,” you offer almost apologetically, as though it were not proper for you to imbibe in your spare time.

The admission has the corners of his mouth curling into a grin once more, and a breathy laugh escapes his lips. It’s clear now that the two of you are finally making progress, the barrier of propriety quickly falling away as it typically did with drink.

“So you mean to say you enjoy good wine, yes?” he teases lightly, tapping his fingertips against the edge of his cup, his gaze focused on you, eager to see your reaction.

“I am enjoying it, yes,” you say with bright eyes, your guilt beginning to fade away with each sip of sweet wine you take.

Aegon can sense the increased ease in your demeanor, and is delighted by the sight of it. He knows that the alcohol has broken through the tension that’s been building between the two of you for days now and he plans to take full advantage of it, feeling even bolder in his pursuit of you.

“Good,” he replies gladly, feeling content with the newfound freedom he’s allowed himself. “Then have some more,” Aegon adds, his tone light and playful as he pushes the decanter of wine closer to you, encouraging you to fill your own cup. He can feel a pleasant buzzing in his head from the strongwine, and can tell that you aren’t far behind him.

“Is Your Grace trying to get me drunk?” you ask, a surprising riposte that he didn’t expect from you.

The question has Aegon laughing aloud, the sound hearty and full of mirth. He leans closer, sliding his elbow further along the table as he offers you a grin. That little spark of humor you show only heightens his own sense of urgency to be in your arms once more.

The king rests his chin on his fist, and raises a brow at you with a mischievous grin. “And what if I was?” he replies playfully.

“Then I’d have to ask to what aim?” you say holding onto your cup, your finger tracing the circular rim of it.

Aegon’s gaze is drawn to your fingers, following the movement as his pulse quickens. He can hear your question, but it fails to register fully as he’s momentarily lost in a daydream of those same fingers running across his skin. His mouth goes dry and his skin feels hot. He finds he must take another large draught of wine to calm the sudden surge of longing that courses through him.

“Well,” he says, his tone feigning seriousness. “Perhaps I intend to get you drunk so I might take advantage of you.”

Aegon is surprised when you chuckle in response to his daring assertion, having expected more of a demure reaction instead. “You would not have to ply me with wine for that,” you admit, lowering your head slightly as though realizing how direct your words had been a little too late.

His eyes go temporarily wide as he registers your brazen honesty, wondering if he’d even heard you correctly. “Do you jest with your king, girl?” he asks incredulously.

“No,” she offers adamantly, with all the defiance of a loyal hound. “I’m afraid I’d be quite willing.”

“Is that so?” Aegon says more for his own confirmation than to communicate it, his eyebrow raising with dubious intent.

His stiffening cock was becoming uncomfortable in his taut breeches and he couldn’t help but consider the irony that such an innocent encounter had taken on an incredibly sexual nature. The comfort you had offered him becoming like an intoxicating fuel to his loins, making you far more attractive than any other woman could ever possibly be in his eyes.

“And what would you be willing to do in order to satisfy your king?” he prods further, feeling confident that he has the upper hand now. His desire to claim everything you have to offer now undeniable.

“I-I,” you begin to stutter nervously, clearly not expecting such a blunt response from him. “What is it you wish of me?”

Aegon let’s out a sharp huff of delight at the question you pose. To his great joy it seems you truly don’t realize the effect you have over him right now. He stands from his chair, sending it backwards with the backs of his thighs. His legs then carry him around the corner of the table until he’s towering above you, looking down upon your trembling form with a burning hunger.

“The real question is.. What don’t I desire of you?” he poses the question with a lurid tone as he thumbs the neckline of your bodice. “I believe you’ll find me quite insatiable in my needs.”

You��re frozen in his sights, appraising him with frightened doe-eyes, but there is no mistaking the undercurrent of lust also hidden right below the surface. Likely, the only true trepidation you have is the thought of performing such acts out of wedlock, but it seems obvious to Aegon at least, that you should have no concerns when offering your virtue up to a king. And given the poorly state of mind he’s been in as of late and desperate weakness he has for you, it’s possible you might even be assisting in the betterment of the realms.

“You’re speechless,” he hums softly, running the back of his knuckles over your bare collarbone. “Don’t worry, I will do the talking,” he says with a smirk, delighted to hear that he sounds every bit the authoritative ruler he should. “Take my hands,” he commands softly, reaching down as he grasps you and encourages you to rise from your chair.

When you obligingly follow his orders and rise before him, Aegon then guides you, leading you towards the bed. He stops once the backs of your knees hit the wooden frame, which is now padded by many layers of newly laid quilts, and turns you away from him. His hands carefully unfasten your apron, tossing it over the footboard before he starts to work at untying the laces of your dress. He loosens them swiftly until your bodice hangs slack.

He’s very well practiced in the art of removing a woman’s clothing, whether they be a whore, a noblewoman, or even a servant as is your case. Still, he holds a certain fondness for you, a consideration that he does not offer readily to most of his conquests. You have given him something so valuable, a treasure that no other has even thought to bestow upon him, and he means to reward you well for it.

Aegon finally removes your dress, pulling it over your head and placing it on top of the apron. All that remains now is a long sleeved undershirt, a slightly more drab version of the sort all women wore under their dresses. He’d like to rip it from your body, but you’ve stirred up such tenderness within his empty heart that he is loathe to treat you in such a way.

Instead, he turns you to face him once more and takes a step back to regard you. “You truly are beautiful,” he states with a sort of quiet awe. He had never really noticed you before and he most definitely should have. What with your cornsilk blond hair and bright blue eyes. Was he really so oblivious to the people and the world around him that he couldn’t even notice such a stunning, caring maiden working directly under his nose? Had he always been avoiding any state of mental clarity and missed so much in the process of hiding from himself?

You look at him nervously, your body antsy as you shift uneasily, precariously balanced on the edge of the mattress.

“Sit,” he tells you in a hushed tone, not quite wanting to sound as bossy as he does, but trying to relieve you of your discomfort. He takes another step back once you have complied, his gaze now roaming your body, taking in the sight of you, or at least what he can see in that loose potato sack of a frock you’re wearing. Aegon can definitely make out some of your feminine curves though, the slope of your shoulder incredibly pleasing as is the way your breasts protrude noticeably through the fabric, and so too do your wide hips.

He smiles warmly at you, his eyes taking their time to appreciate the woman before him. He can’t help but ponder in this moment, how he’s never felt this way before, a lust that isn’t just physical in nature, but somehow more genuine. Aegon is no stranger to carnal pleasures and strongly desires to claim you in every way possible. But there is something more present in his heart as well, the wish to hold you close and protect you from the entire world, and to in turn be sheltered by you from the chaos of the Iron Throne.

Aegon decides then that he wants your first time together to be gentle, just as it was when you first came together. He closes the distance between the two of you and reaches out with both hands, grabbing softly on either side of your shoulders. Your soft, supple flesh gives pleasingly beneath his fingers as he guides you to lay down on top of the blankets. As you scoot backwards across the width of the bed, he can’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction that you were finally in his bed and no longer a fantasy inside his mind.

Once you’ve nestled into the plushness beneath you, he steps back again, his fingers making quick work of removing his woolen doublet. A flush of excitement blooms across his alabaster skin as he makes a show of the action, enjoying the way you watch him with such focused anticipation. He casts the garment to the floor, now removing his boots as swiftly as he can.

With his breeches already half undone and his chest exposed beneath a simple linen shirt, he is gifted with the sight of you lying in his bed in wait. The image is far more pleasant, far more intimate, than any other woman he has ever taken to bed. Your warmth radiates outward like a blazing fire and by now he is desperate to feel your heat directly. He practically rips his undershirt off, flinging it sideways across the covers.

Aegon makes his way back to you, lifting one knee up onto the mattress and crawling over the entire length of your body until he is face to face with you. His hand cradles your jaw tenderly, caressing up and down until his fingers slip up into your long, flowing tresses.

His intense, violet eyes fix upon yours, looking for any hesitation, but he sees none. It was as though you had been given to him as a gift from the gods, you who always gave and never took from him. There is a vulnerability in his expression that is rarely visible, replacing his usual display of smugness.

He maneuvers his breeches down without much effort, kicking them off once they’re low enough. Now fully settled into the valley of your spread legs, Aegon then grips the hem of your shift, lifting it up your thighs until he feels your body tense. He glances up at you and sees a pang of worry present that is perfectly normal, especially for a maiden.

The king asks the question he’s sure he already knows the answer to. “Have you done this before?”

You shake your head no as a blush of pink covers your cheeks and you bite your lip with pent up longing. Even with your inexperience and worry, he can tell how eager you are regardless. Much like he had been warring with his own thoughts about pursuing more with his chambermaid, you seem torn between your fears and your desires as well.

Aegon smiles sincerely, brushing his thumb gently along your lower lip, before leaning down to give you a chaste kiss. It was a bit of a selfish wish of his that you were untainted by any other man, and a part of him was happy to hear that you were indeed a virgin. It made him revel in delight; knowing you were his alone, that he’d be your first and your last if he had any say in it.

“Relax,” he whispered parting from your lips. “I’ll go slowly.” Aegon gazes at you again, wondering if this is perhaps too much for you, too soon. “That is if you still wish to.”

A look of panic crosses your face, as though you’re worried he might stop. “N-No! I still want to!” you affirm urgently. Your hands wrap around his back, pulling him closer to you, seemingly unwilling to let him go.

The king can barely contain his elation as he presses his forehead to yours, chuckling slightly at your eagerness. His hand slips beneath your undershirt and he slowly strokes the soft skin of your stomach, his fingers grazing over the warm plains of your flesh. Aegon’s breath hitches as he travels higher up your abdomen, finding the pliant curve of your breast.

You moan softly beneath his greedy touch, your body writhing with fervor, and your hips rising impatiently to meet him. Any question he had that you might not be fully keen about this joining was now all but diffused by your enthusiasm.

“You make such pretty sounds,” he teases playfully, feeling a sense of satisfaction at how responsive you are to his touch. He gives your breast a firm squeeze, then teases over the sensitive areola before cupping the whole mound again. His cock throbs painfully against the mattress, still bound by his smallclothes and yearning to sink into your heat.

His pulse pounds with expectation, finally feeling a sense of relief from the pent up desire he’s held for you all of this time. Aegon removes his hand from under your shift, propping himself up on the bed as he reaches down to unlace his braie. His hand brushes against your core in the process and he shivers at the feel of how wet you already are for him.

With his stiff length finally freed, he ventures a finger along your folds, growling at the silky slickness of your center. “Gods,” he utters with a groan. His cock twitches with need as he tests the tightness of your cunny, eyes rolling back in ecstasy as he imagines thrusting into you with his thick member instead of his digit.

“Are you ready for me, girl?” he asks eagerly, the question a soft inquiry as well as a warning of the impending pain his intrusion is likely to cause. At this point, he feels more like a lovesick boy than the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, his suspense heavy as he drapes your leg around his his hip, opening you more to him. He positions his head at your entrance and presses himself closer to you.

You nod, never taking your eyes off of him as you wrap your hands around his back. Aegon rests his weight on his elbows, covering you completely as he kisses you with tenderness. He tries to express everything he feels for you with actions instead of words, his lips hungrily devouring yours with passion. Without breaking the kiss, he begins to ease into you slowly, immediately feeling the resistance of your still in tact virtue.

His arms slide down, gripping your hips on each side tightly as his chest presses into yours. You let out a whimper into his mouth as he breaches your depths, your thighs clenching against his body at the sharp pain of his invasion. It doesn’t take long for you to relax again, your walls suddenly more welcoming as the sting subsides.

Aegon parts from your lips, pulling back slightly so he can look down at you. A smirk forms on his face as he sees your lurid expression and he begins to move, his hips rolling against yours in a slow, sensual rhythm. His hands slide down to your thighs, spreading them further apart as he thrusts himself deeper inside you. He groans with overwhelming pleasure at the feel of you, his head falling forward as he picks up the pace.

He kisses you again, forcing his tongue into your mouth as he continues to move inside of you. His tongue dances with yours as he begins to lose control, his hips snapping against you with intensity. Aegon can feel his release approaching quickly, unable to hold back for much longer, he tries to hasten you along to satisfaction. His hand slides up your shift once more, squeezing your breast and tweaking your delicate nipple until it pebbles between his fingers.

You squirm under him, incapable of holding still as he drives into you with increased enthusiasm. The king grinds his hips into you relentlessly, grimacing at the way your walls tighten around his cock like a vice. Aegon’s grip on your tit becomes harder, flipping between gripping and tweaking your sensitive nipple. His lips withdraw abruptly, his mouth searching out your other breast and nipping it through your undershirt.

He grins against the cloth as you cry out loudly, your body rigid as your climax rolls over you and soon he can feel it wash over his length as well. But, he can’t take it anymore, not how tight you are or how creamy your release feels on his tender cockhead. It’s all too much and within a moment he is gripping hard to your flesh and burying himself deep within you, his spend erupting in spurts from his pulsing member.

“Fuuuccck,” he growls out, his hands finding their way beneath your back and pulling you towards him securely, trying to get even closer if that was at all possible.

You pant below him, trying to catch your breath as little spasms continue to twitch throughout your back and your thighs tremble against his hips. A warm, blissful calm settles over him as he nestles his face into the crook of your neck and inhales deeply of your scent. He feels pleasantly dizzy, his heartbeat finally slowing as the haze of lust subsides.

Aegon sighs into your ear, the tone content and relaxed. “That was incredible,” he murmured softly, his voice low as he gently runs his hand along the side of your cheek.

“It was,” is all you can manage to say, your breath still a bit ragged as you try to come down from the high.

Your hand finds its way into his white hair again, brushing up against the nape of his neck and causing him to shiver. He’s once again reminded of the shared encounter that started all of this and he’s overcome with a fondness that makes his chest ache.

Aegon feels closer to you in every possible way now and isn’t keen on the idea of parting from you, but he can feel his cock softening and the mess beginning to pool on the sheets. So he slowly pulls out of you, collapsing onto the bed at your side. He grabs one of his stray garments without looking, probably his smallclothes or maybe his shirt, and cleans up his seed from you first and then himself.

He adjusts towards the head of the bed, resting on his side against the pillows and reaching out for you to join him as he scuttles under the covers. “Come here,” he says softly, pained by the loss of her warmth.

As you get up and crawl towards him, he scoops you up into his arms. Aegon holds you close, his chin resting against the top of your head as he wraps the quilts around your form and presses himself tighter against your back. The king can no longer deny the depth and the power of his feelings for you as you cuddle in his arms. There’s a sense of deep security and comfort welling up within him, but any words seem inadequate in this moment.

Aegon kisses your temple, the doting gesture unlike anything he’s bestowed upon a lover before. “I think I’m going to sleep quite well tonight,” he muses into your hair, still cradling you in his arms.

“Are you sure it’s alright for me to stay with you? In your chambers?” you ask quietly with seemingly no clue how ridiculous he thinks you sound for asking such a thing.

His mouth twitches into a small smile and he lifts his chin to press another kiss into your hair.

“Of course. I’m the king. I can do whatever I want,” he quips playfully, his voice sounding drowsy and relaxed as he settles into the plushness of the bed. “Now, come. Get your rest. You’re going to need it.” There is a gentle warning present in his tone that you do not seem to catch, that he intends to have more of you in the morning.

You nod, twisting your back towards the mattress until you’re facing him. The expression you give him is enough to make his heart melt, those big, blue eyes like deep pools filled with bottomless love and devotion. You wrap your hand behind his neck and pull him close for a kiss, a request he’s more than happy to oblige.

Your mouth is sweet and hot against his and he can’t help but to lick the line of your lower lip before parting from you. Aegon settles you back into place, his chest enveloping your smaller frame as he holds you possessively. He feels such solace in the close proximity of your body, his limbs toasty warm as he falls into a deep state of relaxation. He’s not even aware of when the moment he falls asleep, it happens so quickly.

—Aegon

When the first light of day streams through the window, Aegon finds his eyes drifting open and then closing again, not sure of what time it is, but too comfortable to want to move. His back feels incredibly warm with the slight dampness of sweat and he opens his lids once more to see your arm wrapped over his chest. He can feel your hot breath at his neck now that he’s paying attention fully and your leg slotted between his.

Aegon’s lips curl into a satisfied smile, basking in the near domestic feel of waking up like this with someone he actually cares for. He takes your hand and intertwines his fingers with yours as he rests his own arm on top of yours.

He tries to settle into his pillow once more, nuzzling his backside into you further and bending his knees more deeply. The peace is short lived though as the doors to his chamber fling open and he hears the startled gasp of a woman. It couldn’t be just any woman, like perhaps another maid come to clean his room in place of the one that never showed up for work. No, it had to be his mother, of all the people he did not wish to see this morning.

The king whips his head over his shoulder and squints in the direction of the door. His mother stands there with a hand over her mouth, frozen in horrified disbelief as though she’d just seen a ghost. Aegon grits his teeth, sitting up with a jolt, forced to realize just how compromising this situation must look with the way he was tangled in bed naked with you.

“No, no, no, no, no, Aegon!!” she practically screams at him and the sound jars you from your slumber. He wishes you could have stayed asleep, to have escaped the madness of his family for just a little longer.

Alicent picks up her skirts so she can walk swiftly around the bed and to his side, standing there with a judgmental sneer. “This is just like Diana, isn’t it!?” she cries hysterically. “Isn’t it!?” his mother prods him further.

Aegon looks back, catching your shifting uneasiness from his peripheral vision, then turns to his mother again, suddenly feeling very protective of you. You are innocent in all of this and should be afforded the ability to wake up from your first time making love in some semblance of calm, not to one of his mother’s outbursts. And of course the first thought she would have of him was that he had raped yet another servant girl. His mother was blissfully ignorant of everything he had done as a young man, except for the acts she felt the need to berate him for, even though she had never been around to offer any kind of proper guidance.

He lets out a groan of exasperation, running his fingers through his mussed hair and tries to think of an answer that might satisfy his fuming mother, but he knows this is a lost cause.

“No,” he denies, shaking his head as he avoids eye contact with her. There is no conviction in his tone, but it’s not like she would ever believe a thing he said on the matter.

“So it was consensual then?” the Dowager Queen asks glaring past Aegon and looking straight at you.

He glances to his side and sees you nod, but interrupts before you can say anything more. “You do not have to explain yourself to her,” he says in a much softer voice, trying to shield you from his mother.

“So, she’s just another one of your tramps then!” Alicent hisses with disgust. “Is it so hard for you to keep your hands off the staff? Can’t be bothered to go into the city anymore, you need to make sure you find your pleasure within the walls of the Red Keep?” Her words are vitriolic and hateful without any attempt to understand the situation.

“I should have gotten rid of your father’s little bastard when I had the chance. I should have known better that she would be too pretty for you to resist, but I was assured that the girl’s skills were tantamount to any risk,” she continued on her tirade, barking out every spiteful dagger she could think of.

“What of your wife!? How can you carry on like this!? Oblivious to the people you hurt!?” the Queen Dowager prattled on, not waiting for an answer, but seemingly wanting to preach her conclusions endlessly.

“You know Helaena’s fallen deep into sadness ever since Jaehaerys died. Ever since you forced her to endure that disgusting funeral procession through the streets of the city.. And it’s not like we ever had a deep connection even before that, Mother.” Aegon’s voice was bitter, resentful. He was sick and tired of this farce of familial love when she barely ever showed him any hint of it.

He’s incredibly shocked when he hears you speak up, your voice quiet, but accusing, even defensive, “You’re one to talk, Queen Dowager. You hurt Aegon more than any other.”

“How dare you! You insolent wretch!” his mother didn’t hesitate to bite back, her acrimony potent in the air. “You can consider your employ here ended. Gather your belongings and leave!” she looked at you impatiently, as though expecting you to stand immediately and go. “Now!” she snarled, her nose crinkled with anger.

“No,” the king interceded on your behalf, stilling you with his hand on your hip. “You will not go anywhere.”

“She absolutely will go! This is not acceptable behavior for any chambermaid in the employ of the royal family!” Alicent was insistent, with no sign of backing down, but Aegon had enough of this contest of wills.

“Mother!” he bellowed at her furiously, finally snapping back at her with conviction. “I am the king and you will obey me!”

That finally got her attention, for the first time in his entire life he saw a flash of fear in his mother’s eyes and it only emboldened him to continue.

“You will not do a thing to this girl. She is under my protection,” he added, his ruling absolute. “And if I find that you have touched her, hurt her in any way, then I will have you hung. Just like the rat catchers.”

Aegon’s lips curl upwards in smug satisfaction, finally realizing a fraction of the true power he held as sovereign of the realms. His mother did not respond, regarding him with silent malice, her glare ever testing the limits to see if he truly meant it. When she saw that he did, his mother backed down, her shoulder slumping slightly as she relented, but not before getting one last dig in.

“Very well, My King,” she mocked with false sincerity, giving him a sarcastic curtsy. “I will leave you to your dalliances. I should know better than to interrupt a man having his fun.” She left in a flurry of resentment, slamming the door behind her with a loud thud.

No matter how furious he was with his mother, she still remained his parent, the woman who gave him life, whom he loved and had once revered above all else. Even this victory he had over her felt hollow, and he realized that even when he won, he still lost in one way or another.

He turned to you, his expression a mix of concern and tenderness. Aegon stroked gently at the side of your cheek, wanting to make you feel safe again after you’d been forced to tolerate the full brunt of his mother’s wrath. He found you to be more resilient than he’d ever expected, already sitting up and staring at him with a knowing look upon your face.

“I’m so sorry,” you say softly and almost instantly he feels something within his chest fracture.

It might have been the facade he always wore cracking, how he always projected an image of indifferent merriment so none would know how truly miserable he was. It might even have been the very fact that you had suffered insults by associating with him and yet you were still concerned about his well being.

Aegon can feel tears welling in his eyes and when you spread your arms out towards him, he doesn’t hesitate to crash into you. He buries his face in your comforting bosom and finally allows himself to fall apart in your embrace without shame. It’s probably the safest and most accepted he’s ever felt in his entire life and he knows now that he won’t ever be able to exist without you.

As you rake your fingers through his silvery locks, his tears dwindle until he is left relaxed, sated by your validation that his life is not as easy as everyone might think it is. He listens to your heartbeat as his fingers dig firmly into your back, making sure you can never leave his side. It’s a mercy, that you don’t seem to mind how clingy and needy he is. If anything, you seem born to mend his wounds, a soothing balm to his troubled soul.

You lean back against the pillows and soon Aegon finds himself drifting asleep against you. As his aching eyes begin to close, he can’t help but hope that he never disappoints you. He’s so convinced that he is a failure from the constant disparagements he’s endured throughout his life, that he can’t even fully enjoy you without worrying that he isn’t worthy of you - that you might leave him.

As if reading his mind, your hand massages gently along his scalp, cradling his head closer to your breast. “Don’t worry,” you say reassuringly. “It’s going to be alright. I promise.”

Aegon didn’t know how you could possibly promise him such a thing, but somehow hearing you say it aloud makes him actually want to believe it.

Read Chapter 2

And will you be bold Will you lose control? I could never desert you I could never let go If you fall in line And the zenith calls I'm standing waiting The last to fall

~Starset - Last to Fall

[moongreenlight]

What if your brain tells you that nurse!reader from the previous fic was on the field with the boys as an on call medic and gets taken as a POW and ghost is losing his fucking mind?? - like actual feral behavior

Ohhhhhhhhhmygod. Hi? I’m in your walls. So mad I didn’t see this before because I’ve been SLAVING over a Simon fic all week and this apparently is the motivation I needed to put some more batshit insane things on the internet forever.

We all know that Simon is a fucking machine. Prides himself on his ability to essentially turn off his humanity on the field. But for some reason his nurse!reader is the one thing that interrupts that ability. Even seeing you treating a few rowdy privates gets him worked up. Lingers around the medbay in his free time for no apparent reason just to side eye your patients and glare at them to make sure there’s absolutely no possibility of you getting hurt.

There was probably an occasion where you were treating a soldier who didn’t fare well with pain. Moaning and crying and thrashing while you did something simple like tuck their arm into a sling, and they somehow writhed around enough to hook you in the cheek with their elbow. Nothing serious, but it left an angry red mark on your cheek for so long that he caught it on one of your evening walks around base. Usually after dark so you could both avoid being found out.

And then the next day you see Simon dragging that same soldier to a different nurse’s bed under the armpits. Explaining gruffly that he went unconscious because he couldn’t handle training. (He made the poor bastard run the track in full tactical gear on one of the hottest days of the year for nearly an hour straight. No water. No breaks.)

You were the kindest, softest thing he’d ever come in contact with. Something he never thought he’d be able to find in this lifetime after so much hate and anger and pain. He couldn’t risk losing you, which is why he was so strict on his saying no to you joining the task force on the field. The shit they did was dangerous. Immensely so. And this brought up two main points for Simon.

One; he wouldn’t be able to focus on the task at hand knowing you were out. He slept with one eye open when you were nestled close to his chest and snoring softly in the comfort of your own home that he’d all but booby-trapped home alone style. No fucking way he’d allow you out into hostile territory with only a introductory understanding of self-defense. He’d be on pins and needles the entire mission. Probably get the entire squad killed because he’d constantly be looking over his shoulder for you.

Two; it would rip him to shreds if he lost you. You were the only person he truly saw as an equal. The first time the two of you met, he was probably being angsty and rude because he did something to land himself in the medbay, and when he refused to take off his tact vest so you could listen to his heart and lungs, you all but held him at scalpel-point and threatened him within an inch of his life until he finally submitted. After that he was fucking hooked. Obsessed with the way you could get brutes like him to roll over and show you their belly like obedient dogs. And you were kind to him. Immeasurably kind. Dealt with his mood swings and took the time to get to know him. Suffered through the impossibly long process of him letting his guard down.

So if somehow his orders were ignored, it was almost certain that you’d be given strict orders to keep your involvement under wraps. Price would have enough of an idea of the situation to keep the two of you on opposite schedules in the days leading up to deployment. Minimize the possibility of you letting slip that you’d be coming along to preserve not only the integrity of his team but also his quality of life.

It would seem like a regular day to Simon at first. Loading into the helo before dawn, sitting between Johnny and Gaz and trying to tune them out while they snarked at one another across him. And then Price would come on looking guilty as sin. You could practically smell it coming off him. Leaning both his arms on the open door and signaling the driver to start the engine for a quick take off in case Simon decided to abandon ship in his outrage.

He’d give some spiel about teamwork and the importance of focusing on the mission and whatever other bullshit he thought would keep Simon the most level headed. Spewing on and on until Gaz finally cut him off with a pointed yawn. At which point he’d give the group one last look, lingering the longest on the ghost mask, before stepping aside to reveal you.

Dressed up in a uniform that looked about a size too big. Tailored as best it could be in the short notice. Pants chopped and hemmed to make them a manageable length, belt pulled as tight as it could go around your waist. Strapped into a vest that was loaded with medical supplies instead of weapons. Two pistols holstered on your either side.

Simon was beyond livid. Spouting steam like a cartoon bull. Staggering to stand when the chopper took off and stalking over to the cockpit where Price sat and tried to look casual.

Gave him a fucking earful. Screaming over the roar of the engine into the earpiece on a private channel for the entire two hour long flight. Bitching about paperwork and dead weight and how it’s just another person he’ll need to look after and he doesn’t want to. It’s almost impressive. Price doesn’t get a word in sideways. Gets shut down immediately if he even dares to open his mouth.

And he’s a monster when he finds out you’ve been taken POW. Circled by the enemy team like ravenous wolves finding a wounded deer. Soap and Gaz both have to pin him down when Price breaks the news. Seeing fucking red.

A large part of me thinks he internalizes a lot of the torture he went through in the comics. Letting it sit and fester inside him like the worst kind of poison that it took him years to meticulously extract from his very being and carefully contain into a small vial. Laying dormant in the back of his mind for a moment like this. He had no idea what the enemy wanted with you, so he had to assume the worst.

Storms their base by himself. Sniffs you out through a maze of bunkers and underground tunnels and infinitely many heavily secured doors. And the rest of the force just watches his six. Stands back feeling a little nauseous, but letting him blaze down his war path. Any and everyone who gets in his way is guilty unless they can prove their innocence- and they don’t get the chance. Runs through all his ammo gunning down countless grunts and privates stationed outside the base of planted as decoys. Specifically demanding that Price be the one to give up his weapons and ammo so he can continue on. And it’s the one time that the captain allows him to snarl orders like that.

Price knows that Simon is, in his core, a fighting dog. Rescued by the force and given an opportunity to channel his aggression into a more productive outlet. And now it seems all his hard work and training is coming unraveled. Watching Simon once again snap his jaws and bare his teeth, killing without rhyme or reason to get you back, is jarring to say the least. So in some last-ditch effort to preserve some of the trust that they’d built, he surrenders. Shows his belly. Shrugs off his rifle with no objection other than the way his mouth drew into a tight line.

Simon kicks through heavy metal reinforced doors without the need for a battering ram. Pushes himself well past the point of exhaustion. Fueled purely off the instinctual need to recover you. He can’t speak. Can’t eat. Can’t drink. Can’t stop.

He’d mow through the first few ranks of soldiers until they finally found someone that looked like they’d have at least a sliver of useful information and beat them within an inch of their life until they gave up the information that would eventually lead him to you.

In all honesty, you were probably taken with the intent to lure them in. Not anticipating your absence would have such an impact. Kept you bound in a guarded room. Roughed up a bit just from your struggle, but they hadn’t had time to interrogate you before they got word that 141 was coming in wild and sideways.

This would send Simon even further into madness. Body aching, bleeding from his knuckles. His knees and shoulders screaming their protest when he broke down the door, sending it crashing into the room. And the first thing he sees is you huddled in a corner blindfolded and bound with handcuffs that were cutting into your wrists from your trying to escape. He’d be an entirely different person. (I am giggling and kicking my feet.)

He wouldn’t even bother wasting time with the rifle. He’d handle what few guards were left with his bare hands. Possessed by some kind of superhuman strength. Catching a second wind the moment he laid eyes on you. He’d rush over, the rest of the boys standing guard in the hallway, and break you free from your restraints.

And as much as I would want him to be sweet and coddle you and coo over you, he’d probably be riding such a high that he wouldn’t be able to. He’d immediately start in on you, but with significantly less ferocity than he had with Price.

“You got a fuckin’ death wish? Think they’d turn you into a martyr for bein’ a medic on the field? Real original fuckin’ concept, yeah?”

He’d pull you in close to him, giving you an incredibly detailed once over. Inspecting your face and neck and arms legs for any further damage, and once he determined after three checks that all your wounds were purely superficial, he’d allow his hands to shake just slightly when he smoothed your hair back off your forehead.

[lostinlads]

Doctor's Orders

Synopsis:After a checkup with your favorite doctor regarding your heart and aether core, you invite him out clubbing with you and some friends.

Tags: zayne x femme!reader, MDNI IF YOU ARE A MINOR YOU WILL BE BLOCKED, angst, doctor!zayne, tara being the girlboss best friend she is, xavier mention, mc has trouble with her grief, zayne joking around a little!, mentions of alcohol, caleb and your grandmother mentioned

Words: 1.9k

an: howdyyy! so this first chapter is pretty short i know, but im just mainly setting it up for chapter two because things are going to go pretty fast within the next few chapters so i needed a grounding point! but!!! i hope you enjoy! this fic follows the story of the game a little closer than the others so caleb and your grandmother are going to be mentioned a bit in here! enjoyyyyy!

ao3 | Chapter List | kofi

You hiss between your teeth as the cold stethoscope touches your bare skin, eyes screwing shut. Zayne's large hand comes to rest on your shoulder, thumb rubbing soothing circles.

"I know," His voice so soft you almost didn't hear. "I'm sorry it is so cold." You peek an eye open, his hazel ones already staring into yours as you relax. 

He listened to your beating heart, counting the seconds with your irregular rhythm. You watch as his cool eyes trail down from your eyes down to your chest, you know he's looking at where his ears are listening but your cheeks flush anyway at the thought of the possibility of his eyes drinking in your exposed flesh. 

After countless appointments with him you couldn't help but feel the giddy, almost childlike feeling when he is this close to you. Within arm's reach, eyes stone as he works. The immature crush you have on your doctor was already bad in your eyes, but the fact he was also your childhood friend only made the situation worse for you. Heart speeding, hands clammy, shallow breaths with every brush of his icy hands. You couldn't help but imagine them running over your body, down your shoulder, around your waist.

"Your heart is beating faster," Zayne snaps you from your daydream. "Are you nervous?" You meet his eyes again, a crease forming between his brows.

"Sorry, just thinking about work!" The lie slips from your lips before you could think of anything else to say. A small quirk to the corner of his mouth, such a small movement you would have missed it if you weren't paying attention.

"You're a horrible liar, you know that?" Amusement flooding his tone, lifting the weight of the room. The small chuckle that leaves your lips bubbling out as he pulls the stethoscope from his ears. 

"I'm not that bad," You try to reason. "And besides, it has been pretty stressful today. Tara and I have to be out early in the morning for a meeting, then back to fighting wanderers." You mope, hands coming up to button your shirt. Zayne's eyes watching your hands eagerly as they move to cover your cleavage.

"You have been taking your medications, correct? You have been having a rough time these past few months and you shouldn't stress your heart any more than you already have." Leaning back onto the chair, you nod. That wasn't exactly a lie either, you really have been taking them - most days at least. Some days a thick, blinding fog takes over your mind and you end up forgetting almost every basic task that should come easy to you. You don't tell Zayne this though, knowing he would say it's a trauma response to the tragedy you have faced, and that maybe you should see a therapist. He's said it before, many times in fact. Sick of hearing him try to push you from your work, the only thing taking your mind off of Caleb and your grandmother, you shut up, put on a happy face and convince everyone around you that you're better - happy even. 

"I have. And staying away from stressors if I can and eating healthy." You don't mention the sleep, that lie wouldn't be able to be spoken. You know he can see the dark circles under your makeup, tracking the yawns falling from your lips. Every time you close your eyes you could hear the explosion, watch as the house engulfs in flames before your eyes as you stand there so helplessly. The nightmares drink you in, never letting you rest. Waking up in a cold sweat, heart racing as you gasp for air. 

"Mm," He hums, satisfied. You played your cards right today, going through the rehearsed moments you have been reminding yourself on the ride here. "Finally, you have taken it upon yourself to listen to your doctor." He turns his back to you, placing his glasses down on his desk as he fills out your file. "I have to say I'm proud."

"It's hard not to listen when my doctor reminds me every time we hang out that I should be taking my meds, and that I should eat healthier, and everything else - even when he's taking me for ice cream." You tease back, a smirk plastered on your face as you cross your arms over your chest. 

"He sounds like a very concerned friend, maybe you should listen to him more often," A smile can be heard in his words regardless of if you can see his face or not. 

"Sounds like he's paranoid to me," You jab back, biting your lip as you try to fight back a laugh. He turns around, a brow quirked in the air. That breaks you, a laugh slipping past your lips as your shoulders shake.

"Sounds like someone likes to misbehave, no wonder he is paranoid as you say," Zayne walks over to you, placing a hand to your back to signal the dreaded appointment is over - finally. You could feel his cool touch through your shirt, spreading over your skin as goosebumps rise on your arms, breath hitching just slightly. He walks you to the door, opening it for you as you slip through to the waiting room, him following close behind. Tara comes into view, face buried in her phone as she types away. 

"I'm finished!" You chirp, her head snapping up as a show stopping Tara smile spreads on her features. 

"Oh my God, good because Xavier just texted that he's coming too. I'm trying to convince Simone, but she said she might have to cat sit that day, ugh!" She groans, throwing her head back dramatically.

"Where are you going?" Zayne asks from beside you, eyes flicking between you and Tara. 

"Oh, we are planning on going out to Solstice on Saturday," A nightclub your friends at work have agreed to go, celebrating a job well done with all of the stressful shifts this month. You agree that it's what you need, loud music, flowing drinks, and friends that you can dance the night away with. Ease the tensions in your bones and maybe, just maybe, help lull you to sleep long enough you don't feel like a corpse in the morning. Tara perks up, almost jumping out of her seat to stand.

"Zayne! You should come with us!" A twitch of panic in your stomach as you slowly turn to Zayne, watching his face as he stands still for a pause. You can almost see the cogs in his brilliant brain move as he calculates why the hell your friend he hardly knows is inviting him out with your work friends.

"I'm not sure-" He starts but your mouth babbles out words before you could stop it.

"I mean I know you have been stressed and swamped with work, maybe going out for a drink or two would help..." You almost sound desperate as you try to convince him to come out, embarrassing yourself. "If you aren't working, I mean..." Words mumbling out as your cheeks burn so hot it hurts.

"I mean you two are friends and have hung out so it wouldn't be weird or anything, and we already had Nero decline to come. We reserved a booth for eight people so it would be a waste to let it go," She swoops in and saves you effortlessly, looking back down at her phone as it dings. 

You watch Zayne as he turns to you, eyes fluttering over your flushed face as you nibble on your lip. He's thinking, as always. You silently plead with him, eyes widening and brows pulling together softly. It's been a long time since you two have hung out, far too long for your liking. Shifts never meeting up to have a day off together, and you missed him. Regardless of your stupid little crush, you longed for his company. So different from everyone else you hung out with, Zayne was slow, calming, you always felt relaxed and at ease with him. Anxiety washing away from your chest as you two go out to eat, or go to the library, something so mundane, so normal but also something you needed. 

"Just one drink," You whisper just quiet enough for only him to hear. "If you're off you deserve to treat yourself Doctor Zayne." His eyes soften, to anyone else they wouldn't have noticed but you do. A glimpse of him when he's alone with you shows for a fleeting moment before he returns back to his professional facade. 

"I'll give it some thought," He announces loud, Tara pipping her head back up with a smile. 

"Yes!" She shouts in the quiet waiting room, fist punching in the air above her head. "If not it's totally fine though we won't hold a grudge or anything." She quips, picking up her bag from the chair and tosses it on her shoulder. You walk towards her, her hands fisting in her pockets to pull out her car keys.

"Thank you, Doctor Zayne," You shoot him a sweet smile, cheeks still so rosy. He nods towards you, a ghost of a smile blessing his oh so beautiful lips. Zayne watches the pair of you leave, hands shoved deep in his coat.

Tara and you make your way to her car, her babbling about this weekend in detail about who all is coming and what time to meet. She makes up for your loss of words, filling in every space you can't bear to say right now. You're grateful for that, she knows all too well how hard life has been to you, staying up late on the phone as you can't fall asleep, helping you do some reckless activities just to get out of bed, and when you can't be bothered to leave your room - coming over with takeout as you two watch shitty reality tv in your bedroom. She was someone you held so dearly to your heart and knew what you wanted without you saying so. 

"Do you think Zayne is going to say yes? I mean I hardly see him leave his office unless he's with you." She questions. You shrug, it's hard to say since clubbing was far from the short list of activates you and Zayne stick to. And thinking back now, you don't ever remember seeing Zayne drink - who knew if he even does?

"I don't know, maybe he will. I mean he's been working double shifts almost every day this week so he might be too exhausted to even come out." You hope she doesn't note the twinge of disappointment in your tone, but you know she does.

"I hope he does, it would be fun to see him let loose for once!" She giggles, pulling into the parking lot of your apartment complex. 

You shoot her a goodbye, hugging her quick before leaving the car and walking towards the door as the warm summer rays wash over your skin. You drink in the subtle moment, enjoying the last few days of warmer weather before the chill starts. Not that you minded, but the cold air nipping at your skin only reminded you of icy hands that you craved on your body. you shake your head, making your way inside the elevator as your phone pings, confusing you because Tara wouldn't be able to get to her home so fast. You pull it out of your pocket, maybe it's Xavier questioning what to wear or maybe he wants to grab hotpot with you later. You swipe the screen open, tapping to your text messages and the name that appears surprises you.

Zayne: I'll be there.

[dolliestfairy]

𝅄ֹ ׅ𔓘 Tw : Noncon/Dubcon, Prude kink, Virgin killer, this man is an imposter lol. Innocent ruined, Male masturbation, yandere...(?) idk. lmk if i miss anything 𝅄ֹ ׅ♡ mdni | chubby reader fics with no skintone of reader mentioned ༊ೀ

thinking about sweet!best friend who is secretly is an easily jealous and is a really possessive person over his chubby!prude. sweet!best friend who has this dark dreams about you and your 'innocence' that he will soon ruin. sweet!best friend who acts normal but when the lights are off and you're not looking, his hands is wandering around his cock, thrusting it while he drown his own thoughts into your whimpers and moans. sweet!best friend who ask you to go out with him at midnight alone, and little did you know, that was the last time you have your innocent left. sweet!best friend who ask you to go to a night club where there is a such unholy scene such as sex that will completely ruin your entire brains. as he sees you while he seduce you to at thoughts to do something sinful. he then pulled you into a quiet spot and start making out with you. kissing you there and then and also exchanging each other saliva while his hands wandering around your ass. but when the thing start to get real he then let you off and go somewhere leaving you alone with no reason at all. turns out; it was all a plan of his sick mind. he try to make you horny for him and make you willing to let him fuck you without making him looked like a desperate person. as he wait in his apartement where his door bell is ringing only to find you wet and desperate. until he pull you in into his apartement, slowly but surely start to take each other clothes, where he compliments your whole stretchmarks and espesially your fat fucking pussy. he has been waiting for too long for this moment, and now he wont let that moment slip. as his hand roughly grab your plump thighs and placed it into his shoulder as he carries you, while his other hand start to place his cock into your unguard pussy while you and him start kissing each other again. and right at that moment where he would destroy all the things you dont know about, all the innocents you had left within your faith and soul, is all gone. in the hand of your trusted best friend without you seemed to realize it yourself that he have been ruined it all. and soon enough, he'll be more than a best friend to you.

Those Sweet!best friends are;

GETO SUGURU, KUROO TETSURO, Tsukishima kei, Shibura, Itoshi Sae, SUGAWARA, Lev Haiba, OIKAWA TOORU, Tendou, Kyoutani, Megumi, Toji, Gojo Satoru, Alec, Deidara, Sasori, kakuzu, PAIN, SHIGARAKI, Choso, Shiva, Qin Shi Huang, MAHITO, DOUMA, & Enmu.

did i forget anyone??? insert ur fav!

[arvandus]

Disobedience - Barbatos x afab!gn!reader

CW: 18+ MINORS DNI; Dom!Barb, Sub!Reader; tall coded Barbatos; mild choking; hair grabbing, pinning, kinky tail stuff; vaginal and anal fingering; vaginal sex; anal sex; reader’s first time doing anal; Barb is dom, but soft when it counts!

WC: 5,571

Special Note: This fic also has a AMAB!GN!reader version! Exact same premise, setting, and aftermath, but the smut is slightly different for obvious reasons. You can find it here!

Also, you can find the full version of the banner art (done by me) here! (it's NSFW but censored for tumblr).

No sooner had the great castle doors closed behind the last guest, when Barbatos immediately spun on you. His stare was dark and oppressive, his cheeks flushed and lips tightly sealed. Diavolo was nowhere to be found, likely making a wise retreat as soon as he caught on to the thick tension between the two of you.

Barbatos’s hand was on the back of your neck in an instant, a firm pressure that you couldn’t escape as he began to guide you through the now-empty castle halls.

“Come, my dear. We have much to discuss.”

You had thought he’d take you to his room, to discuss the matter of your... mischief... privately within the safety of his personal space.

But you were quickly proven wrong as he steered you into one of the random empty rooms down the great hallway. You weren’t sure of its purpose, and you didn’t have time to contemplate it as he forcefully guided you into the dark space, the door swinging closed behind him. There was no sound of a latch, and a moment later a sliver of yellow light from the hallway lit the room just enough to make out his expression as Barbatos turned you to face him. His expression was devouring, his eyes feral and dangerous, a wild beast pushing against the cage of his control.

“Barbatos, the door—” you started.

But your words were cut short, devoured by his lips on yours, his tongue already laying claim to the inside of your mouth. His hands were holding your jaw, fingers curled towards the base of your neck, and all you could do was whimper at his onslaught.

Your legs felt like jelly, your head swimming dizzily as he pushed you back, back, until the backs of your legs hit the sofa that sat in front of the large fireplace, its hearth dark.

He didn’t care, you realized.

Which showed just how much you’d gotten under his skin at the dinner table. Because Barbatos always cared.

With your body pinned, his hands moved swiftly from your jaw to your waist. Immediately, his hands were pulling your teal RAD shirt from the waistband of your pants as he kissed you. Your own hands began working just as feverishly, forcing off his RAD tailcoat and fumbling at his tie. Your own blazer was swiftly being pushed off your shoulders as his lips moved from your mouth to your jaw, to your neck...

The sharp pain of teeth digging into your sensitive flesh made you hiss, your heart beating wildly in your chest as your hands gripped at his shoulders. It was followed by the warm, wet swipe of his tongue, lathing over his mark as if he were savoring the icing on a cupcake.

You were panting now, one hand around his neck with your fingers in his sweaty strands, just beneath the collar of his dress shirt. But just as you were about to let yourself get lost in the heady passion he was drowning you in, you felt his tail wrap around your neck and squeeze.

Your eyes flew open, wide and alert from their half-lidded state, and you swallowed your saliva, hoping it would take your fear with it.

Barbatos wouldn’t hurt you. You knew this, believed it with every fiber of your being. But being held in a chokehold by a demon brought forth your primal survival instincts in a way you couldn’t entirely ignore. You let the fear linger for only a moment, allowed your mind to catch up and process.

You could breathe.

Of course you could. As you knew, he wouldn’t hurt you. Now the sensation of his tail around your windpipe brought a different type of thrill into your veins, washing over the fear that had been present a moment prior.

Barbatos pulled away just enough to look down at you. His thumb stroked your cheek as he spoke.

“Such audacity, my little lamb...” he muttered. “What could possibly have inspired you to behave so foolishly?”

The foolishness in question? A secret game of footsie that you had initiated with him beneath the table as Prince Diavolo hosted the student council and some high-profile dignitaries. Barbatos had been sitting across from you, and in your boredom, had decided to tease him just a little bit. A quiet removal of your shoes, a soft brush of your toes against his ankle, slipping beneath the hem of his pants before retreating again....

The feeling of the tips of his tail sliding up and over your chin brought you immediately back to the present. They pressed against your lips, warm and wet, before forcing their way into your mouth. The slick tips swirled around your tongue, caressing and stroking before forcing your jaw open.

“Answer me,” Barbatos ordered.

His eyes stared at you, half-lidded, two glowing embers of green in the dark of the room. His tail slid out of your mouth, pulling your lower lip, now wet and plump, down. He stared intently as the soft flesh popped back into place upon its release, the tips of his tail returning to decorate your neck.

“I... I only wanted to tease you a little. No one saw... and I didn’t... I didn’t go too far...”

At least that was what you thought... you kept your quiet administrations to him below the knees, never past them despite the urge you had to push even further. You’d thought you were being so good...

“Too far?” he repeated. His tone was scolding and yet his hands were quickly undoing the buttons of your shirt. “Do you know what would have happened if we were caught?”

That earlier flare of defiance returned, fueled by the giddy joy you felt when you held the full weight of his attention. “You didn’t exactly stop me,” you cooed sweetly.

Barbatos’s eyebrows lifted slightly, his mouth curling into a dark grin. His hand came up and clutched your cheeks between his fingers, squishing the flesh. “You still choose to push me... how incredibly brazen of you, considering your current predicament.” He tutted at you, gentle tsks falling from between his closed teeth. “What has come over my sweet little lamb to make them so disobedient? Is this your way of being needy? Have I been neglecting my love for too long?”

Your breath hitched, his words bringing emotions up within your chest that frothed like flotsam on an angry sea. That wasn’t... that couldn’t be... could it?

No, no... you were fine. You were understanding, and patient, and....

And yet...

Barbatos caught the change in you instantly, and the quiet lust-fueled fury in his eyes flickered, allowing a momentary look of tenderness in his gaze.

His tail released your throat, and you felt its absence, the air of the room cold against your wet skin where his residue lingered. Then he kissed you again, just as hungry but less violent, and you clung to him, your hips pressing forward against him. He met your needy pressure in return, his hand on your breast while his other arm held you close.

“You foolish human,” he muttered against your lips. “All you simply had to do was ask...”

Your fingers had already undone the row of buttons of his shirt that you could reach.

Your eyes met his in the dark, the faint light of the hallway a halo around his head. “Barbatos, please....”

He smiled and kissed you again, his tongue deep and thorough, twining and swiping as if he could swallow your destitute pleas before they escaped your trembling lips. As he did so, his tail undid the back of his white cummerbund while his hands busied themselves with undoing the buckle of your pants, and then the button, and the zipper...

Your hands did the same as soon as the cummerbund was gone, fingers clumsy and frantic. But before you could slip your hand into his slacks to feel the warm weight of him, his hand snatched your wrist. He spun you around so your back was against him now, the couch in front of you, and his mouth was once again on your neck, sucking and nibbling. Barbatos’s hands caressed the planes of your body, moving from your chest and down over your ribs. It felt tender, and you sighed against it, your blood pulsing in your chest, in your veins, between your legs...

But then the tenderness vanished as his fingers hooked into the waistband of your pants, your underwear. In a fluid series of motions he yanked down the fabric and bent you over the arm of the couch by the back of your neck. You gasped at the sudden change in position, your arms tucked beneath you. Your cunt was exposed now, your pants bundled around your thighs.

You felt his body press against yours, curling over you like a blanket, matching the curves of you. His soft bangs tickled against your shoulder blade as his lips ghosted against your skin and you shivered, a whimper falling from your lips. Finally you felt his breath at your ear as his thumb massaged at your neck muscles in a slow, gentle circle.

“You wanted my attention and now you shall have it. All of it.”

Barbatos’s dexterous fingers of his free hand slid between your legs, stroking your folds. You were already so wet, your labia flushed and swollen, your body ready for him before he’d even pulled his cock out. Steadily, Barbatos pushed two of his fingers into you, and your walls clenched and fluttered as your breath caught in your throat.

“You will feel me in every inch of your body,” he whispered.  “That’s what you want, isn’t it? That’s why you misbehaved so shamelessly.”

You were frozen, air trapped in your lungs and burning a hole through your chest as you waited for more. Your walls clenched again around his fingers, but they stayed torturously still.

“Answer me,” he ordered again.

You nodded your head.

He chuckled low and dark.  “How very greedy of you...”

There was a silent pause, and time seemed to slow. You could hear Barbatos’s shaky breaths as his hand tensed against the back of your neck, pushing you deeper into the couch cushions. His groin pressed against you, still covered by his unbuttoned slacks and his underwear. His fingers were deep within you, and still there was no mistaking the hard bulge that pressed against your aching cunt, your clit throbbing at the contact.

“I warn you,” he said quietly, “I will not be gentle. Not this time. Not when you’ve tortured me to the point of madness. So tell me... are you certain this is what you want?”

You nodded again, more vigorously, and yet it wasn’t enough; not for him.

Barbatos clicked his teeth. “No, no...” his grip on your neck loosened and he rubbed his thumb tenderly against your cheek. “I must hear you say it.”

You swallowed the saliva that pooled in your mouth. “Yes,” you said. “Yes, I want this. I want you to ruin me, Barbatos, please.”

The weight of him left your back, his fingers left your cunt. There was a frantic moment of the sound of Barbatos’s belt buckle clinking as he shoved down the front of his pants to pull his cock out. Then he shoved into you with a single thrust.

That single action made the tension in you snap. You cried out, your back arching and head lifting as pleasure exploded from your core and washed you in instant fiery hot bliss. Had you been of sound mind, you might have felt embarrassed at cumming so quickly on his cock. But there was no time to recover, let alone think. Barbatos gripped one hip with a firm hand, fingertips digging into your skin, as the other grabbed you by your hair and pinned you back down into the couch. Then he set a brutal pace, his hips pounding against yours, bottoming out with each thrust. It instantly threw you into overstimulation, your body not yet recovered from your initial orgasm, and yet there was no way to fight it, no way to escape it. Not with the way he had you trapped beneath him, your own human strength useless against him. All you could do was cry and whine, unhinged sounds ripping from your throat as your tears escaped your closed eyes and your drool soaked into the couch.

Barbatos watched you, relishing in the sight of you beneath him, broken under the violence of your own pleasure while he chased his own. Your walls were tight around him, hot and comforting as the tip of his cock drove into the deepest depths of you. Already he could feel his own orgasm climbing rapidly, the hours of sexual tension finally reaching its precipice. His tail dipped between his legs, finding your swollen clit, and rubbed it in fast circles as your body spasmed. Broken pleas fell from your lips as your fingers clawing at the wine-colored upholstery.  It only spurred Barbatos to pin you down even harder, his hand switching from your hair to your shoulder, stripping you of every last ounce of power you pretended to have, subduing you entirely and preventing your escape.

You came a second time, this time your juices soaking his pounding cock, his balls, his thighs, absorbing into his clothes. He came with a groan, joining you in your shattered ecstasy, his rhythm becoming uneven, his hips stuttering as he filled you with his cum.

Barbatos’s thrusts began to slow, and your mind spun, dizzy and hazy, the aftershocks of your pleasure still making you spasm beneath his hands. Finally his hips stilled, and for a small moment, you both fell silent as you caught your breath. His hand released your shoulder as he straightened up and pulled himself out of you.

The room was thick with the scent of sex, and Barbatos stared at your sweaty form, limp across the couch. He drank in your beauty, reveled the way your body was marked by him. The fingerprints forming on your hips, the mark on your neck from earlier, and your cunt...

He watched intently as his cum began to leak out of you, pale and glistening. It coated your labia, your clit, and still it spasmed here and there, each one sending a small shudder up your spine as you lay beneath him, your eyes half-closed.

Barbatos tilted his head slightly, admiring, as his finger brushed against your sex, scooping his cum onto his digit. You flinched at the contact, and your eyes fluttered open to look back at him from the corner of your gaze. You were still too spent to try to move your head.

He kept one palm at your hip, a gentle hold compared to the finger-digging grasp of earlier, as he pushed his cum-covered finger back into your hole. You inhaled a shaky, broken breath, but didn’t object, and Barbatos smiled.

Were you still not satisfied?

Good. Neither was he.

Barbatos withdrew his finger and followed it up with a second, the push of his fingers making a lewd squelch around the cum that still filled you. You whimpered softly and your hips shifted back into his hand.

Slowly he began to pump his fingers in you, letting the sticky white coat his fingers to the knuckles. He watched, transfixed, his eyes raking over every inch of you. Still so much of you to explore, so much of you to claim. His free hand caressed the curves of your body before finally settling on your ass. It filled his palm and then some, and his gaze lingered, no longer focused on the thrusting of his fingers, but on the tight, puckered hole that tightened and relaxed with each swipe of his fingers in your wet heat. Curiously, his thumb pressed against the inside of your ass cheek, pulling it aside to allow him a better view.

Your body tensed, and this time, your head did turn to look back at him.

“B-Barbatos?”

He glanced up at you, the lust in his eyes rekindled until the irises glowed green with old magic.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked.

You paused, your mind considering, and shook your head. “N-No...” you whispered. “But I’ve never... um...”

Barbatos allowed his thumb to brush feather-light against your tight hole and the muscle fluttered at the contact. Your breath hitched in your chest and your hips rocked back just slightly.

He hummed. “I told you earlier that you will feel me in every inch of you. I meant it.”

Your body shivered at the reminder, an electric chill that buzzed across your skin, making your flesh goosepimple and your hairs stand on end.

“Yeah,” you replied on a shaky breath, “but you also said you wouldn’t be gentle.”

The fire in his gaze mellowed, and his lips curved into something gentle and familiar. He leaned forward over you and planted a tender kiss to your shoulder. “I did say that, didn’t I? But not with this. I will be gentle. I promise.” There was a hesitant pause, and then he added, “However, please do not force yourself for my sake. I will only enjoy it if you do too.”

His words were the reassurance you needed, and after a moment you nodded your head. “Okay, yeah. I want to try. I’ve wanted to try it for a while now...”

He leaned forward further to reach your mouth, and you turned your head just enough to kiss him back. Before he pulled away, he said, “We can stop at any time. Just tell me.”

You released a relieved sigh and nodded. “Okay. I will.”

He stared at you a moment longer, giving you a moment to process your decision, before planting one more kiss to your shoulder blade.

Then he straightened up, his hand back on your ass, warm and gentle, and his fingers still buried in your messy cunt. He returned to the slow and steady pumping, and he once again brushed his thumb delicately against your asshole. He watched you intently as he did so, noting the way your brows furrowed, your lips parted, your closed fists tightened. He did it again and again, until only the signs of pleasure were present, your body no longer stiff with anxiousness. Once you were comfortable, he stroked you again, this time with a slightly more pressure, rubbing his thumb into a small circle. Again and again he repeated it, until you were once again relaxed.

Then he scooped his other fingers deep inside your cunt, let them brush against your sensitive walls, and slowly withdrew them, his cum gathered on his long digits. With his other hand and his tail prying your ass cheeks apart, he spread the warm juices over your puckered hole. Already his cock was throbbing again, hard and aching. You were so exposed to him, not an inch of you left unseen by his wanton gaze. This part of you was beautiful, too... you were so vulnerable, so trusting...

“Are you ready?” he asked.

Your eyes were closed in anticipation and you nodded.

Carefully, slowly, he pushed his index finger past your tight defenses, the cum easing the transition. He didn’t go far...just to the second knuckle, before pulling it out again slowly. His attention was focused, taking in how you gasped, how your back arched.

Again, he went in slowly, patiently. You breathed through it, a steady breath in your nose and out of your mouth. He repeated this entry and retreat, slowly increasing the pace. Your hips were starting to move back into his hand, and he smiled.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked teasingly.

“Mhmmm...” you hum.

“I’m glad.”

A gentle silence fell between you, with nothing but the soft sounds of his administrations and your breathing. Once you were panting heavily, Barbatos knew you were ready for more. This time, he curled his tail between his legs, their slick tips petting your neglected cunt. One tip flicked playfully at your clit and your body spasmed beneath him, his finger still in you, keeping you stretched. He gave a gentle ‘shhh, shhh’ to soothe you as the other tip slithered into your cunt, curling within you as deep as it could go until it filled you.

You whined, his name tumbling from your lips even as your hips tried to roll against him. But you were still bent over the arm of the couch, your movement limited, and Barbatos liked it that way. After all, your teasing earlier during dinner had stripped him of his control in a way he wasn’t accustomed to. This was setting things right, returning your dynamic to what it should be... you, his sweet, obedient lamb, and he your shepherd.

His tail filled you, stretching you, even as the dexterous tips played with your clit and rubbed the most sensitive parts of your inner walls. The added arousal of his tail’s attention made it that much easier for his second finger to join his first, stretching your virgin ass for him. You moaned as it went in, your muscles tensing again at the intrusion, even as you struggled to ride his tail to climax. Slowly he pumped his two fingers in you, allowed you to adjust to them, enjoy them.

He leaned over you slightly to get a better look at your flustered face.

“Would you like to cum like this?” he asked.

It took a moment for you to reply.

“Y-Yes... I mean, no, no... I want...” your words fell away, incomplete, and you turned your face into the couch cushion in embarrassment.

Barbatos’s smile shifted into a grin. “You want...?”

Your words were muffled into the cushion, but he heard them regardless. “I want you in me. I want to cum with you inside me.”

“Inside where?”

“Barbatooos,” you whined. “Don’t make me say it.”

Barbatos’s grip on your ass tightened and he stilled his fingers. “If you’re too embarrassed to say it, then you’re not ready to do it, sweetling.”

You wiggled your hips slightly, but it only caused Barbatos’s grip to tighten on you, stilling your movements.

“You’re doing this on purpose...” you grumbled.

“You seem to have forgotten that this is supposed to be a punishment,” he teased.

You huffed and pouted, and Barbatos waited, unswayed by your behavior.

Finally, you relented.

“I want your cock inside me.” A pause. “Please...”

Barbatos hummed. “There, now. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

His fingers returned to their motions as well as his tail, and your pleasure was reignited, your body once again writhing as best it could beneath him. The cum was cooling, becoming tacky while exposed to the cold air. Barbatos released a long, wet strand of saliva from his mouth that landed right on its mark, and then slowly added a third finger.

“Barbatoooos....” you whined again, your voice pitching in desperation.

“All in due time, my dear. You’ll get what’s promised. We shouldn’t rush these things.”

You panted beneath him, your pleasure building but never releasing, and now your legs were shaking, your upper half propped up onto your elbows as you adjusted your angle for him.

Finally, you were ready. He removed his fingers from your ass and wrapped them around the base of his cock. It was rock hard now, the veins nearly bursting, and he released a wanton sigh as he allowed himself a couple of indulgent strokes. Then he lined the tip with your waiting hole and paused.

“Are you ready?”

You nodded eagerly. “Yes, yes, pleeaase...”

Slowly Barbatos pushed his cock into you, centimeter by centimeter, inch by inch. You gasped deep, your lungs taking in air as you endured the stretch of him. Your hand flew back to reach for him blindly, and Barbatos’s free hand grabbed yours, his fingers intertwining with yours.

He pulled out just slightly, removed his tail from your cunt to drip more secretions onto your asshole, and then pushed back in a little further.

“Ba-Barbatos...” you sobbed, your voice rising in pitch.

The change in your voice made him pause, and his grip on your hand tightened as he clung to his restraint. His breaths were shaky now, his cock twitching, thigh muscles flexing with the need to bury himself in you. He tried to calm his racing heart, steady his voice.

“Do... do you need me to stop?”

You shook your head and tightened your grip on his hand.

Relief flooded him, and he relinquished his grip on the base of his cock to stroke your spine with the palm of his hand.

“We’re almost there, love,” he soothed. “You’re doing so well.”

Out again and then back in, and finally he bottomed out with a satisfied sigh, his balls pressed against your pussy. You let out a sigh as well, your body releasing some of its stiffness.

Barbatos waited, allowing you to get used to his presence, even as his cock pulsed inside you in time with his pounding heartbeat. He leaned over and planted a kiss to your back, your fingers still interlocked with his and the other hand, the one that had been inside you, now settled at your hip.

“You feel divine,” he murmured against your skin. Your eyes were closed as you hummed in agreement, and it pleased him to see your lips curl into a small smile.

Slowly, with his body still caging yours over the arm of the couch, he pulled out slowly and pushed back in. You moaned beneath him, and the sound of your pleasure went straight from his brain to his cock, and he growled.

“You test my restraint when you make noises like that, you know...” he muttered.

You chuckled beneath him and opened one eye to peer at him. “It’s not my fault you make me feel so good...”

Passion was quickly overwriting his brain, and Barbatos kissed your skin once more. Then he straightened himself up and began to properly fuck you, two hands planted firmly on your hips and his tail buried in your pussy.

He went slowly at first, half to help you finish adjusting to him, and half to relish this new part of you that you were letting him have. Your ass was so tight, choking his cock until every nerve of the sensitive head was singing in unison.

“Faster... please...” you muttered.

Barbatos had never heard sweeter words. He quickened his pace, letting himself enjoy you fully, and you panted beneath him as you let him take you.

The pleasure you felt was unlike any other. The burn of being stretched, mingled with an undercurrent of pleasure each time he hit deep inside you, combined with his tail fucking your needy cunt and playing with your clit... it was stimulation from all angles, sensations in places you’d never experienced before, creating a vortex of pleasure you were quickly losing yourself in.

Between the extended foreplay and the edging with his tail, it wasn’t long before your orgasm crashed over you, fiercer than any you’d had before. You cried out, tears in your eyes as your mind emptied of all thought, all senses, except for the feel of Barbatos in you, on you, his hips colliding with yours, his balls slapping against your cunt as it spasmed on his slick tail. It was like lightning, incinerating in its heat, decimating in its impact.

Barbatos followed soon after, his thrusts running on instinct, his grip on your hips tightening. His breaths turned into pants, heavy and loud, and you loved it, loving hearing his ecstasy, knowing how good you made him feel. Your name fell from his lips, blessing your ears as he finally lost his control, let himself get washed away entirely by the pleasure of you. He spilled his load into you, hot spurts coating your insides, and you moaned happily at the sensation.

Finally, his thrusts slowed to a stop, his grip on your hips loosened. Barbatos lingered in you for a long moment, his breaths heavy with adrenaline, before giving into to the post-coital bliss and laying himself over you. The heat of him was oppressive, and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him to get off you just yet. You weren’t any better, your skin slicked with sweat and your own breaths coming out in ragged huffs. Lazily, your hand came up and tangled into his sweaty hair to scratch at his scalp, and he hummed contentedly into your shoulder.

As your head cleared, your speech returned.

“I think we ruined the couch,” you muttered into the cushion.

Barbatos chuckled and groaned, his voice reverberating through your ribs. “It will be replaced. However, I will make this room off limits until then.”

“Do you think Diavolo will be mad?”

Barbatos scoffed and began to push himself off of you. “Considering how many times he has ruined the furniture with similar activities, I hardly think he is in a position to judge. But no. I don’t think he will say anything, to be quite frank. We have both lived here a very long time and have our own unspoken agreements between us.”

His cock was soft now, but he still pulled himself out of you gently. You winced and his hands ran soothing strokes along your hips and your sides as you pushed yourself up from the couch. Your spine felt stiff, suck in that position for so long, and the stitching of the upholstery was imprinted into your skin in all the places he’d pinned you down.

Barbatos swiftly fixed his pants and belt then turned you slowly to face him. He smiled tenderly at you before putting his forehead against yours as his hands fixed your pants next, securing the button and buckling your belt for you. He kissed you, the touch of his lips soft, while his hands rested at your waist, and you pouted.

“You’re not going to make me do the walk of shame all the way to your room, are you?”

Barbatos chuckled as he picked up your coats and his cummerbund, careful to use his left hand and the pinky and thumb of his right.

“Of course not.”

You scrunched up your nose and winced. “Good. Because I’m oozing out of places I’ve never oozed before, and I’m pretty sure my underwear are ruined. Possibly even my pants.”

Barbatos stifled his laugh, his eyes glittering with amusement. “Well, had you appropriately waited to provoke me after the dinner instead of during, then perhaps this could have taken place with better preparation.”

You scoffed at him in mock appall. “So this is my fault?”

He grinned. “You cannot entice me so brazenly and not expect there to be consequences. Besides...” - he leaned closer to you, his arm with the coats wrapping around your waist - “You hardly protested once I had you bent over the sofa.”

You couldn’t stifle the laugh the slipped from your lips. “Barbatos!”

“Come now, enough,” he chided as he opened a portal to his bathroom. “Haven’t you bratted enough tonight? Or do you need a fourth round? Maybe a fifth?”

“What? It was only two,” you huffed defensively.

“Two for me, but don’t think I didn’t catch your first orgasm in the beginning.”

“That was a fluke!”

He cocked his head at you in amusement. “You are truly adorable, I hope you know. But fluke or not, it still counts, which brings your total to three.” His brow furrowed lightly in thought. “Although we will most definitely need to clean up before we continue...”

Your eyes widened in surprise. “Wha... are you serious??”

Barbatos’s arm reached out to guide you along with him, and he smirked devilishly. “I am a demon, my love. You have yet to scrape even the surface of my sex drive.”

You gingerly followed him through the portal.

“Does that mean you’re always horny but just never show it?”

Barbatos chuckled. “No. I am older, and it grants me more control than most. However, I am easily aroused, particularly when it’s with someone I care for. And demons can easily go multiple rounds for hours, unlike most humans.”

“I am both terrified and intrigued...” you muttered.

He chuckled again.

“Come,” he invited as he began to run his shower. “There will be plenty of time in the future to explore our limits. For now, let us cleanse ourselves and allow your body to rest. Some snacks are in order, as well as a special tea that will help with the aches and pains. And I shall have your clothing either cleaned or replaced, depending on their state.”

You let him begin to undress you as you placed your hands on his shoulders for balance. “Are you sure you’re a demon and not an angel?”

He paused, devoting his full attention to you. “I am what I am. But most importantly, I am yours, and you are mine. You are most precious to me. And I always treat my precious things with the utmost care.”

His words made your heart twist, and you touched his smooth cheek with your fingers and gave him a tender kiss on the lips.

When you pulled back, you were smiling at him, tears in your eyes.

“You are most precious to me too, Barbatos.” ------

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