#that feeling when you just want to be free but you were born to be a vessel for a god

[fallstaticexit]

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Transcript under the cut

Geoffrey: So, our anniversary is coming up. I was thinking maybe we could plan a getaway. Somewhere really nice. What do you think? Nancy?

[Nancy snores lightly]

Nancy Narrates: [It was all starting to wear on me-]

Geoffrey: [softly] Goodnight Nance. I love you.

Nancy: [murmurs] m ‘love you...Vanessa.

Nancy Narrates: [Having to balance the many sides of me]

Nancy Narrates: [There was the Nancy that was a Theta]

Nancy Narrates: [The Nancy that was free]

Nancy Narrates: [The Nancy that was an honest, loving girlfriend]

Geoffrey: Date night tonight?

Nancy: I- have a thing with the Thetas. Maybe another night?

Geoffrey: You know, I’m happy you’re putting yourself out there. I’m proud of you.

Extra Loud Stereo Plays: Do Me! - Bell Biv Devoe

Take a good look at me Tell me do you like what you see

Do you think you can Do you think you can do me

Kiss me pretty baby And touch me all over

Girl what makes you think you can do me Do you think you can do me girl?

Do me baby (x2)

-

Geoffrey: Hey, you ever wondered what happened to Vanessa?

Bob: Vanessa? Vanessa Villareal?

Geoffrey: Yeah. When we came back from break, she just- vanished.

Bob: Yeah, that was crazy, huh? I talked to Cassie about it once. She said it reminded her of that whole Angela thing that happened junior year.

Geoffrey: What Angela thing?

Bob: You don’t know about the Angela thing!?

Geoffrey: [chuckles] No one told me about it! It was like a urban legend.

Bob: Vanessa and her mean girl squad ganged up on her and started bullying her because they thought she was a lesbian or something.

Geoffrey: No way. Was she?

Bob: I dunno. I mean, she was always hanging on to Vanessa. I guess that’s where the rumors started. Anyway, Cassie thinks maybe people were starting to talk about her and Nancy. They were close too.

Geoffrey: What? Why didn’t you guys tell me?

Bob: Dude, it’s just gossip. We can’t know for sure that’s what happened. Vanessa was always getting sent to the office, she probably got expelled.

Geoffrey: Yeah...

Bob: Are you ok, man?

Geoffrey: I think maybe that’s why Nancy’s been so down all this time. I think she misses Vanessa.

Bob: Probably, friendships between women are really intense.

-

Darling: [groans] I can’t believe I have class in 5 hours. I’m screwed.

Nancy: [laughs] Who told us to throw a rager on a Thursday?

Darling: Hey, we’re still in better shape than those two over there.

Nancy: The Thetas? More like tea parties.

Darling: [laughs] Hell nah.

Nancy: Should we check if they have a pulse?

Darling: [chuckles] Man, they can’t handle their liquor for shit.

Nancy: Did you meet them through the club?

Darling: Morgan chased me down to do a tarot reading one day.

Nancy: Ah. She got you too, did she?

Darling: I kinda like that stuff, you know, like zodiac signs and all that. Tells you alot about a person. Speaking of, what’s your sign?

Nancy: I have no idea. Maybe I’m a Pisces?

Darling: When’s your birthday?

Nancy: January 17th.

Darling: Huh, no shit? You’re a Capricorn. I’m a Virgo.

Nancy: What does that mean?

Darling: For one, means we’re compatible.

Nancy: Oh? How can you tell?

Darling: We’re both earth signs, means we grounded. We want the real thing.

Nancy: I don’t know what I want.

Darling: I think you do though. I think you don’t want to say it.

Nancy: What don’t I want to say?

Darling: You tell me.

Nancy: Well. I guess... I guess I have alot of questions.

Darling: Like what? Keep it real, it’s just me.

Nancy: Well.. How do you know that you’re- you know.

Darling: What, into girls? I’ve always known.

Nancy: But how do you know for sure?

Darling: I was probably born this way. I never looked at guys the way I look at women. I love everything about them. I love the way they smell, the way they feel. I’m probably crazy about them. It’s wired in my brain.

Nancy: Have you ever kissed a girl?

Darling: [chuckles]

Nancy: Don’t laugh...

Darling: You’re right, you’re right, my bad. Yeah, Nancy. I’ve done alot more than kissing though.

Nancy: Oh. You mean...like sex?

Darling: Yeah. Like sex.

Darling: Oh. I guess that means you’re done asking questions.

Nancy: ....What is it like?

Darling: Kissing?

Nancy: I know about kissing. I mean [clears throat] the sex. With a girl. What does it feel like?

Darling: You really wanna know?

Nancy: Well. I asked, didn’t I?

Darling: Alright. Give me your hand.

Darling: You wanna know?

Nancy: [swallows] Mhm..

[lyinginmeadow]

Shadows will guide you home | Azriel × reader

Summary: Some fae don't like the idea of the Archerons turning into high fae and reader being one in unfamiliar city makes a perfect opportunity for an intervention Warnings: acotar related violence, not super descriptive, language, slight angst Word count: 1.4k a/n: Hii, this is my very first fanfic, please remember to be kind. <3 Also English is not my first language so it may be a bit rough.

Being another Archeron sister was quite exhausting. The constant comparison between you ever since you were born created a dark place deep within you. After years of being poor, starved, and uneducated, the family regained their riches back thanks to Feyre. The cost left you empty, breaking your heart into a million pieces. You wanted your sister back more than anything, you would return your newfound lifestyle to have her with you again. Taking lessons together, sharing laughs, and pretending as if everything is normal. As if she never left and their father hadn't left them to starvation.

Instead, the Gods were laughing in your face as you with two of your sisters were changed and thrown into the world of high fae. While you got your sister back, there were matters to be taken care of. Leaving you alone in a city and with species foreign to you. You had met the inner circle while you were still human. They were nothing but kind to you then, but you assumed that was because you were Feyre's sister. Now they haven't paid you much mind because their hands were either full with court business you didn't understand or your sisters. You were left scarred inside while pretending it hadn't affected you as much.

''Are you listening?'' Asked a pretty blonde in a red dress, Mor. ''I'm sorry, I just spaced out a little. What were you saying?'' You smiled, red creeping up your cheeks. ''You are free to explore the city, you don't have to feel caged inside.'' She returned your smile. ''Oh, I don't feel like that. I...I guess it's kind of strange to be here. Is there an apothecary around here?''

''Yes, it's in the square just next to the bridge you can’t miss it,'' Mor replied. ''I must go, but I will see you during dinnertime.'' She smiled for the last time as she disappeared into thin air. She came by just to invite you as per Feyre's request. Your sister knew you were too polite to decline any offer and without it you would probably not show up.

''Right.'' You mumbled under your breath as you looked out of the window. In the reflection, you caught the sigh of a shadow. You whipped around to see nothing. Signing, you turned to the window again thinking about certain Illyrian familiar with shadows. When you first met him, he was like a rock that you could lean onto while the queens invaded your home. You talked, feeling an instant connection and thought he felt the same. You didn't remember what happened during the changing process, your brain blocked the memory altogether. But after waking up in Velaris, he didn't seem to notice you, rather seeking the company of your older twin sister.

You knew it wasn't rational to feel hurt by this, but that didn't stop your heart from throbbing. Exhaling a deep breath you went to explore the city as Mor suggested, feeling sick of your little pity party.

After hours spent in the city, it was starting to get dark. Nights here were magical, but your fear of them only amplified during years spent in the dark streets trying to provide for your family by any means necessary, so you tried to hurry back to the house. Taking a turn into an ally wasn't a choice you wanted to make, but panic started to take over every action your body made. Looking around you knew you were lost and didn't know where to go next.

''Looking for something?'' You whipped around with shock in your eyes. ''No, but thank you. My partner is just around the corner.'' You smiled politely your instincts kicking in as you lied smoothly. A shadow caressed your skin as if to soothe your worries and disappeared. You didn't have time to think about it more as the man standing in front of you stepped closer. ''Are you sure? We could help you, Y/N.'' Another dark figure from behind you said so near you could feel his breath on your neck. ''I don't know who you think I am, but that is not my name. And I do not need help from strangers. So let me pass.'' You tried to will your voice not to tremble, but it was of no use. You were starting to give in to the panic rising within you. ''And we don't need humans becoming high fae and highjacking our court. But here you are.'' Said a male in front of you while pulling out a knife. “This will send the message." Continued another one next to what you pressumed was the leader. One againts three were not the odds you prefered.

You had no idea how they found out your name or how they knew of your fate of becoming fae. "Feeling threatened by a female?" You knew getting a rise out of them was not the smartest idea. But maybe it could gain you valuable time for someone, anyone to notice. Velaris was supposed to be peaceful after all.

"You think you're funny, huh? We'll see if you'll find the knife just as entertaining." The male behind you pulled your hair harshly earning a scream from you. You didn't understand how they could blame you for something you had no control over. “Watch the alley, will you?” The male infront of you ordered the one standing next to him as he lifted his hand to your face. The knife danced lightly on your cheek leaving you defenseless. "Just so you know, maiming your face will be a pleasure." He whispered to your ear as he increased the pressure on the knife drawing blood.

The whole alley turned pitch black. You had fae senses, but the dark was completely impenetrable yet familiar. You could only feel your hair being released, knife falling to the pavement, followed by screams and scratches on the stone. You were paralyzed, terrified, and unable to move. The dark had you in its claws and you could feel your breath getting more and more quick. ''How dare you hurt her ?'' A deep familiar voice took you out of your panic. There was no answer to his question. Only whimpers.

The shadows slowly dissolved letting in light from the main streets. There was no one here anymore. Only blood and scratches deep in the stone indicated a struggle.

Azriel appeared in front of you his hands gently grazing your untouched cheek. ''Don't look at it.'' His voice hoarse. You inhaled his scent making you instantly relaxed. ''Are you hurt?'' He asked worry lacing his voice. You gave him a shake of a head not trusting your voice. ''Lies. Shaken. Blood.'' Hissed hushed voice, startling you. ''I am not lying. I am just fine.'' You pushed Azriel away looking around for the source. ''You can hear them?'' Azriel frowned examining you.

''Look, I am sorry you had to bother with this. I know there are a lot of things to be done and I should have known how to protect myself-'' He stopped you from rambling with a thumb to your lips. His previous question forgotten. ''No one has a right to assault you. It is not your fault. Velaris is supposed to be safe. I promise that no one will harm you ever again.'' He left you completely stunned. ''Now, could you please show me where they hurt you, so we can heal it?'' Azriel asked slowly removing his thumb from your lips. Leaving you wishing it could stay there for a bit longer. You pushed back the hair that was covering your healing cheek. ''It's already healing. My abilities do come with very fast healing. As long as I don't use my powers much. I am just a bit shocked, that's all.'' You admitted looking to the stone path. ''Let's get you home then." He offered his hand which you gladly took your heart threatening to jump out of your chest.

''Look, Nesta started training with Cass and a few priestesses joined her. It is a way for them to regain their power and help them with their struggles. I was thinking that maybe it could be something you would give a try?'' Azriel asked as he led you through the house to your bedroom. ''Oh...I think I would like that.'' You smiled. Silence enveloping you again.

''Thank you, Az. For today and the offer.'' You looked down standing infront of the door to your bedroom. ''There is no need to thank me. But you should get some sleep.'' He looked at your door and then down the hallway. ''I will be right next to your room if you need anything. So please, let me know.'' He gave you a look of urgency and you gave him a nod even if you knew you would not. He probably knew it, too. ''Goodnight.''

"Goodnight."

[hoonigiris]

JEALOUSY

p. sunghoon x f!reader

0.9k

just silly shenanigans from a chronically jealous guy (he can’t help it he was born this way, just check his birth chart!!!)

“i think i need to lock you up.”

you slide your eyes over to him, exasperated. “what…”

sunghoon mutters under his breath, nodding seriously as he repeats the idea in his head until it sounds more plausible than insane. “yeah…” and then again, softer, “yeah…”

“nurse,” you call out to the empty air, “he’s out again.”

he looks at you gravely, shaking his head. “i think it needs to be done. for the greater good.”

“what am i, rapunzel?”

sunghoon opens his mouth to retort, but the image of you as a princess in that pretty, purple dress has him sidetracked and pondering. “that would be a good couple costume this year—flynn and rapunzel.”

“personally, i was thinking more rapunzel and mother gothel.”

the dreamy look in his eye drops almost immediately, suddenly remembering the reason he burst into the living room in the first place. whatever it was, nothing was worth interrupting you in the middle of a grey’s anatomy episode.

sunghoon moves in front of the tv, feet planted and stance determined. you crane your neck to the side to catch a better look of the screen. “can you move? dr. mcsteamy is in this scene and he’s extra hot this season.”

“wh—listen!”

you roll your eyes, pausing the show. “yes?”

“i’m serious!”

“about mother gothel?”

“about locking you up!”

you tilt your head, innocent. “isn’t that what i just said?”

sunghoon groans loudly, running a hand through his hair and squeezing his eyes shut to fight off an incoming headache. you’d almost feel bad for making his life harder if the threat of imminent captivity wasn’t looming over your head.

but he’s your boyfriend, and he’s obnoxious, and you love him anyway, so you toss the remote on the couch cushion next to you and you give him a smidge of what he wants. you like to call it a pity crumb.

"ok fine, i'll stop teasing," you relent, leaning into the couch with an amused glint in your eye. "why am i under arrest and why is it for the greater good?"

you have some vague idea, of course. any time sunghoon acts like this, the reasoning always lands somewhere around him being jealous, which, as frequent as it comes, is something you’ve learned to take in stride. play dumb, laugh at his antics, give him a kiss, and everything settles back to normal.

the reasoning tended to differ each time, enough to consider creating an encyclopedia page to study from, so you like to make it a game of sorts, to see if you can guess it correctly before he tells you. it’s the closest thing you’ll ever get to the thrill of being on an episode of jeopardy, so you like to relish in the challenge while you can. topic: things that make sunghoon jealous, for 500.

“you’re too…” sunghoon starts, taking you out of your proverbial podium and back to the couch, dr. mcsteamy and mcdreamy blocked behind him. he narrows his eyes, searching for the right word. “unassuming.”

“unassuming,” you repeat, bemused.

"yes." sunghoon knits his brows together, tortured at even the thought. "why else would you have come home with a coffee. from another man."

you look at him quizzically, and then remember how this morning, your classmate who you kept running into every morning at your local cafe offered to buy your drink. you'd accepted, of course; who were you to deny a perfectly innocent gift?

"oh please," you roll your eyes. "he was just being nice! besides, i'm sure he just did it since i helped him finish his lab report on time the other week."

sunghoon frowns. "he was hitting on you. he has motive."

you stare up at him with big, innocent eyes, like a defendant in front of the jury. "how could you ask me to look a gift horse in the mouth... especially when the horse had a cinnamon honey latte."

"because the horse wants to eat you!"

"but it was free!"

sunghoon whips out his phone, tapping a few times, and a ding! sounds from your own phone on the coffee table. you glance over, and try not to laugh.

VENMO sunghoon paid you $6.00 - 😐

"there," he huffs. "if you want free coffee, i'll pay for it from now on, okay?"

you eye him, amused. "if i say yes, will you free me from my predestined shackles?"

he opens his mouth and you can tell by his expression he's about to get started again, so you rescind yourself quickly. "okay, okay. consider it done."

it's sweet, in some way, to have him care this much, even if he makes such a big fuss about it. there's something in his gaze that bleeds earnestness, even through the indignancy, that makes you want to peel him back more. jealousy is an ugly beast, even if you think it looks cute and amusing on him, and often you wonder if it consumes him, if he allows it to lead his thoughts astray.

(it was so easy to fall for you—he couldn’t blame others for doing the same. and if you ended up leaving him for someone else then—well. sunghoon tries to stop it before he gets to that point.)

"hoon," you call gently, and he physically softens at the nickname. you wonder how one word can mean so many things—my love, my heart, my home. all yours. "you know i love you, right?"

he flushes at the sudden confession, ears turning scarlet. and then quietly, sincerely, he mumbles, “i love you too.” perhaps that’s the secret, the reason you can be so flippant about everything, suspiciously free coffee and all.

at the end of the end of the day, you’ll always be his, too.

[gamergirl-niffler]

What if... there is more to Dabi?

Sometimes I sit and think about stuff because of that I often have weird ideas, theories, headcanons, etc.

For the last few days, I was thinking about Touya and Dabi. How he was super fixated on revenge, EVEN if there were less aggressive ways to solve all of this...

And came to the conclusion:

"What if Touya suffers from DID and Dabi isn't just a way to hide his true identity, but a personality that developed to protect him and seek justice for his harm?"

It's probably super wrong approach but hear me out!

(From what I read on Wikipedia)

Early childhood trauma, places someone at risk of developing DID.

Traumas like: childhood abuse, violence, neglect, or severe bullying, dysfunctional family dynamics were reported in people suffering from DID

We all know "hellish" Todoroki family and the way stuff went there.

Touya was a child "created" for greatness by Enji.

From the very being, Enji put into Touya's head that "HE will be the one to suppress All Might himself" and since he was just a child he believed in this.

He believed his father, he wanted to learn, he wanted to achieve this goal, make his father proud, proof he is worth his love and attention because his other siblings were no threat.

Then Shoto was born, and BAM, everything burst like a bubble.

THAT'S WHEN DABI'S DEVELOPMENT COULD START.

Once loved boy with SO many expectations put into him was thrown aside like a rag doll for the sake of little brother.

Neglectful and selfish actions of his own father, mixed with Touya's obsession on being THE CHILD his father once said he was, led him to that cursed mountain and when Enji didn't show up...

That's when Dabi came out.

When we see him wake up after 3 years - it's not Touya, but Dabi.

Dabi - The personality developed to protect Touya, to prove that Touya can be the very thing Enji told he will be, a personality made to PAY BACK for all the harm that child had to go through because of bastard father.

He is like an older brother stepping in front of the younger sibling to take all the harm on himself.

It's not TOUYA doing all those bad things while chasing Enji and going against Shoto - It just Dabi.

Dabi who wants desperately show what Touya is capable of while Touya is just tucked away from all the harm, just waiting to be again acknowledged but not out of pity or because his father feels bad for his own actions but because of what he can be.

Of course, Dabi is so fixated on achieving this goal that he takes EXTREME measures - but it's all for Touya's happiness that he deserved ever since he was born.

This may make no sens, but this was a train of thoughts that went through my head very recently. The post is probably messy because I am not the best at making such things and putting them 'on paper"

Feel free to comment and tell me what you think about this, BUT please don't be mine or anything. I didn't mean to insult anyone with my limited knowledge.

I am curious of your thoughts

[paddockletters]

late-night talkings | osxar piastri

paring: oscar piastri x reader

summary: Late at night, unable to sleep, you and Oscar dive into a heartfelt conversation about racing, the future, and life beyond the track. As memories resurface and dreams unfold, you realize just how much the future holds for both of you.

author's note: first fic with oscarrrr, i hope you liked it .. Well, as I always say... english is not my first language so pardon me if there are mistakes —feel free to tell me— and my requests are open!👀

It was well past 1 AM, and neither of you could sleep. The room was bathed in the soft glow of the bedside lamp, the dim light barely enough to push back the darkness. You lay next to Oscar, staring at the ceiling, each of you lost in your thoughts.

His sigh broke the silence first, and you turned your head slightly to see him lying on his back, eyes heavy with exhaustion yet still wide awake.

“Can’t sleep?” His voice was low, barely a whisper in the stillness of the night.

“Nope,” you replied, a soft smile pulling at your lips. “You?”

Oscar chuckled lightly, running a hand through his messy hair. “Not even close. My mind won’t shut off.”

You shifted closer to him, the blanket sliding down as you propped yourself up on your elbow, looking down at him. “What’s on your mind?”

For a moment, he didn’t answer. Instead, he stared at the ceiling, his fingers absentmindedly tracing circles on the back of your hand, a small, comforting gesture.

“Everything,” he finally said, his voice soft. “Racing, the future, us…”

You tilted your head, a small frown forming on your face. “What about us?”

Oscar let out a sigh, his eyes flickering over to meet yours. “I’ve been thinking… about where I want to be in a few years. About what happens after racing. And I don’t know, it’s just been on my mind a lot lately.”

You paused, taking in his words. It wasn’t the first time you had these late-night conversations, but this one felt heavier, more serious.

“What do you see?” you asked softly, your fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from his forehead.

He hesitated, as if weighing his words carefully. “I see more races, obviously. Hopefully a few wins,” he added with a small smile, but there was something deeper behind it. “But after that... I don’t know. I just know I want you there with me, wherever that is.”

His words settled in your chest, warm and comforting. You remembered a conversation you'd had early in his career, before everything got so intense, before the constant travel, the pressure, the sleepless nights like this one.

It was his rookie season, and everything had been so new—so exhilarating and overwhelming all at once. You were standing in the paddock, watching him from the sidelines as he navigated the chaos of his first race weekend. You could still remember the way his face lit up when he saw you after the race, his excitement bubbling over despite the exhaustion that lined his features.

“I can’t believe this is my life,” he had said, pulling you into a hug. His arms were wrapped tightly around you, his heart still racing from the adrenaline of the day. “I didn’t think I’d make it this far, but here we are.”

“I always knew you would,” you had replied, resting your head against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your cheek. “You were born for this.”

Now, lying next to him in the dark, you couldn’t help but smile at the memory. So much had changed since then, but in many ways, things were still the same. You were still by his side, through the highs and the lows, the wins and the losses. And he was still the same Oscar, even if the weight of the world sometimes rested on his shoulders.

“What about kids?” you asked suddenly, the question slipping out before you could stop yourself. “Do you ever think about that?”

Oscar’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, but then he laughed, the sound soft and genuine. “You’re really asking me about kids at 2 AM?”

You shrugged, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “Why not? You’re the one who brought up the future.”

He sighed, his expression turning thoughtful. “I do think about it sometimes. Not anytime soon, obviously, but... yeah. I could see us with kids one day.”

There was a moment of silence, and then he added with a teasing grin, “They’d have to be faster than me, though. I can’t have slow kids.”

You burst out laughing, playfully swatting his arm. “You and your racing. I swear, you’ll be teaching them to drive before they can even walk.”

Oscar grinned, his eyes lighting up with that mischievous sparkle you loved so much. “Absolutely. I’ll get them in a kart as soon as they’re old enough. Gotta keep the Piastri legacy going.”

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest only grew. It was moments like this—these small, quiet conversations—that reminded you of why you loved him so much. Despite the craziness of his career, despite the pressure and the constant traveling, he was still the same goofy, thoughtful guy you fell in love with.

“Do you ever wonder what we’d be doing if you weren’t racing?” you asked after a beat of silence.

Oscar turned his head to look at you, his brow furrowing slightly in thought. “Sometimes,” he admitted. “But then I think… this is where we’re supposed to be. I don’t think I’d be happy doing anything else. And I like to think you wouldn’t either.”

You smiled, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead. “You’re right. I can’t imagine a life without you doing what you love.”

His hand found yours under the covers, and he squeezed it gently, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I’m glad you’re here, you know. I couldn’t do any of this without you.”

The sincerity in his voice made your heart ache in the best way, and you leaned in closer, resting your head on his chest. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The conversation lulled, but the silence was comfortable, filled with unspoken promises and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear. You lay there together, wrapped up in each other, the future stretching out ahead of you in a way that felt both daunting and exciting all at once.

But eventually, exhaustion began to creep in, and you could feel Oscar’s breathing start to even out as he drifted off to sleep. You stayed awake for a little while longer, your mind swirling with thoughts of everything you had talked about—the future, kids, racing. It was all so uncertain, but for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel scared.

As sleep finally began to claim you, you whispered into the quiet, “Goodnight, Oscar.”

In the dim light, you felt him smile, his arms tightening around you as he mumbled sleepily, “Goodnight, love.”

[mrs-stans]

Sebastian Stan describes the 'big reactions' from New Yorkers over his A Different Man transformation: 'I was terrified'

The actor and makeup artist extraordinaire Mike Marino unpack Stan's dramatic prosthetics turn.

By Nick Romano

Sebastian Stan was so determined to work with Oscar-nominated makeup artist Mike Marino on his film A Different Man that the actor was willing to undergo a social and professional experiment.

As Edward, the 42-year-old Marvel star would play an aspiring actor with neurofibromatosis, or NF1 for short, who undergoes an experimental procedure that radically changes his face, only to then emotionally spiral out of control when he loses the part he was born to play to Oswald (Adam Pearson), someone with NF1 who lives a much fuller life than Edward ever led, pre- or post-procedure. Stan needed the man who made Colin Farrell unrecognizable as Oz Cobb for The Batman and HBO’s The Penguin to pull off such a feat.

Since Marino was already busy on Amazon’s The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, Stan walked the few blocks from his apartment in New York City’s SoHo district to Marino’s home every morning around 4 or 5 a.m. “Then you just wait till they're ready for you on set,” Marino remembers saying to him. On some of those days, Stan would kill time by wandering Manhattan in full makeup until his call time. “I walked up and down Broadway, basically,” Stan, sitting in the New York offices of studio A24, tells Entertainment Weekly. “It was a busy street. I was terrified, but I would just go get a coffee or sit.”

Sebastian Stan is unrecognizable as an actor with facial deformity in trailer for A Different Man

Stan doesn’t consider himself to be a physical actor, and yet his body of work might suggest differently. Even when the costume shoulders the bulk of the transformation, such as playing Tommy Lee in Hulu’s Pam & Tommy, his body language molds to match the look. That skill is especially prominent in A Different Man (playing now in limited release). “Even alone, being able to only look out of one eye and then having one ear more covered immediately changes a lot,” he says of Marino's makeup effects. “It changes how you stand. It changes how far away you are from people, how you look at people. I felt oddly on my back foot more. It's a defensive reaction because you want to be prepared in case something's coming, that you have enough time to react.”

“What we get is such an incredibly passionate, skilled actor that can hide within a true character,” Marino tells EW in a separate conversation on Zoom from his SoHo apartment, part of which serves as the mini studio where Stan’s makeup application occurred. “He would actually now have a chance to live with people's reactions and how they were treating him.”

Want more movie news? Sign up for Entertainment Weekly's free newsletter to get the latest trailers, celebrity interviews, film reviews, and more.

That experience informed Stan’s entire performance, and it became important for him to do so, even outside of the mornings' wait time. He would often stroll away from set on the Upper West Side in between breaks or setups. “New York is pretty evolved in a lot of ways, but I still got some big reactions from people,” he recalls. “Like, ‘Oh s---!’ ‘Oh f---!’ ‘Look at that!’ It was scary to experience. It was hard to experience. I felt powerless in those situations in some way. And, I guess, a lot of that is how Edward feels in the film.”

Sebastian Stan transforms in the discomforting drama A Different Man

Other reactions were less intense, but equally informative. While standing at a stoplight, for instance, Stan noticed the difference between those pedestrians avoiding eye contact completely, compared to those trying to discreetly steal a look or offer him a forced smile — all bystander reactions that director Aaron Schimberg incorporates into the movie. "I don't think it always comes from a bad place," he says. "Sometimes people just want to connect or feel okay. It's actually about their own experience. It's not even about you. It's like they're in that moment feeling something that's funny to them and they're trying to deal with it. They don't know how."

Marino wanted to be involved with A Different Man thanks to his love of the 1980 film The Elephant Man, loosely based on the life of Joseph Merrick, who lived with a facial disfigurement. As a 5-year-old, the movie scared Marino. But as he fell in love with the art of makeup transformations on screen, he came to see it for what it was: "a beautiful" and "touching story," he describes. "That really made an indelible mark on my life."

He would need that motivation for the obstacles that Stan's look on A Different Man prompted. "There were many technical challenges," he recalls. "It is very difficult to do makeup that thick where they have very thick areas. So I had to really balance what was too big, what was too small. I still need the movement of Sebastian to come through. I still need his own face to drive the makeup and not have it look purely like a mask. I studied Adam's photos. I really analyzed him and tried to balance how I can make it work for Sebastian."

Sebastian Stan calls out journalist who refers to his new character with disfigurement as a 'beast'

Stan has another transformative part coming out soon, the buzzed-about and already-controversial performance of young Donald Trump in The Apprentice. Because he's now promoting both that film and A Different Man simultaneously, it's been interesting for him to think about the ways in which he approached both jobs.

"I've been finding strange parallels that I never really thought about," he remarks. "There's some similar themes being explored in terms of truth, self abandonment, denial of reality to some extent. I think these last couple of roles have required a different degree of physicality. One, obviously, is specific, a real person. But I think about that, of course. You have to, because everyone walks differently and everyone carries things in their body differently. Sometimes you gain access in a different way to things by simply changing a physical aspect of yourself."

The greatest compliment he received for that kind of work on A Different Man, even more than the glowing praise he's seen from the critics, came from Pearson's mother. "After she saw the film, she was like, 'All I ever wanted was for someone to walk in his shoes for one day, to know what it's like, and you were able to do that,'" Stan remembers of their exchange. "I came close to that, I guess, in a way, to feel that kind of invasiveness that he probably felt at some point in his life, walking around."

[shadowqueenjude]

I DIDN’T KNOW IT WAS ELAIN DAY UNTIL NOW SO HERE IS A LITTLE SOMETHING I JUST WROTE:

Smile, Elain. They won’t like you if you’re cold.

Elain blew out a long hard breath through her mouth as their mother’s words came back to her. Moira Archeron had never had much time for her, always busy doting on her eldest. This had left Elain to run into her father’s arms, who had been more than happy to indulge her. Alwyn Archeron had never received much love from his first-born, too pre-occupied with their mother and grandmother as she had been, so Elain seeking parental love in him was a pleasant surprise.

While Elain knew how demanding Moira could be, at least she was invested in Nesta’s success. At least she believed in her, guided her, hoped she would be something. When it came to Elain, her advice was minimal; she mostly stuffed Elain into pretty, suffocating dresses, pulled her hair up tightly into a bun, and hissed at her to smile. Elain very much felt like a prize horse on display.

“Do you think I will marry well, Mama?” Elain had once asked. Moira had merely looked down at her, those eyes- the same eyes as Nesta- frigid as the winter snow. “Of course, Elain. You have a fine face and build, and you have grace. Some man ought to take a fancy to you.” She made a face. “The same cannot be said for your wild sister, I’m afraid.”

Feyre. She had always been the black sheep of the family. She had always been a little too wild, a little too free for their mother’s taste. While Moira put minimal effort for Elain, there was no attention given to Feyre. Elain tried to help her. She would brush her hair and put it into braids and make sure she wore her corset, and when she could, Elain tried to play with her. One time, Elain fell and twisted her ankle while trying to climb a tree with Feyre. Perhaps it had been a bad idea to try and climb in a dress, but she owned no pants unlike Feyre.

Mother had been absolutely furious; though surprisingly not at her, but rather at Feyre for “dragging her into this.” It was as if Moira didn’t view Elain as capable of making her own decisions.

Well, not much has changed, then, Elain thought bitterly to herself.

Graysen had been the only one to see her. He’d told her that her kindness was the most beautiful thing about her, not her face or her body. Elain had fallen hard and fast. It all ended bitterly when Elain was thrown into that cauldron. But now, looking back on it, Elain wondered if she had simply latched onto the first person to see her for more than just a pretty face.

As these thoughts ran through her mind, Elain sighed once more. She hadn’t had much luck here in the Night Court either. They loved Feyre and although they disliked and lacked trust for Nesta, they still respected and valued her more than Elain. They had sicced a couple of wraiths to spy on her like some kind of toddler in need of monitoring. Rather than call them out on it (Elain didn’t see the point in arguing with people who could kill her), she had simply won them over with her charm, turning Nuala and Cerridwen to her side. Although the beginning of their friendship was strange, eventually they became true friends.

But although Elain enjoyed their company, they were not reason enough to stay in this place. She would never have a place here. And much as she had been avoiding him, there was only one person who could get her out of here.

Elain closed her eyes to calm her body. Just being near her mate drew out feelings she wanted to hide away forever. It was cowardly of her, but Elain didn’t want to face it: how very much faerie she was now, how much of her humanness had been lost.

How much he affected her.

He drove her mad simply by being in the same room. She was afraid he could read her every desire on her face, or feel it with his faerie senses. She wondered if he had sensed it the nights when she’d woken up from a very scandalous dream of the two of them together.

A lady mustn’t have these thoughts.

It wasn’t as if Elain was unfamiliar with the marital act. She had performed it, even if it was just once. Graysen had insisted, begging and pleading her, and Elain, convinced they would be married soon and swept up by the romance of it all, had obliged. It was only afterwards that Elain felt dirty, felt wrong, an overwhelming sense of guilt overtaking her. She should not have let Graysen push her into it. It was the first and last time she had raised her voice on him.

“You have taken my purity from me!” Elain had shrieked, beyond hysterical. Tears were heavy down her face, and she knew she had to be red. Graysen, to his credit, looked abashed, but it was all too little too late.

“Elain-“

“I did not enjoy it,” she whispered. Her voice broke. “That was not how I imagined it would be.”

He had been too rough, too impatient, and he had only lasted about a minute or two. Elain knew little about sex, but even she knew that it ought not to be like that.

“You…did not enjoy it?” Graysen asked hesitantly.

“That’s what you’re worried about right now?!!!” Elain snarled. “Not the way you have violated me?”

“I did not violate you-“

“YOU INSISTED THAT I DO THIS BEFORE MARRIAGE! I WILL NEVER FORGIVE YOU!”

Elain had run away, run to the one person who she knew would protect her at all costs, the person who had been more a mother to her than her actual mother.

“Nessie,” Elain had sobbed. Nesta’s sharp blue eyes had widened in concern at Elain’s words. She immediately rushed over to her, grasping her shoulders. “Elain! Are you alright?”

She shook her head, pressing her forehead against Nesta’s shoulder. Nesta wrapped her arm around her, rubbing soothing circles against her back. “Want to talk about it?”

Elain took shuddering breaths, trying to calm herself enough to explain. “Graysen-I-we-“ Another breath. “I let him take my maidenhood.”

Nesta’s other hand moved to stroke Elain’s hair. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. Nothing else needed to be said.

That night, Nesta read her stories until Elain’s eyes became heavy and she fell asleep. They slept together on the same bed for the first time since the cottage. Although Elain typically liked her space while sleeping, she had to admit that she had missed this: the closeness, the easy comfort of sisterhood.

And now Nesta wanted nothing to do with her.

Elain clenched her fists. Moira Archeron would be shocked to see it, but she wasn’t alive to scold Elain. Elain had spent far too long being afraid to be angry, for fear of upsetting someone. But she was a sentient being, was she not? Was she not allowed to get angry, same as Feyre and Nesta?

Was she not allowed to feel desire, the same as Feyre with Rhysand or Nesta with Cassian?

When would she be allowed to live?

It was a long shot, but Elain knocked on the door to Lucien’s Velaris residence. He spent little time here, but Elain hoped he would be here this time.

To her relief, the door swung open a few moments later.

“Elain?” The surprise in Lucien’s handsome face quickly molded into something like…was that nervousness? He bowed low to her. “How may I be of service today, m’lady?”

Elain waved him off. “No need to be so formal, Lucien. I just have a request.”

His metal eye whirred as his brown eye studied her intently. “Anything.” And Elain knew he meant it.

“I want to explore the rest of Prythian and the continent.”

If Lucien was surprised at her request, he certainly did not show it. He merely opened the door a little wider, giving her room to enter his home. “Of course,” he replied. “When I leave tomorrow morning, you are welcome to come with me.”

Elain smiled in relief as she looked around his house. It was incredibly tasteful, mostly decorated in the colors orange, green, and blue. It was so much brighter than the interior of Rhysand’s palace, and far prettier too. She delicately settled down on the suede couch on one end of the living room, her heart buzzing with anticipation as she realized she would be leaving this place tomorrow.

@elainweekofficial

[kavehater]

Chappel Roan saying she’s sad she’s demisexual and then there’s me being aroace as a whole like don’t you think I’m even more sad 😭

[smonk-wonk]

how are you a holocaust survivor if you're POC?

I'm not a Holocaust survivor I'm 25?

I'm gonna guess you mean descended from Holocaust survivors & victims. In which case it's really sad that you think this way firstly? POC and non Jewish people did in fact die during the holocaust and many were targeted for not fitting the Nazis' idea of the "superior Aryan race".

From The Holocaust Encyclopedia: "When Adolf Hitler and the Nazis came to power in 1933, there were several thousand Black people living in Germany. The Nazi regime discriminated against them because the Nazis viewed Black people as racially inferior. During the Nazi era (1933–1945), the Nazis used racial laws and policies to restrict the economic and social opportunities of Black people in Germany. They also harassed, imprisoned, sterilized, and murdered an unknown number of Black people."

Also contrary to what some believe, and this may sound farfetched and I hope you're sitting down but bear with me- some people are actually more than one race. Some people are POC and white. We call this being biracial. Or in grade school, being an "Oreo". A mutt if they really want to dehumanize you

But while my relatives weren't targeted for their skin color as they were white, many people were. Black Germans and other POC did exist, were murdered and traumatized, and have passed down that generational trauma. Just as other persecuted populations even if it was much less it was no less a part of the genocide and ethnic cleansing.

[andromedadoodles]

‘I can see it…. A collar around that thin neck of yours…. You… will never be free…’

I spent so much of the late game waiting for Throné to get possessed by Vide not gonna lie.

[amatres]

any time im given free range to make a dragon age oc i beam them with mixed race dysphoria

[foldingfittedsheets]

Did you know guinea pigs are born just like. Tiny adults? They’re fully cooked. They come out, eyes open, fully furred, ready to do the whole array of guinea pig activities.

I learned this as a child. I was perhaps ten when this story took place. Our female guinea pig was pregnant, but she’d gotten mites and needed a bath. She was wildly pregnant. Bulging at the seams with babies. Ready to burst at any moment because all the babies needed to stay in there long enough to be full pigs. But we wanted to avoid the babies all getting mites and needing baths. We failed, they all needed baths. Mites are a bitch.

We knew she had three babies cooking in there. How did we know? We could feel each individual bulge in her belly. My mom was overseeing the pig bath but I was pretty much just doing my own thing, scrubbing her gently, rinsing the soap carefully.

After the bath our mother pig was not in the best mood. I was carrying her back to her freshly made mite free bedding when she’d had enough.

I was acutely aware that I was holding four lives in my childish grip, and I bore her along as if she were made of precious jewels and spun glass. Balanced in my hands I could feel the bulge of each of her babies slithering wetly around under her skin.

Which is why when she hauled off and sank her teeth into the meat of my hand I didn’t flinch. I didn’t drop her. I bore her as carefully and steadily as if I weren’t now bleeding freely, and I set her gently into her pig palace.

As I drew my hands away I screamed:

“FUCK!!!”

I then turned to look at my mother, who’d been watching the process intently.

I was fully aware that I had just done the worst possible swear directly in front of an authority figure and was very probably going to be punished. My mom was looking at me with a blank expression that I was waiting to turn stormy or disappointed.

“That must have hurt a lot,” was all she said.

She helped me throughly clean and bandage the bite. All the babies were born healthy and sound, looking like someone had used a shrink ray on trio of a guinea pigs.

Years later my mother confided in me that contrary to my belief that she’d be angry for swearing what she’d felt for me in that moment was overwhelming pride that in the face of pain and shock I had refused to let harm befall my little charges.

[cloudystevie]

scary my god you're divine

»» ──────ஓ๑ ღ ๑ஓ ────── ««

pairing || bucky barnes x f!reader

word count || 3235

summary || he would do anything for you.

warnings || smut! dom! bucky x sub! reader, possessive! bucky, a little bit of subspace, choking, little bit of exhibitionism kink, minor pain play, daddy kink (only three times okay i'm sorry i am who i am), degradation, unprotected sex

author's note || 18+ ONLY. not proofread yet. my very first request in a very long time! Anonymous asked: Could you write a Dombucky x Subreader? And if you wouldn't mind jealous!bucky, already established relationship and his dog tags on reader? hope you enjoy nonnie! as always feel free to send in requests or any asks! feel free to reblog! enjoy!

»» ──────ஓ๑ ღ ๑ஓ ────── ««

Today, a select few from the team are supposed to train the new agents, preparing them for the physical aspect of being an agent. Some made it fun or tolerable, like Steve and Sam, who were born leaders and charismatic. Natasha and Wanda enjoyed supervising the sparring sessions. Tony and Bruce enjoyed using technology to throw new obstacles at the agents.

Sometimes literally.

Unfortunately, your grumpy boyfriend, Bucky, just did not find any joy in training days. He didn’t like giving out instructions and praise unless it was you who was under him. He didn’t like supervising weak punches and miscalculated throws. And technology was just a straight-up no for him.

Usually, he could make himself useful with Steve, throwing out no-nonsense orders without making himself a massive part of the effort.

You were taking the elevator down to the gym floor. Fury had instructed you to check everything out and ensure everything went according to the itinerary. 

The doors open, and you glance around to ensure no immediate problems before letting your gaze fall on Bucky; his eyes are already on you. You offer him a bright smile, which he returns with a smirk, and your stomach flutters like it does every time you see him. You’re about 7 feet away from your boyfriend before you feel a hand on your lower back. You startle and turn around to face the newest agent. He has quickly climbed through all of SHIELD’s tests and proven himself to be of great value. He chatted you up last week at Tony’s charity ball, and you tried to let him down gently since you were already happily taken. Bucky was on a mission that day, and you didn’t want to add to his mental load by telling him about some punk who wouldn’t leave you alone.

Apparently, said punk, cannot take no for an answer.

“Back for more, cutie? You finally break up with your imaginary boyfriend?” Marcus teases, but really, he sounds more taunting than playful. You glance over your shoulder as you move away from his grip, and you already see Bucky glaring directly at the spot where Marcus’ hand was on your back. The stopwatch he was holding in his flesh hand shatters, and he doesn’t even flinch when Steve and Sam apologize for him, asking what was wrong as discreetly as they could but one glance over to where you were uncomfortably held hostage by the lean brunet man told them everything they needed to know. 

Bucky cracks his neck, rolling his shoulders up as he stalks towards you two. His looming presence is felt before you can see him in your peripheral vision. You glance up at him and take an instinctive step back toward his hulking body, breathing a sigh of relief because Marcus has to let up now.

He doesn’t.

“Oh hey, Sergeant Barnes, if you don’t mind I’m actually trying to talk to this chick so…” 

The way he talks about you as if you’re not right there makes you physically recoil. Bucky’s eyes harden; he’s not even squaring up to his full stature, and he already easily dwarfs Marcus. Bucky takes a step forward, and everyone in the room comes to a standstill. Everyone shuddering at the sheer anger rolling off of Bucky and the stupidity of Marcus.

Marcus huffs out a laugh. Maybe he gets a little pasty when he’s nervous because he seems to be digging himself a deeper hole when he says something about how many girls fall at his feet and Sarge, you've got to calm down. She’s not worth all that.

In an instant, Steve and Sam command everyone to return to their tasks, and the room begins to bustle again, but with a specific weary energy that was not there before. The very next second, Marcus is picked up by the collar of his black t-shirt and slammed against the wall, the room rattling with the force of it as all the recruits try to ignore the spectacle before them. 

“Touch her again, and I will kill you,” Bucky promises. “If you look at her, I will kill you. If you even think about her, I will fucking kill you. Understand?” His voice is a low grumble, the words resounding and reverberating as you watch Marcus sputter out panicked apologies and his flailing body while Bucky still looks so self-assured and composed. It's as if he’s not scaring a man to death while simultaneously making you drool.

You call out Bucky’s name, and he looks at you over his shoulder, pinning Marcus with one final glare and shove before letting him go as the agent does the walk of shame to the washroom. It’s almost like you’re frozen in your spot. You’ve seen Bucky get aggressive on missions before, but watching him be so willing to defend you, stand up for you when you couldn’t, not even hesitating for a second when he threatened to kill for you. And the worst part is, you were confident he was dead serious. 

Even worse, something about the principle of the situation was really doing it for you.

On the outside, it might have seemed like you were in shock or panic due to the agents’ actions, so Bucky whisked you away to a private interrogation room on the floor above the gym. The whole elevator ride there, his hand is protectively on your lower back, and you just watch the rigid set of his jaw and the anger and possessiveness written all over his features with unmistakable doe eyes. The air in the elevator is thick, and neither of you says a word. Before you know it, Bucky is easily lifting you and placing you on the metal table in the middle of the dull room, and his eyes are scanning yours for any hint of panic or if you’re upset. His hands cup your face gently, the cool vibranium soothing against your heated skin, and he finally breaks the silence. “You’ve gotta say something, baby. Are you okay? After this, that idiot’s going to be gone. I’m sorry if seeing me like that upset you, sweetheart-” Your rushed words cut off his ramble, “I thought that was really hot.” You say quietly and watch as Bucky’s face contorts from one of worry to one of confusion. 

“The way you stood up for me, you were so nonchalant about killing for me. I can’t lie, James. That kind of did something for me.” You continue, biting your lip and scanning him for his reaction, hoping he didn’t take your words in the wrong way. 

He’s silent for a moment. His chest moving steadily with each breath against yours. 

The next moment, his lips are pressed against yours, and you let a surprised squeak out. Your mouth slots open when his wandering hands roughly squeeze your thigh through your satin pants, getting dangerously close to the heat pulsing between your thighs. Taking advantage of your open mouth, Bucky slips his tongue inside your mouth and you buck your hips to seek some friction against your needy core. The kiss is passionate and renders your breathless as he consumes all of your senses. All you can think, see, smell, hear, and feel is James. 

His name falls from your lips in a gasp, you reluctantly pull away to catch your breath, letting your head lull to the side when he peppers sloppy kisses all over your jaw, trailing down your neck and biting and licking on your sweet spot. You swat at his firm bicep, “You’re gonna leave a mark James, stop it.” Your attempt at scolding him is weak, even to your own ears.

You feel Bucky smirk against your sensitive neck, his wandering hands cupping your ass and shamelessly groping and swatting at you. “Oh really? That’s too bad baby. Gonna be a pain to cover up.” He remarks, voice dripping in cockiness.

You scoff and bite back a whimper when he grinds his undoubtedly hard length against your clothed center. Your hands shoot out to stabilize yourself by holding onto his shoulders, a shiver crawling up your spine when a particularly slow grind nudges your aching clit. “You’re such a bad influence you know that?” Your voice lacks any real conviction. Your hips move in tandem with his, both of you sharing messy kisses and your bodies thrumming with lust and pent up energy. 

“I’ll kill anyone who even thinks about looking at you.” Bucky says assuredly, and you can’t help the mewl that escapes your lips at his words. Your hands shakily going to undo his black jeans as he messily pulls yours pants down, being considerate enough not to rip them considering there was still a little more than an hour until the SHIELD training day was over. “Bucky I need you, need you to please-” Your voice is shaky and desperate, as you struggle to unbutton his jeans. He shushes you gently, cooing at you sweetly as he easily unbuttons his jeans, just enough for you to promptly pull out his erect cock. Your mouth practically waters at his length and girth, and you spit onto your hand and begin rubbing his length, swiping your thumb gently over the tip making him hiss and push his hips into your hand. 

You bite your lip and look up at him through hooded eyes, and he slaps your hand away before tearing your panties in half, the top half covering your swollen clit and the bottom scrap of fabric falling limply against the cool table. You barely have time to scold him for ripping your panties before he’s shoving his whole length inside you in one fluid thrust. Your back arches, your legs wrapping around his waist as your buddy erupts in a shiver, a short scream escaping your lips. He swallows the noise with his mouth pressed against yours as he grunts into your mouth, waiting only a short second before he begins to thrust inside you. His thrusts are slow but hard, making the heavy metal table scrape against the floor with the force of each pass of his hips into yours. 

“You’re mine, mine to touch. Mine to have. Mine to take care of.” Bucky grunts out, his movements picking up in pace as emotion swirls in his voice, his metal hand covering your neck, forcing you to stay upright in a position that allowed you to feel all of him. You sob out, digging your nails into his bicep and nodding your head, already succumbing to that foggy feeling you felt when you were so close to your boyfriend. He tuts at you, swatting your face with his flesh hand with enough force to make you moan out and clench around his length. 

“Nuh-uh sweetheart, you’re not going dumb on me that quick. Use your words, tell me you’re mine. Tell me I’m yours.” His voice is commanding and you force yourself to look at him, pulling on his shirt and tugging on his dog tugs to get him closer, your foreheads pressing against each other as his thrusts continue to get faster. “I’m yours James, only yours. You’re only mine. No one else. Just you.” Your words are slurred as he groans out a good girl in approval and decides that he wants your shirt off. He skillfully manages to slip your navy blue long-sleeve off and unhooks your bra in one motion, freeing your tits to the cold air of the room, forcing the buds into sensitive peaks which Bucky is quick to take advantage of. His hands squeeze and pull at your tits, tugging and pinching cruelly at your nipples making you whine. 

Your bodies are pressed so close to one another, each pull of his hips making his pelvis rub against your aching clit, stray tears streaming down your face and your chest heaving and pushed up against Bucky.

If anyone were to walk in right now the picture would be nothing short of debauched. You completely bare on the table, Bucky completely clothed. Getting absolutely plowed if the screech of the metal against the floor was anything to go by. Your moans get higher in pitch and volume making Bucky grunt, another swat to your cheek making your brain foggy. “Shut the fuck up slut. You want everyone to see you getting fucked like the bitch in heat you are?” But if your moans and increasing wetness are anything to go by, yes, a deep and dark part of you does want that. Bucky laughs at you, shaking his head in faux disbelief and you wrap your lips around his dog tags, enjoying the soothing sensation brought by the cool metal. Bucky looks down at your lips wrapped around the dog tags he never seemed to take off and he let out a wrecked sound. You clench around him at the sound making his rhythm falter.

Before you can even process the loss of his proximity, your back is flat against the table and his dog tags are now around your neck, landing on your chest and glimmering in the dull fluorescent lighting of the room. Bucky slams himself back inside of you, the unmistakable squelch of your wetness filling up the room alongside both of your noises of pleasure. Your high-pitched and pornographic mewls and his low grunts and deep groans. You cry out his name as your head lulls to the side, eyes shutting in bliss as your fingers move to give your aching clit some attention. But Bucky lets out a disappointed grunt, grabbing your jaw in his hand and forcing you to maintain eye contact. “Look away from me again and I won’t let you cum for a fucking week stupid baby.” Bucky threatens. “You better fucking pay attention to who’s fucking you dumb. No need to close your eyes and imagine when you’ve got the real thing right here.”

Each of his words ignites a newfound purpose in Bucky as he pounds into you impossibly harder, his hand swatting against your cheek again and wrapping around your neck, keeping you in place to take all of his thrusts. He knows you always struggle to keep your eyes open and you don’t doubt that he will follow through on his threat. He has always enjoyed testing your weakness and pushing your limits. 

“Feels s’good. You’re so big Jamie. S’big, so good s’too good.” Your words are breathy and frail, your fingers rubbing quick circles around your aching button. A mean laugh rumbles in his chest as he watches the way his dog tags move with your tits, the sight is intoxicating and fuels Bucky to continue his torment. “There she is my dumb little baby. Couldn’t help yourself huh? Can’t help the way your brain goes quiet when I have my dick inside you.” His words should be humiliating but they only spur you on, your fingers on the verge of cramping but the jolts of pleasure are so overwhelming you can’t stop. “Jus’ need you. Need you to make it better. ‘M yours Daddy, only yours.” 

“That’s it baby, I know, I know it feels so good huh. Daddy’s here baby, Daddy’s gonna take care of his needy baby.” Bucky’s head falls back on a moan when you clench around him, your walls pulsing and a ring of cream forming around the base of his cock. Your orgasm was surely just a few moments away and Bucky’s lips curled up in a smirk.

He folds your legs at the knee, sliding you closer to him with the pressure he has on your throat, the angle making him rub against your sweet spot with each deliriously pleasurable thrust. You squeal out his name, getting even louder than before and he shoves his dog tags into your mouth, muffling your garble out unintelligeble pleads to cum. With one hand Bucky squeezes your throat, and with the other he pinches at your nipples, tugging the sensitive flesh before trailing his hand down your body and slapping your hand away from your clit, he moves his lips down to your ears, licking up your earlobe before whispering his command, “Cum. Cum right fucking now or you don’t get to cum at all.” His fingers pinch your clit and the sudden burst of pain has you tensing your legs up, squealing out nonsense around the dog tags in your mouth and reaching your peak. Your body shakes against the table as Bucky pounds you through your high, his words of encouragement falling on deaf ears as you teeter between consciousness and unconsciouness. His body overwhelming your mind and soul. 

His fingers release your throat and you look up at him with watery eyes, bringing him down to rest your foreheads against each other as he nears his own high. Your lips are pressing against each other, “There isn’t a single person in the world I wouldn’t kill for you. I would do anything for you. You are everything to me.” Bucky murmurs in a pussy-drunk stupor. But the words are true, he has said them to you before and will say them a thousand times again. You taught him how to live again, not just survive. 

A broken cry falls from your lips from sensitivity and Bucky’s impassioned thrusts turn sloppy as he moans out your name, pulling you impossibly closer as he fills you with his cum. At the feeling of being completely stuffed by him, your second release is triggered and you shake in his hold as he comes down from his high. He presses lazy kisses against your lips and rubs his hands soothingly up and down your body, easing you out of your submissive state. He gently pulls himself out, using the handkerchief he carries around to wipe your thighs clean, but letting his cum keep your pussy messy. He quickly wipes himself off and helps you dress yourself. 

A few more giggly kisses and you’re pretty much ready to go back down to the gym. Just in time to catch the final thing on today’s agenda: sparring. Bucky walks one step behind you, his hand back again on your lower back protectively as a path is cleared to the front of the ring where your friends are supervising Marcus and another recruit preparing for the second round of their match. Natasha and Wanda offer you knowing smirks and you roll your eyes with heat creeping up cheeks as you shyly glance up at Bucky through your eyelashes to find him already looking at you with a stupid smile. He presses a gentle kiss to your cheek and watches with intent as Steve and Sam coach their respective agents. 

“Looking strong, Marcus!” Bucky calls out and you swat his chest making him laugh. Marcus takes one look at you, Bucky’s dog tags now around your neck and falling on your shirt, teeth imprints on your neck, and swollen lips. Poor Marcus falters, and the other recruit takes advantage of his distraction and easily tackles him to the ground, winning the second round. Bucky takes a single step closer to the ring where Sam is helping Marcus up, and the smirk on your arrogant boyfriend’s face is adorable. “Better luck next time buddy,” he says supportively. Sam flicks Bucky in the forehead, unable to hide the smile on his face, “Dumbass.”

[kitten4sannie]

dolce and gabbana

pairing: san x guest! reader (fem)

genre: pure smut with a tiddlywink of plot

summary: san can’t seem to get you off his mind after sitting next to you during the latest D&G showcase, so he has no choice but to get you on his dick instead.

w.c: 3.3k

warnings: some alcohol use, subby until he’s not! san, dommy mommy who folds instantly when san asserts himself! reader, both reader and san mutually go after one another despite knowing one of them is MARRIED (hoes will be hoes what can i say <3), reader’s husband is a dick ofc, misogyny (from said husband), cheating, seduction, exhibitionism, mommy/daddy kink….. (i’m weak okay,,), teasing, ITS BIG BTW AND CURVED……, only praise and pet names (omg who hacked k4s???), groping, fingering, kissing, dry humping on a couch in a very crowded room, one neck bite, san cums untouched, oral (receiving), squirting, one singular pussy slap, san puts reader into a mating press on her husband’s side of the bed just for funsies, manhandling, size kink, breeding kink, creampies (sannie cums a lotttt)

a/n: as a pudding since day 1 i am in absolute shambles thanks for asking <3 and YES im very aware i posted yesterday but the fic demons cannot be silenced!!! and just fyi i’m sure san was very grateful and absolutely brimming with excitement to be at the show!! the way i wrote him here does not reflect his actual feelings towards anything,, its just a silly fic and i wrote what i wanted lol. also i wish i could tell you how many times “dolce and gabbana that’s on my titties~” played in my head while i typed this out 😭😭 (also i did not proofread this whatsoever so forgive me if there are errors) but anyways, i hope you enjoy :33

song recs: la romana by bad bunny, rover by kai, planet goddamn by mac miller

San knew eyes would be on him. Why wouldn’t they be? He was dressed to the nines, his hair slicked back to showcase his alluring, feline-like eyes, his sharp, angular features that could give someone a fatal cut if they looked for too long, and most importantly, he was all decked out in a sleek black custom-made top that perfectly adorned his broad shoulders and chest, one that even cinched securely around his impossibly tiny waist. Of course it did. It had been custom fit and made just for his body. Even the tailor had jokingly mentioned that Michelangelo himself must’ve sculpted him to perfection in the heavens before San was born, but San wasn’t laughing. He perfected his body through his own sheer willpower and determination alone, to be the best that he could be for his own self — and if people just so happened to drool over the results of his hard work, then that was simply a perk.

Holding his hand up to shield his eyes from the many camera flashes, he continued to make his way down the walkway, offering many of the starstruck guests a courteous, though charming smile, wondering if their wandering gazes were due to his breathtaking ensemble or what was sitting just below it. The thought tickled him. It continued to amuse him throughout the afternoon, taking picture after picture with eager guests and wealthy tycoons alike, quite pleased with himself when neither man nor woman could seem to control themselves around him, their eyes always drifting downwards to look San up and down like he were next up in an auction, their mouths pressed to their champagne flutes in an effort to quell the thirst they felt, their free hands lingering just a little too long on the small of his back when they bid farewell to him.

San relished the fact that these poor starving individuals could never get a taste of him, no matter how incredibly rich or influential they were. None of them would get a bite of the forbidden fruit without permission from God.

It was then that the show started, various eye-catching models sashaying their way across the aisle to showcase the latest D&G collection, all displaying their own unique set of features and charm. All flawless and angelic in their own right, but they were almost predictable in that way — like mannequins made solely for the rich and beautiful to gawk at. San couldn’t help but look past them, only focusing on the expensive, tailor made clothes that were framing their perfect bodies. And after a while, he almost seemed to grow bored. Of what, exactly? He wasn’t sure. Maybe it was the sheer gaudiness of it all, the lack of self awareness for things that really mattered in the modern world, and the almost nauseating amount of self-sucking the rich individuals around him seemed to be fond of doing. San would’ve pondered it more when somebody near him gently patted his thigh, causing him to look down at the small manicured hand, the diamond ring around your finger glinting in the light like a warning sign.

“Are you bored like I am?” you whispered softly into his ear from beside him, giving him a quaint smile when he turned his head to face you.

San blushed, leaning slightly in your direction. “Am I that obvious?”

“No, don’t worry. None of these drones will be able to notice.” You motioned your head to the crowd around you, their phones in hand, all whispering to each other about how revolutionary the new collection was, despite it looking eerily similar to the fall one from the year before. “You could whip your cock out and no one would bat an eye.”

“Oh?” San studied your flirtatious smile, then looked down just to make sure his eyes hadn’t deceived him. Yep, the ring was still there — and it probably cost more than a starter house. Delighted by your forwardness, San took it upon himself to tease you, reaching down to slowly unbutton his slim-fitted pants. “Well, if that’s the case…”

Your cheeks turning bright red, you reached downwards to shield his crotch from view, looking up at him with wide eyes, your faces now impossibly close. “I-i was fucking with you! Don’t actually take out your dick…”

San’s sharpened eyes flitted from your gaze to your cherry red lips, letting go of his zipper to gently take your hand in his, pressing it firmly down onto his thigh. “Yet…?” he challenged huskily, wondering if you were like all the others and would yank your hand back, scoff in disgust, and pretend as if it had never happened. It was then that San felt you squeeze your warm hand into the meat of his thigh, your fingers just barely pressing into the inseam of his pants.

“You can be a good boy and wait till the after party, can’t you?” you asked in a lower, sultrier tone, pressing your lips to his cheek to leave your mark on him, your hand moving further up his thigh, only pulling away when you felt something hard press into your palm. Smiling sweetly, you leaned in again, this time allowing your lips to brush over his. “Good things come to those who wait.”

And just like that, you turned forward to focus on the models all gathering onto the stage at once along with the designers, clapping along with the rest of the crowd when they all took a bow. You blew a kiss to one of the designers who caught it and pretended to put it in his pocket.

Still breathless from your short encounter, San nudged your thigh with his own, biting into his lip and tasting the sweetness of your lipstick. You nudged him back, glancing at him through the corner of yours eyes, licking at your own lips, like a predator would before pouncing on their prey.

San couldn’t believe he had finally met someone like you. There was a serpent in his garden — and he couldn’t wait for it to swallow him up.

-

The after party was predictable as always — strangers binge drinking and snorting powder off of your previously pristine marble tabletops, others telling embellished stories about their latest trip to their private islands to various locked-in acquaintances, some off doing god knows what in your many empty guest rooms, and you could not, for the life of you, care about what your husband was currently cackling over with his close friends, focusing on the crackling wood sitting inside the fireplace you were all huddled near. When you inevitably ran out of champagne, you patted your husband’s leg so that he could remove his arm from your waist.

He looked down at you with indifference. “What is it?”

“I need more champagne, honey. I’m going to get some.”

Your husband’s face scrunched up. “Haven’t you had enough? If you drink anymore, you’re going to lose your nice figure.” He looked to his friends for validation who simply nodded along in agreement.

Your husband’s chauvinistic comments didn’t bother you anymore, just his persistent presence in your life. He was like a mosquito that was always trying to drain you, one that you could never seem to swat away. Well, nothing a little dick couldn’t fix. “That’s funny, because I seem to recall the tailor coming in this morning for an emergency visit to alter a certain suit,” you mentioned, this time pushing your husband’s arm away from you, surveying his now quiet friends with an unbothered look, before wandering off, not registering the insecurity driven ramblings that your husband was sending your way.

Once you made your way into the crowded loft, you searched your surroundings for what you were looking for, humming at the sight of the pretty boy from earlier sitting on the large plush couch in the corner, a half-empty champagne flute in hand, his attention on one of the models that had walked for your husband’s collection a few hours earlier. He was even more handsome now that you could study his captivating details, your eyes drifting over his bulky frame, from his large arms and shoulders, to his delicate waist, and down to his spread thighs, zeroing in on what was between them, knowing that the beautiful stranger was blessed in more ways than one based off what you had felt earlier.

Without hesitation, you slowly made your way across the room, your stiletto heels digging into the fur carpet below with each concentrated step, licking your red lips when the model placed one of her hands on San’s thighs and squeezed it, his suddenly submissive expression causing more knots to form within your core. You were going to make him yours.

San could barely hear the pretty model’s words over the loud music and the many overlapping voices inside the loft, not knowing what to say when she moved closer to him, clearly going in for the kill. It was then that someone stood over him, their heel nudging into his loafer. He looked up, his once hazy eyes opening wide at the sight of you standing above him with a bottle of champagne in one hand, your other hand already cradling his face. “M-miss…there you are…”

“Here I am,” you purred, running your fingers along his jaw, satisfied with the fact that your lipstick print was still visible on his tan skin.

San gulped, just about spilling the drink he was still holding onto, unknowingly spreading his thighs open further, as if he was giving you an unspoken invitation to climb onto his lap.

Humming, you lowered yourself into his lap, your plush thighs and ass pressing snuggly against his lower half. “Look at you,” you cooed softly into San’s ear, not caring to give the now fuming model any attention, lowering the cold champagne bottle in between your bodies, chuckling at the soft whimper he let out when it pressed into the exposed sections of his skin. “You’re such a good boy, saving a seat for Mommy like this. Aren’t you, baby?”

“Y-yes, I am, s-so good for you…”

“Then, be good and open your mouth,” you purred, lifting the almost empty bottle and pouring some into your mouth. San’s jaw slowly dropped, not knowing that he was already beginning to drool. You didn’t mind, clutching the sides of his heated face and pressing your parted lips onto his, transferring the sparkling alcohol to him, but not without running your tongue over his.

San brought his hands up near the sides of your ass, his fingers trembling, not knowing if he was allowed to touch you, whimpering into your mouth when you sucked the alcohol off of his tongue.

“You can touch, baby.” You reached for his wrists and brought his hands underneath the hem of your short dress, gasping when he squeezed the softness of your ass in between his ringed fingers and began to slowly guide your hips, your clothed cunt rubbing back and forth over his stiffening cock. “Mm, someone’s eager, hm? You’re a naughty one, making the main designer’s wife grind on your cock like this in front of everyone.”

“It’s…Mommy’s fault…” San murmured near your ear, rolling his own hips up into yours, making you feel every inch of his trapped throbbing cock each time he ground himself into you, biting into his lip at the sound of your breathless moans, swearing he saw your grimacing husband from over your shoulder.

“My fault, huh? Mommy should make up for it, shouldn’t she?” you sighed back onto his heated skin, pressing kiss after kiss onto his collarbones, dragging your tongue along the constellation of freckles he had on his neck, making him shudder underneath you.

“Uh-huh…” San moaned out, your hand suddenly squeezing into and sliding back and forth over his erection, your thumb repeatedly rubbing over the pronounced tip, knowing he was staining his expensive pants with sticky pre-cum. “F-fuck, I’ll cum if you keep doing that…”

“So sensitive, baby, you’re so cute…but you’re not the only one, you know? Look what you did to Mommy~” You gave his balls a gentle squeeze just to hear him whimper, before letting go, instead reaching for his hand again and leading it between your legs, moving your soaked panties to the side just in time for San to fill you up with two thick fingers.

“You’re so wet…” San groaned, unable to keep himself from adding another digit inside your slick hole, beginning to pump them in and out of you, allowing the both of you to listen to the obscene squelching sounds your cunt made each time he finger-fucked you. Something switched inside of San when you began to whine and whimper, and fuck yourself back on his fingers, your eyebrows screwed upwards, begging him for more with your teary, half-closed eyes. “So fucking wet just for me, huh? Hey, Miss, did you know your husband is standing just across the room? Think he’s hard knowing I just got his pretty little wife wetter than she’s been in her entire life?”

“B-baby, don’t tease me like that,” you whispered, not wanting the control you had over him to slip out of your grasp, grabbing onto his shoulders, accidentally causing pieces of his solid outfit to fall off and land onto the leather couch.

“It’s San, Miss, but you can call me Sannie if you wanna be a good girl for me,” he chuckled, shoving his fingers into you up to the knuckles, rolling your clit around underneath his heavy thumb. “And, I’m not teasing you, my love, he’s really watching us, and he looks like he wants to kill me.”

Just as you looked behind you to catch your husband’s displeased gaze, San began to ram his soaked digits into your spasming cunt, feeling his lips, tongue, and teeth on your neck. “O-oh my god, Sannie, oh, fuckkkk…”

Just as your warm arousal began to pour out onto his fingers and lap, San bit down into the area where your neck and collarbone connected, letting out a few stunted groans, his hips jolting up into yours, coating the insides of his designer pants with white.

“Did you just…?” you began, before San stuffed his fingers into your mouth, growing quiet and sucking your arousal off of them. He pulled them out with a pop, but you didn’t even get the chance to continue your question because you were suddenly being lifted up into the air, strong hands clutching your thighs, your legs hooked around San’s waist.

Your defeated, emasculated husband was just a blur when San carried you through the crowded room and up the stairs, not stopping until he got to the largest room at the end of the expansive hallway.

“Which side does your husband sleep on?” San asked, once he stood at the foot of the kingsized bed.

“On the right. Why do you–O-oh,” you gasped as he quickly laid you out on the right side of the bed and lifted your dress up, forcefully spreading your thighs open so that he could bury his face in your cunt, repeatedly lapping at your slit and clit over your soaked panties until he couldn’t take it, reaching up to tear your panties off with ease. “Sannie, baby boy, what’s gotten into you?”

San looked up at you with dark, dilated eyes, reaching up to his broad body to rip off the rest of his outfit, his solid muscles flexing as he closed his fingers around your waist, yanking you lower so that your cunt was closer to his face, looking like he was about to eat you alive. “Daddy’s hungry,” he simply replied, diving back into your cunt to lick and slurp up your juices, tonguing your hole just to feel you clench around him, his nose nudging your clit as he ate you out like a starved man.

Sooner or later, you began to shudder and pant, tugging at the ends of San’s sweaty hair, your thighs pressing into the sides of his head until he forcefully held them down, quickly moving his head up and down as he dragged his tongue roughly over your throbbing clit, his focused eyes never leaving yours. “S-sannie, I’m really, fuck– I’m gonna cum…!”

“Cum for Daddy,” he demanded gruffly, stuffing three fingers into your cunt and pounding them into your g-spot, lifting your ass up with his other hand so that he could catch the stream of arousal that suddenly squirted out of you, some of it inevitably soaking into the satin sheets below you. San licked your juices from his lips, going down to give your puffy cunt one last lick to savor your taste, before standing up from the bed and unbuckling his pants.

“Y-you….Did you get possessed by a demon?” you asked half-jokingly, unable to keep your thighs from trembling, wiping the sweat from your forehead with the back of your wrist.

“And if I did? You’d still let me fuck you, wouldn’t you?” San smiled devilishly, his dimples appearing, kicking off his pants and running his closed hand along his curved, dripping length. He pressed his thighs against the side of the bed, running the tip of his cock over your lips, watching fondly as you sucked and licked the beads of pre-cum that leaked from the slit.

“I would.” Lifting yourself up so that you could completely rid yourself of your disheveled dress, you reached up for the handsome stranger, licking the saltiness from your lips. “Now, come here and show Mommy just how much Daddy wants her.”

San wasted no time climbing back onto the bed and folding you up into a mating press, leaning back to send a few wads of spit onto your cunt, smacking his hand against the wetness for good measure, before he plunged himself deep inside you.

You just about screamed, not ready for San’s unusual size and shape, the curve of his cock rubbing deliciously along your tightening walls each time he pounded himself into you. “S–ann–ie…! It’s so big, fuck– so good!”

“Aww, poor baby’s never had a big cock stretching out her pretty pussy before, huh?” San cooed into your ear, pulling all the way out, just to slam himself back in, hitting your g-spot dead on, making you cry out deliriously. “You’ll never be able to go back to your husband after this. You’re gonna be begging for me to take care of you from now on….” San pressed his lips against yours, sucking on your tongue as you moaned out for him. “Want you to cum for me again, baby…Squirt on my cock, okay?”

“S-Sannie, it’s too much,” you whined out, dragging your nails down his broad back, your toes curling just as San punched your next orgasm out of you when his curved cock once again came in contact with your g-spot.

As you began to cry from the overwhelming pleasure, San licked your tears away, gently pressing his lips into your cheek and jaw, shushing you. “Don’t worry, baby. Daddy’s here for you.” He clutched you close, holding still inside you, as his cock began to twitch. “Here it comes, princess, just for you.” A hot, creamy stream of cum began to shoot out into you, completely drenching your insides with his load.

You could hardly speak at this point in time, solely concentrated on the pleasure that still had a hold on your sore body and the warmth that was filling you up to the brim, suddenly realizing that your husband really wasn’t going to be happy with you. “Y-you shouldn’t have…nnnngh….”

San continued to roll his hips into you, his eyelids fluttering, groans spilling from his throat, your cunt still milking his pulsing cock for all it had, which was a lot, to say the least. Once there was nothing left to give you, San leaned down, pressing one last kiss to your lips, not caring that you had left your lipstick all over him. “Can I ask you something, baby?”

“Y-yes, San?”

San smiled, his glossy brown eyes glistening in the light. “When you have my baby, will you have the heart to tell your poor husband that it’s actually mine?”

Panting heavily and trying to process what the handsome stranger just said, you finally came to the realization that you let someone who didn’t even know your name possibly impregnate you. Well, at least you had something to talk about over breakfast with your husband, rather than hear him go on and on about his latest collection.

“I’m not sure about that one…”

“Can I ask you one more question?”

“Hm?”

“Should I name our baby Dolce or Gabbana?”

Apply for the taglist here ⇢ ♡

© kitten4sannie, 2024.

[barbieaemond]

And I dream of a grave

Header by the lovely @ewanmitchellcrumbs 💕💕

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

Warnings: angst (!), smut, too many references to graves/burying, mentions of Blood & Cheese, miscommunication, Aemond's coping mechanism is violence and sex, in this order (good for him)

Word count: 3.8k

Author's note: the gif is self explanatory. This is a prequel to A Curse for a Curse, but can be read as a standalone. Big thank you to @irenadel for giving me the idea and being one of the most supportive souls <3

Taglist: @ladystarksneedle @arcielee @multyfangirl

MASTERLIST | English is not my first language

This is more than tempting the Gods. This is forsaking and impudently turning their backs on them.

As she sits down at the banquet, her mother’s words echo through her mind like the vexing sound of the wind on a storm’s night. It sets an unpleasant weight on her lungs, the close and yet shapeless feel of something dreadful. She’s almost grateful, looking around, to ascertain she’s not the only fool dreading this whole act.

The Dowager Queen sits at the table, barely able to contain a grimace. Queen Helaena, she is certain, has never looked so pale, her eyes so vacuous and yet so full of something unknown, elusive, smoke clouding and clearing her unnatural stare. The Hand has conveniently made himself absent. She can’t blame him. Actually, she envies him. If only she too could have been spared such a farce. But as the wife of the King’s brother, the very one they’re all supposed to celebrate tonight, she cannot do that, can she?

To cheers and the blaring of trumpets, the King enters shoulder to shoulder with his brother, tall and proud in his stride, wearing dark green velvet for such a special occasion, and such a special title.

“Do you know how they’re going to call you from now on?” the Queen Mother had asked when he came back from Storm’s end, dripping rain and mud and war.

“I do, Mother.” Aegon had answered, twisting a knife from his seat at the head of the table; she had never caught that glint of satisfaction in his eyes, not like that; it wasn’t dimmed by wine or flesh, but sharp as the blade in his hand. “A title he should be proud of.”

Pride was ever the easiest thing to wear for Aemond, the softest glove gliding on his skin, born out of a pit so deep and full of insecurities and negligence that that same endless depth had grown out of proportion in order to fill itself. To even try scratching his pride was like trying to climb the highest mountain with bare hands. She had cut her palms open to do so.

“What happened, Aemond?” she had asked once alone in their chambers.

“You know what happened.”

“What really happened?”

His good eye had pierced her as if she were made of crystal, but his jaw was too set, on the verge of breaking his own teeth if he carried on keeping the guilt, and truth, trapped inside.

“I didn’t want to.” He whispered, coming down from the peak, “I didn’t want to kill him. I only wanted—”

“Revenge? Well, you had it. Did it make you feel good? Did you bring that boy peace at last?”

It took him a lifetime to say no; a whispered sound, choked even, as if he had bitten off his tongue to get it out of that pit where he had never looked again.

He was biting his tongue in the council, the faintest clench in his jaw but here, here in the council, here in the world, he had to keep that pit buried and stand straight on the highest peak, looking up and up, never down, never back. How could he, how could he admit he had lost control. It was easier, safer, to let them think of him a monster, rather than just human.

“I salute you, brother.” The King had said, raising his cup “True blood of the dragon! We shall have a feast in your honor!" Otto had merely lowered his head in defiance, going unnoticed in the eyes of his King and grandson, drunk with power and finally free of his mother's leash, unaware that a golden noose now held him in check.

He had summoned jesters, musicians, even some dancers to coddle his brother, and raise him higher and higher. She imagined she just had to wait for the fall. Or perhaps pray to the Seven to overlook the insult, to keep a mortal up there with them for a little more. But then again, they shouldn’t ask the Gods for mercy. Someone more unforgiving, more bloodthirsty. Someone who, just as her husband and his brother and each one of their cursed dynasty, did not listen to either Gods or men.

“A toast!” the King says at one point, turning to his left. “To my brother Aemond and a long overdue justice, is it not?”

Out of courtesy and duty, she grabs her cup and raises it, but as everyone at the table sips their wine, all she tastes is contempt, and the cup hits the surface untouched. But not unseen.

“Brother, wine may cloud my judgment, but it seems to me that your beloved wife does not share the sentiment of this fine evening. I wonder why.”

She holds the King’s demanding stare with a firm one, aware of Aemond looking at her even if his eye is fixed on the table. He has ignored her for the whole night, not sparing her a single glance. Because she owns the truth, doesn’t she, and it’s a knife pointed at his back.  

“May I speak my mind, your Grace?”

There’s the slightest shift in Alicent’s posture, as if she were desperately waiting for her, or anyone, to cease all of this, to say this isn’t right.

Aegon pulls a thin, lazy smile and tilts his silver head, swirling his cup. “Why, of course, Princess. My brother tells me you have a habit of doing so.”

“Did he, now?” she resists the urge to scoff; such a despicable habit for a woman in this world.

“Fret not, good sister, I’m certain he holds no grudges against you for your silver tongue.”

“Oh, I’m quite certain too, your Grace. I know for a fact that he likes it.”

A few lords can do very little to hold their snickering, Aegon himself does not hide his malicious smirk, petty at the edges. It must run in the blood.

“Careful though, you don’t want to spend too much time talking, lest you leave my poor brother without any heir! It’s been a while since you two lovebirds tied the knot, isn’t that right?”

She glances beside her, surely Aemond won’t let that slight insult pass, but he stays still and silent like a statue. She can’t quite believe what she’s witnessing. This is the same man who would call the crowned head at the table wastrel, depraved, disgrace.

So much for a disgrace, now that he fosters your pride and lies.

“I can assure you, good brother, that the talking is well outweighed by other activities that involve very few words.”

Aegon plasters a big grin on his face, yet she’s not finished. “But perhaps the Gods are sparing me the burden of bringing a child in such troubled times. A realm at war is not the best place to live in, is it not?”

“It depends on which side you’re on, Princess.”

There’s suspicion in his tone, but she just blinks at him. “My apologies, I was not aware that my loyalty to your House, and my husband’s, was to be questioned.”

“Come now. We are bound by what if not words?”

“I was under the impression that the Crown should fear his own kin more than a simple foreign girl from the West.”

At that, Helaena lets out a strange noise, something close to a wince, and silence falls all over. It is only now that Aemond undoes the stone he walled himself in and acts as he always does when he feels belittled, or worse, threatened. He shuts her out.

“I’m afraid my wife is growing tired, brother. ’Tis best for her to retire.”

She bites her tongue and turns her head. There’s no mistake in his tone, that is an order. She stares at him and he stares back, blankly, and then, just as it is expected of her, she obeys.

She goes without saying a word, aware of Aemond’s eye on her, of Aegon’s little victorious giggle. He snaps his fingers and two dancing girls flock to his brother. She knows this because she can’t resist but turning before disappearing. The girls are said to come from Lys, no less. But he’s not sparing them a single glance. His eye follows her out of the hall, and even after.

Candles almost extinguished, casting a soft glow in the bedchamber, dim but enough to make the shape of her body visible under the covers.

“I know you’re pretending to be asleep.” He says, placing his dagger and eyepatch on the nightstand.

She doesn’t bother to wait a single moment to fly her eyes open. “Was I not supposed to pretend I was tired?”

When she gets no answer, she turns to face him, finding him on his feet near the bed, undoing the buttons of his doublet. His eye is on her, though, wide, as someone ready to hunt but seeing traps everywhere.

“Did you enjoy your feast?” she asks with piqued interest. “Such a shame that I missed most of it. I was eager to watch the girls from Lys dance. How were they?”

“Enough. You should thank me for dismissing you. You were bordering on high treason.”

“Since when telling the truth is considered high treason?”

“Is that what you were going to say? The truth? To make me look like a fool in front of the whole court?”

“I was only going to say that the feast was an insult and a challenge to the Gods or any common sense. And I know that beneath all the pats on the shoulder and the endorsement on your brother’s part, you are of the same mind.” she hopes to see the barest glimpse of validation on his face, at least here, where he can leave behind his pride and admit he made a mistake. Is that what you call starting a war?

But his expression is as closed as ever, wary.

She wishes it would hurt less than it does. “Of all the people ready to betray you, how quick you are to assume I’d be the first.”

“We’re bound by words, are we not?”

“Take your brother off your mouth.” She says absentmindedly; she tries to not let it sting, but it does anyway. It is a low blow, and she knows he does not believe it. He has raised the walls, coiling like a snake, and there’s no point trying to climb and risk cracking her skull open on the ground. She will have to wait for him to come down. “Then perhaps I should consider my father’s proposal.”

She leaves the bed and grabs a letter lying open on the desk. “He wrote me this letter. That is why my mother came all the way here, apparently to see how her daughter was faring.”

Aemond eyes it with the barest twitch in his lips, then looks up into her eyes and, with a sigh, she clears her throat.

“My dearest daughter,

It is with great concern and sadness that I write you this letter.

Words have reached me about the recent events involving Storm’s End and young Prince Lucerys’ demise. My spirits are low when thinking of the fate you’re enduring. But I want you to think carefully of this: annulments are rare but possible. Even more so since you bore no heirs yet. You cannot remain married to a Kinslayer, it is the highest of sins. I only need a word from you, daughter, and I shall hastily consult with a High Septon.”

She can barely register his arm moving, only sees his hand snatching the letter out of her grip, crumpling the paper between his fingers. Nostrils flaring, eye widening, she reads insult all over his face. About time.

“Is that it, Aemond? Is that the reason you’d think I would betray you? Because I didn’t bleed on a birthing bed yet? Is that how you measure my loyalty? What of all the times I drew your bath, washed your hair, pulled the boots off your feet? What about that curtain—“ she adds, pointing to the windows “and the fact that I told the maid to keep that side always closed so the sun will not bother your eye? Do you think I did all of this because of some empty words?”

He looks as if she has just slapped him. Mistrust and bewilderment run together all over his sharp features, trying to win one another, and she waits and waits, and she begs as all the purest things must be pleaded, wordlessly.

Come down. Come down. Lay down with me. In our bed, a grave, it matters not. I'll take the shovel and do the burying.

But he stands still on his high and cursed perch, the grip on the letter loosens, his shoulders slump a little, because this, this comes so easily. Violence. It’s the other glove he wears like second skin.

“You will write to your father and tell him if I hear another word about annulments, I will have his head for treason. And as for you… you tell a living soul what you know, and you shall join the Silent Sisters. You won’t even have to vow your silence, for I shall take your sharp tongue first.”

She watches him go, standing in the middle of the room like a fool; her hands bleeding still and a plea, unheard, choking to death in her chest.

Her hands heal, stay whole for so long. She feels she cannot reach him this time, no matter how hard she tries to climb. She finds no footholds, no inlets, until she stops looking for any.

She finds she has no strength to do it anymore. They’re all dead anyway, each of them in their own way, their own burial.

The king drinks and rages and drinks and rages. Helaena rocks on herself all day long, chasing the highs and lows of her laments. Jaehaera stares at her mother with her small lips sewn, her eyes wide and the Queen Mother weeps and weeps, wondering if the little girl is watching her mother go mad with grief or yet again her twin brother’s head rolling on the ground like one of her toys.

And Aemond…she does not know where Aemond chose to bury himself. He spends the day out, trying to escape the smothering grip of the Stranger’s claws, his curse…or is it only retribution?

Sometimes he’s in the training yard, sometimes that same yard becomes theater for revenge. He kills whoever helped Blood and Cheese enter the Keep, man or woman, he doesn’t care. He tortures them, and she wants to beg him to stop, to tell him that torturing one, two, or one hundred men won’t stop guilt from torturing him.

So, he wanders restlessly, basks in small and big cruelties, until the sun sets and she’s aware, as the bed dips under his weight, that she is his own burial. He takes her at any time, in any place, be it the bed, the desk, or bent over the vanity, she cannot do anything to stop him. She doesn’t want to and yet she aches to do it. Because it’s always sudden, and harsh and hurtful when he pulls her hair, when he spares no time to stoke her desire, when he keeps her bent with her back turned and a firm hand on her neck like some kind of punishment.

It never used to be like this. It had been playful, teasing, painfully slow as if he were separating salt from water, and then fast, urgent, unraveling for two inexperienced newlyweds.

But it had never been like that. There was no joy in it. Only a duty to be fulfilled. Some twisted way to gain control, while anyone else kept slipping from his hands. Just as Vhagar slipped out of his control on that fateful night of storm.

He remembered that dark thrill pounding in his veins, the laughter gushing out of his throat like poison. He couldn’t bring himself to stop. He didn’t know whether Vhagar was fueling his fire or the other way around, perhaps both. Just a little more, he’d thought, as Arrax batted his wings frantically, desperate, mirroring his young rider, to escape the gaping jaws of the Queen of All Dragons.

That’s what he wanted. He wanted to relish in his nephew’s dread, he wanted to drink it. He wanted him alone, desperate, hopeless, just as he had been.

And then he felt it, the shift in the ancient fire pit he was riding, like a boat tipping over and there was no helm to grab onto and bring it back to land. He had sunk his own family into the bleak abyss of Daemon Targaryen’s soul.

He had come to collect, thoroughly. A son for a son, yes, but he had taken much more than Jaehaerys. He’d taken Helaena as well. Even Jaehaera.

Will she ever be able to speak again?

Will my Mother ever forgive me?

Words never spoken, stuck on his tongue and then gagged and swallowed. He cannot look down, cannot look back. He must look up and forward, like soldiers do. To the next battle, to war.

But there’s this woman. And the sight of her in his bed that makes his breath hitch and for two reasons entirely opposite to one another. The first is the most ancient one. But she’s also a thorn in his side, for she knows. She knows everything. She knows all his peaks and depths, every brick in his walls and how to dismantle them; she knows he’s strong and weak, that he’s scared and guilty and worthy of his mother’s contempt, but he cannot bear any of this in front of her.

He flees her presence during the day, only to impose himself on her for the whole night. She cannot refuse him. And he cannot have her prying and dismantling his well-crafted walls and lies, so he takes her and takes her and takes her until he works themselves up to exhaustion and she’s a rag doll in his hands. It serves the purpose, though. As long as she has his cock in her mouth, as long as he harshly pounds into her, cutting her breath from the inside, she cannot ask questions. As long as he keeps chasing his pleasure, and his rugged breaths muffle his own ears, he cannot think straight.  

He's close now and it’s the second time already. The sheets are damp beneath their bodies, his back glints with sweat, damps his forehead as he thrusts inside her one more time. They’re lying on their side, but he keeps her caged against him, his arm has slipped on the mattress and under her neck to keep her still, with her back to him. With his cheek glued to hers, he croons praises in her ear, falling mindlessly from his lips but like drops in the ocean. Once, she would redden, smile blissfully, or challenge him, to go deeper, or harder, or both, but she’s a limp thing now. A mere body panting upon being fucked by another, that’s all.

This is possession. Or a desperate attempt to. Each night, he holds her as if it’s the last time and she could slip away from him at any moment, turning her back on him. She can feel it now, in the way he’s gripping her shoulder, the way his nails dig in her skin, carving into her bones: stay with me. Please. Don’t leave. Please, don’t leave.

But it’s him keeping her away, turning her own back on him.

Don’t you know, she wishes to tell him, that I won’t, ever. I won’t. No matter how cursed you are. I won’t. I won’t.

He grabs her thigh, resting it on his hip, spreading his long fingers on her skin, spreading her legs so he can find the perfect angle and picks up the pace. She shudders with every thrust, gasping with her throat dry, feeling the long bridge of his nose sinking in her cheek, his grunts growing rougher and deeper; some strange choked sound at the back of his throat.

He comes quietly, panting shallowly against the damp fabric of her nightgown. And he stays there, claw gripping her shoulder, head sunk between her neck and collarbone, and deep to the hilt buried in her.

A tear rolls down her cheek. She doesn’t know where it comes from, who she is mourning, she can’t tell these days. Perhaps she’s mourning him, who he was, who he is now and who he is forcing himself to be. She doesn’t know where the deception lies anymore. She wishes she could push it back in, prays that it goes unnoticed, swallowed along with all the others, but she should know by now, the Gods are not in her favor anymore, if they ever had been.

“Why are you crying?”

She turns her head, and her breath hitches. The gemstone glints, yes, but she’s too struck by his eye to even notice the sapphire. There’s something raw there, bare, more than his very skin now. It’s the first time she sees that look on him, torn, heavy lidded and not by pleasure.

This is the burden of grief.

She wonders if that’s the reason he’s so keen on fucking her with her back turned, so she can’t see him. Perhaps she didn’t look hard enough. She thought he had risen too high, out of her reach, of anyone’s. She thought he would never fall, not in every sense of the word.

Hence, she’s at a loss for words, slightly pulling herself up, when he slowly comes down; he curls into himself, into her lap, resting his head there like a child. No Kinslayer, no Dragon Prince, no son, no brother. No husband. Just a human, bare in the skin and soul.

Aemond wraps his hand around her knee, gently, and then tighter and tighter, shutting his eye. He’s on land now, but the room is spinning, the whole world is spinning and he doesn’t know how to stop it. He feels he started it all, he threw a spinning top and got sucked into it. And she’s the only firm thing he can hold onto.

“Do you think I’m cursed?” he whispers, the barest flutter of his long eyelashes against his cheekbone.

But she has no answer. All she has are her hands, sliding on his naked skin, through his loose hair, gently, as if touching the thinnest glass, sealing the cracks. Her palms slice open again.  

“Aren’t we all?”

And I dream of a grave, deep and narrow, where we could clasp each other in our arms as with clamps, and I would hide my face in you and you would hide your face in me, and nobody would ever see us any more."

- The Castle, Franz Kafka.

[sanarsi]

Sweet treat

perv!neighbor!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Summary: You came to your family home for a vacation. The obsession that is born in Joel pushes him to do very bad things. Warnings: +18, MDNI, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, PERV!Joel, stalking, hidden recording, hidden masturbation, obsessive!Joel, noncon, fingering, pussy eating, unprotected PIV, creampie, age gap (not specified), no-outbreak au Wordcount: 4,7k An: Hey, I’d like to ask you to read the warnings, because the content below may not be for everyone! One shot contains elements of stalking and obsession with reader(you). There is also a NON-CON sex scene. You read at your own risk! Enjoy! Music I worked with: THE DINNER - Billie Eilish

Masterlist

The moment his eyes landed on you, the world spun.

Your eyes sparkled like two fireflies, catching the attention of predators. A wide smile was painted on your face, which made his heart beat faster. A white top hugged your breasts tightly, giving him a perfect view of your nipples. On top of that, sweatpants shorts that barely covered your butt.

And all this for free, first thing in the morning when like every day, he went out to check the mail.

But that day, he came home with such a hard cock that he stood in the shower for the next thirty minutes, coming twice.

At his age? Without the blue pill? It was like salvation.

And it was all because of you.

That day, you became his curse.

It started innocently. You went out for the mail at the same time as him. You always looked beautiful when you were sleepy. And Joel caught himself standing by the mailbox and just watching you. Like some kind of creep.

But he couldn't fight it.

He couldn't take his eyes off your body.

He didn't want to take his eyes off your body.

He stood there, letting his cock harden painfully in his pajama pants. All you had to do was come closer, and you could see the tent in his pants. But you never came.

You always smiled at him and waved, shouting "Good morning, Mr. Miller", in greeting.

You had such a sweet voice. Such a charming smile. And all he could do was nod, as always with a straight face.

All he had to do, was barely open his mouth and a moan would escape his throat. He couldn't stop it.

All you had to do was speak up, look in his direction, give him that beautiful smile, for his cock to quiver as if he was about to come.

It scared him.

It scared him how intensely he reacted to even the thought of you. It scared him that at his age, he had started cumming several times a day, as if he were a teenager again. Several times a day his cock was so hard he couldn't walk without feeling physical and mental pain. And every time he finished, your name would spill from his lips.

At first he felt awful. You were young, innocent, nice, and he was acting like a common pervert. He couldn't stop. He couldn't look at you like you were a normal person. He couldn't ignore you sunbathing in the garden.

It wasn't his fault that his bedroom window gave a perfect view of your garden. And it wasn't his fault that he was standing, hiding behind the wall, watching you smear sunscreen on your body. And it certainly wasn't his fault that his hand was pumping his hard cock until he came a second time against the wall.

Even at night he didn't get any peace from you. You haunted his dreams like an apparition. Your shiny eyes looking at him with desire. Your delicate lips entwining his cock. Your sweet tits rubbing against his skin.

Even in his dreams he couldn't rest.

Every day he woke up hard as a rock or coming in his sleep. In the worse case, his boxers leaked from warm cum.

He got up, lived, fell asleep and slept, and you were constantly in his head.

And that was for a few weeks. And the whole time he behaved like a common boor in your company.

He never returned your smile, didn't answer you, didn't wish you a nice day, nothing.

You saw him talking to other neighbors, how he talked to his daughter on the phone, how he talked to everyone except you. At first you thought he stopped liking you. After all, when you were younger, you played with his daughter, and everything was fine then. So what could have changed?

You matured.

You became a woman so tempting that his brain stopped working normally.

He stopped seeing anything wrong with spying on you spending a sunny day in the garden. There was nothing wrong with watching you get ready for bed in your own bedroom.

Everything about you stopped being wrong.

But everything started to get to him.

Going to work was such a big challenge that he installed several cameras in the house. Cameras perfectly positioned to spy on you. And he did it. Even while at work.

He watched on his phone how you hung up the laundry, sticking out your ass. How you dug through flowers, kneeling and showing your tits perfectly for the camera.

And he came.

In the car, in the bathroom, on his lunch break.

His balls were still full and seemed bottomless.

How could they be when he had so many treats before him?

He spent his evenings either watching you or watching videos of you. The hot tea had long since cooled down, standing on the table, waiting for Joel to take at least one sip.

But he was busy.

His pants were off his hips and his hard cock was in his hand. That was more important. The recording from this afternoon, when you were lying on the deckchair in the garden. But this time you weren't sunbathing. This time your hand was immersed in your shorts, when you shamelessly touched your cunt. The recording was without sound, but Joel could hear you moaning in his mind, arching your body in pleasure. He could only imagine how beautiful your singing sounded.

What a frenzy you could drive him to if he was home then…

Another growl echoed through the room as he squeezed his cock harder so as not to come too quickly. Your hand ran over your stomach to the tit that you squeezed. He shuddered again, demanding an orgasm. His balls squeezed painfully as your hand pushed aside the material of your bra, giving him a perfect view of your sweet tits. And that was enough to make him come with a hiss.

Hot cum began to drip down his fingers, but his cock refused to soften, oh no, he was still hard, the head furiously red, slowly turning blue. And Joel continued to squeeze it painfully at the base, as if the pain was bringing him any relief from all this.

The doorbell tore him out of his hypnosis.

The phone fell out of his hand as he jumped slightly in place. He cursed under his breath, bending down to pick up the device and quickly locked the phone, placing it on the table. He glanced over his shoulder towards the door, just as you looked through the small window next to you to see if anyone was home.

"Fuck," he said, terrified. His heart sped up and his eyes widened at the sight of your face blurred through the decorative glass.

In his haste, he let go of his cock and wiped his hand on the leg of his pants. Unfortunately for him, the cum had started to congeal so his hand was all sticky.

"Fuck," he growled, pulling his boxers and pants up over his hips. There was a knock on the door. "I'm coming!" he shouted, getting up from the sofa and fighting with his jammed zipper, heading towards the hallway.

Silently cursing under his breath, he straightened his crumpled shirt and opened the door, almost ripping it off its hinges. His gaze immediately fell on you and how you jumped scared on the spot. And your tits did the same.

Fuck.

"Mr. Miller, good morning," you said with a fast beating heart. Your wide smile and the way you looked at his face quickly caused another dose of cum after orgasm to fly into his cock. He clenched his jaw tighter seeing you reach out your hand towards him.

Why did you have to give him your right hand?

His own, tightened around the door handle. Silence fell between you which clearly indicated to you to take your hand away. You cleared your throat nervously, shifting your weight from one foot to another.

Nothing escaped his attention. You were stressed.

No wonder.

He acted as if he was at least possessed.

"I made a cake," you started with a crooked smile. Only then, he notice the tray of chocolate cake you were holding. "And I thought I would visit you. Is Sarah here?"

"She's not here," he replied more sharply than he intended. A shadow of disappointment crossed your face but you immediately hid it by smiling pleasantly.

"Then we can eat together," you suggested, looking at him with sparks of hope in your eyes.

The stain of moisture on his boxers was getting bigger and bigger. And all he wanted now was to slam the door before your face.

But he ended up moving aside to let you in.

A radiant smile immediately appeared on your lips when you walked past him. Your shoulder brushed against his and the sweet perfume intoxicated him so much that for a few long seconds he simply stood by the open door.

He made a big mistake by letting you into his home.

You entered the lion's den yourself, giving yourself to him on a plate.

Something dark flew through his eyes as he slowly closed the door and as quietly as he could, turned all the locks. His heart was beating like crazy in his chest as he stared at the dark wood. The sounds from the kitchen barely reached his mind.

While you were calmly preparing plates and forks, he was fighting with something animalistic that was being born in his chest.

But then your voice echoed off the walls. "Are you coming?"

Then he stopped fighting.

His heart slowed down, beating slowly and powerfully. He took a deep breath and straightened up, immediately getting bigger. A smile filled with evil appeared on his face.

"I'm coming," he said in a strong voice and slowly headed to the kitchen. You bustled around in every direction, putting a piece of cake on plates and in the meantime making coffee. "I see you still remember where everything is," he said lightly, watching the way your fingers wrapped around the crowd you were currently holding.

Your small fingers on his cock would look much better.

He wondered if you would be able to embrace him with one hand.

"I have the impression that there are things hidden here that you have no idea about," you joked, glancing at him over your shoulder. Joel snorted under his breath and sat down at the table.

He didn't take his eyes off you for even a moment. You looked so natural as you walked around his kitchen. He could get used to the sight. But his dick would need time. Because it was trembling painfully with every movement you made. He felt like it was torture sent to him for the evil he had committed.

But you didn't seem to notice how his eyes darkened the moment he looked at you. You didn't see how his gaze pierced your soul. You just sat down across from him with a sweet smile, handing him his coffee.

"Black without sugar and milk," you said proudly.

"Good girl," he praised you without even looking at the contents of the cup. You could pour him poison and he still wouldn't take his eyes off your face.

Joel noticed how a shadow of shyness passed through your eyes when you gave him a quick glance before taking a sip of your coffee.

"So... how are you?" you asked, starting to eat the cake.

And the next hour passed with you asking him questions and him answering them. For the entire hour he sat watching your lips wrap around the small fork, your tongue licking the coffee that was left on your bottom lip. And for the entire hour, his boxers were soaked.

His cock was leaking as if every word you said was pleasurable to him. His balls were swollen with arousal that couldn't escape. He was like a wild animal trapped in a cage, and before him was a juicy meal.

But eventually you ran out of questions too. An hour was enough for you to know everything that was going on in his life again. An hour was enough for you to eat a few pieces of cake and drink coffee when he had barely touched his first portion.

But you didn't seem to notice that either.

You were blind to the signs that should have let you know something was wrong.

You were blind to his madness.

"Can I use the bathroom?" you asked politely before getting up from the table. Joel just nodded and waited until you disappeared up the stairs before clearing the dishes from the table.

You walked through the hallway towards the bathroom and looking around, you could tell that nothing had changed here. Only more pictures had appeared on the walls. You stopped, looking with a smile at the picture of Sarah and Joel during her graduation. The perfect daughter with the perfect father.

You felt warm looking at the other photos until something caught your attention.

You glanced through the ajar door to Joel's bedroom and frowned noticing the camera standing next to the bed. You wouldn't have been interested if the camera wasn't pointed at something outside the window.

You glanced over your shoulder towards the stairs hearing Joel washing the dishes. You decided to quietly enter the room.

You looked around not noticing anything new. The same furniture and the same bed as before. You went to the window and looked out, noticing yours and his garden. Everything in perfect view.

You glanced at the camera and swallowed hard, realizing that it wasn't aimed at his garden. But you still decided to make sure because maybe you were just telling yourself something that wasn't there.

But when you glanced through the lens, your heart stopped in your throat.

You could now see the deckchair perfectly.

It was lying on which you sometimes lay naked and sometimes...

"Oh my god," you whispered, starting to tremble.

The sudden bang of the door closing almost gave you a heart attack.

You turned around with your eyes wide open and automatically took a step back when you noticed Joel. He leaned against the wall next to the door with a gentle smile.

He had to admit that in some situation you found yourself, he felt a slight amusement. You looked at him with such horror, as if he had at least killed your entire family.

And he was only innocently admiring your beauty.

"I see that there is nothing to hide anymore," he spoke first and bounced off the wall, slowly approaching you.

His step forward equaled your step back.

Until you finally hit the dresser.

"I won't hurt you, you know me," he said calmly, raising his hands a little to show that he had no bad intentions. But your back had long since been drenched in cold sweat and your brain told you to run away.

You glanced towards the door and back at him.

Joel knew immediately what that meant so he sighed quietly. He only had to close his eyes for a second and you were already running towards the exit.

But he was faster.

"Where are you going?" He grabbed you by the waist and easily pulled you to him, locking you in a tight embrace. You squealed, stiffening with fear when he started to surround you from every side.

He buried his face in your neck, inhaling your scent, and shivers ran through your whole body. You panted heavily, looking with fear at the door that was now beyond your reach.

"Easy, baby," he whispered gently, holding you tightly to his chest. But still, you tried.

You jerked.

Once, twice.

But he was stronger.

You tried again, but then a soft groan escaped his throat. You stiffened again, realizing something hard was digging into your ass. And then he pushed his hips towards you, grinding against you. Another moan disappeared into your shoulder and a wave of heat washed over you.

"I won't hurt you, I swear," he said pleadingly and hugged you tighter, once again rubbing against your ass. He couldn't stop his animalistic desire to grab you and possess you.

Maybe if you hadn't gone into his bedroom and found a camera, he would have let you leave.

But now he just couldn't.

He couldn't let you go.

"Joel, please," you cried in response to his next moan.

"I will please you," he assured, slowly sliding his hand down your stomach.

You shivered when he simultaneously tightened his hand on your breast and slid his fingers under your shorts and panties.

He laughed tenderly into your neck, moving lower until his entire hand covered your pussy.

"You shaved for me," he whispered, placing a kiss under your ear.

You pressed your lips together tightly, holding back a sigh. The blood in your veins began to boil from too much stimulation.

His fingers played hard with your soft breast, his lips placed soft kisses along your neck and his fingers collected the moisture that was constantly leaking from you.

Oh yes, you had shaved before coming to him. But you were expecting a different turn of events.

A movie night, a bottle of wine, maybe a little making out on the couch.

You definitely weren't prepared for THIS.

And suddenly his two fingers plunged into you. You shuddered and tightened around him.

"You so wet 'cause of fear?" he asked amused and bit your skin gently, slowly starting to fuck you with his fingers. Fear mixed with arousal that you couldn't fight. His fingers were thick and long and teased your oversensitive walls perfectly.

"Stop," you whispered in a breaking voice.

But just as his signs didn't reach you before, now your pleas didn't reach him.

He was hungry. He was so hungry that all he thought about was sinking his teeth into your flesh. His fingers slowly and skillfully began to cause unwanted effects in your body. Your clit throbbed dangerously and all the heat began to pool in your lower abdomen.

“Shhh, don’t fight me,” he whispered, tightening his arm around your breast.

Your own body betrayed you the moment your hips pushed themselves towards his hand to impale yourself more on his fingers. He immediately withdrew your hips with a quiet laugh of satisfaction. He held his hand tightly on your pubic mound and slowly dipped his fingers inside you.

He was delighted by the way your juices flowed over his skin, finally soaking into your panties. Your insides were soft and warm, making his cock leak at the thought of sinking inside you. Finally, you couldn't hold back a quiet moan as he curled his fingers inside you.

"I found it," he whispered with a wide smile in your ear and repeated the same motion again. Your knees buckled under you but he held you too tightly to let you fall. He buried his nose in your hair and focused on hitting your sweet spot.

You began to thrust your hips in rhythm with his fingers, grinding your ass against him at the same time. His moans began to mix with yours until you came, pressing harder into his chest. Joel rode you through your orgasm until you began to tremble from his touch.

Then he withdrew his soaked fingers from you and didn't mind running them over your clit before removing his hand from your panties.

He ran his nose down your neck, making you shiver. His arms tightened around you again, not giving you the chance to move.

"Don't run away from me," he whispered in a tone that sent cold sweat running down your spine.

You were so delicate, so fragile in his strong arms. He could crush you if he wanted to. He wouldn't even have to try to defeat you. That's why he really didn't want you to force him to do it.

He didn't want to hurt you.

He wanted you both to benefit from the situation that had arisen between you. It could fix everything. You could forget about how you found out about his obsession. You could create something amazing together. Something unique.

“Joel, please,” you whispered tearfully as he started to back away towards the bed. You couldn’t fight him. If you did, he would have easily picked you up and just thrown you where he wanted.

“I know baby,” he murmured, kissing your neck. “We’ll just check if it can fit in, okay?” he asked innocently, earning a sob from you in response. "Yeah, you're such a good girl."

Another sob escaped your throat before he pushed you hard onto the bed. You fell onto the mattress with a gasp and barely lifted your head before you felt him ripping your clothes off you. The cold hit your soaked cunt and you moaned uncontrollably.

You pushed yourself up on your elbows and tried to move away from him, but he grabbed your hips tightly, pulling you closer to him. You howled pulling the sheet behind you and tried again but quickly froze in place when you felt his tongue on your clit.

Joel dipped between your thighs, licking your juices from your entire pussy. He licked every inch, letting you moan and press your face into the mattress. His tongue was big and warm, perfectly covering your entire hole and even better entering it.

You pushed your hips towards him, impaling yourself more on his tongue. A loud moan mixed with wet sounds as he licked your cunt. A second orgasm suddenly erupted in your belly. You whined like an animal, letting him take you all the way to the end. Your hole began to squeeze against his tongue, and he purred in satisfaction.

Drunk with pleasure, you didn't even notice the lack of his touch. And Joel was already unzipping his fly with trembling fingers. He took his cock out with a hiss.

He was hypersensitive even to a slight breath of air. He was furiously red and his veins pulsated along his entire length like mad. His balls ached like never before in his life, begging him to get rid of everything he had inside him.

And seeing your hole, tightening around nothing, took away the last of his control.

He pushed you onto the mattress and immediately pressed his whole body against you. You moaned feeling his weight on you.

"Let me in," he growled hungrily into your ear and only then, slowly positioned his cock at your entrance. He moaned feeling the moisture that had leaked out of you on his tip.

He had to enter you.

He had to.

"No, please," you sobbed, feeling panic take over your body. "I'm not on the pill."

But it was too late.

Joel entered you slowly, moaning loudly as he did so.

“Fuck,” he sobbed, overwhelmed by the feeling of your tight, wet, throbbing pussy wrapped around his cock.

He couldn’t even fight the orgasm that overcame him the moment his hips crashed into your ass. He began to pant heavily, his cock throbbing inside you, releasing more and more of his cum. The pleasure hurt, driving him into a daze.

Your sobs mixed with moans of pleasure. Joel was big. You felt him deep inside you, in places that had long since left your pussy.

When the first orgasm left his body, he looked at you lying limply under him, clenching your fists tightly on the sheets. And his cock was immediately ready to fight for another orgasm.

He pulled his hips back and thrust into you again, leaving you breathless. He slid his hands down your body and grabbed your ass tightly. A throaty groan caressed his ears as he spread your buttocks apart and began to watch his cock sink into your hole. It was all glistening with your juices, which were getting more and more every time you squeezed on him.

"Baby, this is such a beautiful view. Literally takes my breath away," he said in delight, making you whimper.

His cock slowly rubbed against your insides, drawing pleasure like a magnet. Your clit throbbed and your walls tightly embraced his entire length. A few tears soaked into the sheets, because he was too long. He would go all the way in, penetrating you like you were a fuck doll.

And then he would pull out, kissing the tip of your slit with his tip before sliding back in. And so on and so forth until all you did was cry out in pleasure. And as if that wasn't enough, Joel spat between your ass cheeks and began to massage your asshole with his thumb. You shivered at the feeling and he moaned in pleasure as you clenched around him tightly.

"You like it?" he asked with a smile and looked at the side of your face as you whimpered. That was all he could see. But it was enough for him to see the grimace of pleasure. The pleasure he was giving you. He.

This time Joel was savoring you. He slowed down every time he was close to coming. He kept his orgasm in check, afraid that he wouldn't be able to come a third time.

But every time he slowed down, he deprived you of it too. The game he was playing made you sob and cry more hot tears. You were helpless as he brought you to the edge of another orgasm and slowed you down again.

"Please, let me come!" you screamed in frustration. He looked at you in shock, feeling a strange tightening in his chest. And right after that, a proud smile spread across his lips.

"You will come just from my cock?" he asked, astonished.

"Yes!" you cried. "Yes, I will! Please!"

Joel looked at you, delighted by how tender and thirsty you were for his touch. His obsession didn't decrease. Every moan you made, every second he was inside you, every tear you shed, all of it made him want you even more. He was hungry.

So this time he thrust into you without stopping. Your moans mixed with his loud panting as he entered you over and over again. His hips clashed against your ass creating sounds that were mind-blowing.

He was no longer gentle.

He couldn't control himself as you begged for his cock.

As you begged him to bring you to orgasm.

"Yes yes yes," you whimpered, feeling as each of his movements slowly brought you to the very gates of hell. And when you came, Joel heard the most beautiful sound in his entire life and felt the strongest orgasm he had ever had.

Your pussy squeezed his cock tightly as it throbbed, cumming inside you. It froze both you and him, you could only experience the wave of pleasure that flowed through your bodies.

Panting heavily, he looked down at your limp body and experienced a shock, because he finally felt fulfilled. Finally, after so many weeks, he had experienced an orgasm that satisfied him enough. But despite this, his cock was still standing hard, buried deep inside you.

His hand slowly ran down your spine to the nape of your neck, as he slowly bent down, crushing you with his weight. But now it didn't bother you at all, it was actually pleasant. His nose began to run along your neck, cheek and ear, leaving wet kiss marks with his mouth behind it.

"I'll take care of you, I promise," he whispered with something dark in his voice.

And despite your tiredness, you knew you were fucked.