#v: the veil lifted and there you were

[recursiveimpulse]

Company: silently sit with my muse to comfort them. -Lark notices Viktor is upset and since he's so bad at comfort/not used to comforting someone he sits real close quietly and let's Viktor decide what he wants be it chatter about what's bothering him or seek physical comfort.

Comparing Lark to an animal felt in poor taste, but nonetheless that was the image that came to mind: a great behemoth of a beast coming to rest next to him in quiet companionship, when it could just as easily have torn him to pieces. Viktor had no idea what Lark was like outside of this place, who he might be to the people of the nearby town, to the family he never talked about (if he even had one), or to anyone in the world at all. To Viktor, he was simply a kind, gentle man who seemed to think he was neither of those things.

“What do you think this came from?” Viktor asked without looking up, and passed a small metal object into Lark’s huge palm. It was a cog, small and a little rusted, but partly shining where Viktor had managed to clean it.

He leaned forwards on his elbows, hair framing his face and largely hiding his expression from the man next to him. Whatever was bothering him, he didn’t seem able to talk about it - not yet, at any rate.

[dollerinna]

I WANT TO F**K YOU LIKE AN ANIMAL .

( black noir x fem supe!reader )

summary: the not-so-innocent things that go on in noir’s head abt you during The Seven meetings (wc: 1.8k)

warnings: MDNI, dub-con, rough p in v, doggy style, primal play themes, size kink, gagging, sobbing, corruption kink, Homelander being a weirdo at the end… just a lil’

first fic on this blog and I lowkey hate it- ughhh sorry if it’s all over the place!

The morning sun cast its golden glow upon the Manhattan skyline as The Seven assembled in their meeting room.

Homelander paced before them, detailing some new initiative he had conceived, but his words rang as emptily as the void behind his eyes. The Deep hung on his every syllable, eager as ever to prove his ass-kissing self with poorly-timed quips. This earned him nothing but a withering side-eye.

A-Train and Maeve listened with feigned interest, checking out of the conversation all but in body. Noir sat apart, idly fidgeting with a pen as his mind wandered. But his attention was drawn not to the usual faces, for there was a new supe among them—you, the latest fresh-faced recruit to their team.

On the surface, you appeared the absolute picture of attention—eyes forward, laser focused on Homelander as he tiresomely outlined the team's objectives.

It was cute, really, how focused the newbies always strived to be. Yet beneath the facade, you were actually anything but so, not when you felt an unseen gaze assessing you, weighing you.

Flicking your eyes discreetly aside, you confirmed a suspicion you could smell from miles away: Noir watching from across the table, his expression shrouded as ever behind the visor of his helmet.

Ugh, talk about creepy.

A subtle flutter of your eyelids shifted your line of sight, choosing to trust that his thousand-yard stare just so casually happen to drift your way and not an attempt to burn his gaze into your very soul.

Besides, what else could the guy possibly think about? Training, orders from Vought, simple pastimes—usually, such painfully mundane, run-of-the-mill thoughts occupied him.

But little did you know in this moment, as he studied your presence from afar, his mental reflections took a turn less… innocent.

─────────────────

“N-Noir… mmph-… please…”

It wasn’t his doing, he didn’t ask to be plagued with this sickly obsession; but every time he heard your voice, it was as if sweet, smooth-spun sugar had come alive.

An alien lust scorched Noir’s consciousness, catapulting his fevered mind into unfamiliar territory. Try as he might, he couldn’t shake the sinful thoughts that stubbornly stuck to him like glue. Just the mere notion of ever being responsible for those pretty little sounds was enough for arousal to creep through his veins like a nasty virus, sapping what was left of his crumbling self-control.

Your every whine, your every moan, would be a siren's call that beckoned him to claim you, to strip away your composure until you were utterly, helplessly his. All he craved was to watch the light in your eyes dwindle, to witness your breaths dampening into shallow puffs of air that blanketed your gaze in a veil of fog, gradually muffling you into a stillness even quieter than he was.

And truthfully, it wasn’t a matter of whether you liked it or not.

Noir would ensure his touch left no room for refusal, his grasp iron-hard as he positioned your trembling, naked body on the floor to his liking—face pinned down, ass arched up, just as it should be. Yet even as he held you fast with a palm braced against your sweat-slicked spine, his other hand moved with a surprising tenderness, gently teasing loose and brushing apart the knotted strands of hair clung to your ruddied features.

He imagined the merest of touches would set your blood aflame, rumbling up a ripe groan from your core. “…Oh m-my god… fuck…” words fled your mouth on airless breaths, nearly inaudible but still enough for him to catch. In response, he’d slowly lift a finger to your glistening lips, accompanied by a soundless ‘shh’—a signal for you to behave.

After all, good girls should never cuss.

Large, strong hands would then greedily paw at the lush fat of your ass cheeks, the scratchy textured fabric of his gloves leaving blooms of red across your flesh. Spreading you open, he’d admire the way your juicy, moist folds parted slightly, the aching emptiness within your entrance eliciting an involuntary clenching—your muted moans, trapped in your throat, acting as a wordless plea for more of his touch, more of him.

He liked to think you’d be mere putty in his hands, before he was even close to fucking you.

Noir would take his sweet time exploring you, his curiosity of the human form eclipsing the immediate need to quell a white-hot carnal desire every red-blooded man gets. He was good at rearranging people’s insides, literally, but what if he flipped the script in a much different way?

Experimentally, he’d run the very tip of his gloved finger along the weeping slit of your sex, ghosting ever so lightly over your swollen, hypersensitive clit to collect your slick arousal. Then, without warning, he’d dip an entire digit into your quivering depths, reveling in the way your spongy muscles squeezed and welcomed him in.

Your breath would hitch at the intrusion, skin prickling with a visceral need as you eagerly shoved your rear back against his palm, craving more. However, just as swiftly, he would withdraw his hand, bringing it close to his face to observe it covered in your juices, inspecting how the slimy, milky-white essence connected a trail between his fingers.

Who knew light fondling and agonizing silence was all the foreplay you needed? (or at least, in Noir’s fanciful pornographic depictions of you)

Once done playing with his food, he’d drag his knees closer to your body, his hips flush against your ass, leaving your peripheral vision filled with nothing but his imposing, darkly-clad figure dwarfing your own. Without hesitation, he’d reach down to remove the codpiece off him, freeing his hefty cock which sprang forth in the air, where it stood rock-hard, veiny, and impossibly large.

Wrapping a hand around himself, the thickly-roped, buzzing veins were betrayed by each gritty pull of his glove, drawing a guttural grunt from behind his balaclava. He’d guide his erection between your warm folds, the engorged ridge of his tip prodding against your bundle of nerves, sending electric jolts of pleasure to crackle through your core, before he began to sheathe himself inside you with a push that drove him home.

With a grip possessive and firm around your waist, Noir quickly fell into a steady, almost robotic rhythm of sturdy pushes and pulls. Each punishing collision of your bodies was answered by the lewd, rapid sounds of skin-on-skin, making damn sure you felt every single inch of him as he rutted into you like a man possessed.

He’d only hope to see you struggle taking him all in, envisioning how the sheer scale of his size forced the very air out from your gasping lungs.

“P-Please Noir!… ngh-… my body can’t handle this much,” your once-lovely voice now ragged and frail, scraping sobs grinding your vocal cords near silence as you churned and coiled like a fawn caught in the clutches of a big, bad wolf. “Be gentle, I’m begging you!—-” You choked out weakly, bordering on a soft, pitiful whine.

Expectantly, a weighted silence followed suit from Noir. In his typical, unsparing fashion, he slipped a glove from his hand, jamming it into your mouth and effectively gagging you into silence, as if to say—pipe down, be a good girl, and take my cock like you’re supposed to.

Even without a single word uttered by him, it worked like absolute fucking magic.

Your torso would practically collapse under the onslaught, wobbly limbs giving way as you let Noir use your arched up, offering form like a personal fleshlight. His hips would retract further back in an excruciating slowness, simply marveling at your wetness coating the base of his member like a second skin, only to slam back into you with raw vigor.

Your tight, gummy walls would be offered absolutely no time to adjust to the relentless invasion of his girth, the sheer thickness of his cock forcefully stretching out your cunt to shape him, to the point it felt like he was trying to split you into two.

He’d yank your flexing thighs back to meet his brutal series of thrusts, burying himself into you to the very tilt as the fleshy head of his cock kissed your cervix, igniting a searing white bolt of static to lance through your vision, momentarily fracturing it.

The all-consuming, dizzying sensation hit you like a ton of bricks, toppling your senses and wrenching a strangled sob out from your slack jaw once more. This earned you another biting touch from Noir’s thumbs pressed into your sides, as if seeking to wring every gasp out of your chest, to hear your moans rattle through your ribcage.

However even your rawest cries were swiftly muffled, swallowed by the balled-up glove shoved roughly between your teeth, which reduced you to nothing more than a gagging, pleasure-drunk whore for him to claim.

─────────────────

Meanwhile…

“Welp, that about covers it for today,” Homelander announced with a thunderous clap, loud enough for it to ring through Noir’s ears and bring him back to the present.

Slowly, Noir spun his head back towards Homelander, who had just finished addressing the team while his own thoughts drifted to places where even the pearly gates of heaven wouldn't give him the time of day.

“Now shoo- and no more sloppy behavior. I’ll be keeping an eye on each and every one of you.” Homelander dismissed them with a casual wave and a chuckle laced with another one of his thinly veiled threats.

As everyone, including little-miss-oblivious-you, got up to leave the meeting room, Homelander sauntered over to Noir, heartily slapping a heavy hand onto his back. “Earth to Noir! I know that look—thoughts a million miles away behind that sphinx-like mask of yours,” giving a sly little shrug, he slanted a meaningful look towards Noir’s codpiece. “But methinks, someone here isn’t as impenetrable as I thought…” A thin wry smile played his lips, a subtle hint at his x-ray vision allowing him to see a particular something-something of Noir’s that was currently just as hard as his body armor.

“It might do you good to line that suit with zinc. Wouldn't want any unwanted eyes peeking where they shouldn’t, do we?" An amused exhale, part sigh part snicker, slipped out of Homelander as his gaze swept over Noir once more.

True to form, all he received in turn was Noir’s standard muteness, as soundless as a grave.

Homelander eased the quiet with a huffed laugh, rocking back on his heels as he tilted his head in playful study of Noir. "But don't worry," he added with a knowing smirk, "it happens to the best of us. But do try to keep your head in the game! And not with your other one, ‘kay buddy?” Homelander jested in mock-reproach as he landed one last waggish, firm slap between Noir's shoulders, flashing his gleaming white yet eerily pointed grin.

Noir remained statue still, no hint of feeling betrayed by his rigid posture despite the toe-curling awkwardness of the encounter, or perhaps he'd yet to fully realize Homelander had peered within and seen his aching, raging hard-on behind the suit's facade.

Noir silently watched Homelander shoot two playful finger guns, his cape swirled shut behind him before leaving the room.

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Pssst- Likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated in this household and keep me motivated! <3

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Apologies if there are any grammatical errors here, cuz I’m alr so done with this fic 😭😭😭

[muntitled]

Monopoly | Sevika

⤑ Sevika x Hyper!fem reader

⤑ Summary: You were being extra flirty with your clients. Vika's stone glare icing every curved contour of your breasts spilling out of your v-neck,your hips, and your ass… you knew you were in massive shit.

⤑ Warnings: Language, Possessive!Sevika, Jealousy, Prostitute!Reader, Toxic Relationship, Ownership Kink, Smut (+18) mdni, Dark fic, Pleasure dom!Sevika, Thigh riding, Impact Play, Ownership kink, Hard Dom!Sevika, Sub!Reader, Dirty Talk, Needy!Reader, Masochistic !Reader, Sadist!Sevika

Yall remember that fight scene when Cait bit Sev… mhm, yeah…

She was pissed.

More than pissed if such a thing even existed.

"Aren't you overdoing it, just a tad?" When you look over at your co-worker, all you can see warring in her pale grey eyes is nothing but intense fear. Vika has that effect on people.

You try to disassociate.

You wage war with your own consciousness, pretending his hand was hers.

That's the only way you could get through these clients and their slithering hands drifting along your exposed thigh, urging you to have 'just one more drink' so you could be drunk enough to be used for whatever their lascivious little minds could think of.

Your current client, bless his soul, was chatting animatedly to his crooked group of gang members while his hand creeped over your shoulder, pulling you into his side. He didn't feel like her.

He's far too skinny. Such a jagged edge. It is difficult to imagine it was her hardness you are pressing your softness up against.

You are currently knee-deep in your job, keeping a couple of clients company in a neon lit corner of The Last Drop. Your co-worker speaks to you over the thick arm of her own client who uses her as nothing more than a thing to grope, while the gang speaks amongst themselves. Your conversation is subtle enough so as not to disturb the narcissistic man from his tedious, incredibly one-sided conversation.

You lift your cup full of untouched whiskey to your mouth, pretending to take a sip but really using it as a screen to hide your lips when you whisper back, "Overdoing what? My job?"

"Chatting these lowlifes up to give them severely underpriced blowjobs was your job. Not anymore." You didn't like the way she said 'was’. You really didn't like the way your client put his hand on your exposed thigh. It seems he had taken your miniskirt as an invitation to press his rough hands against your full, touching thighs. He still speaks to his friends as if you're not a real person, just something there. Something to touch.

"It's still my job, I'm still a whore-"

"Your girlfriend has been glaring at our table since she came in." Her words send an electrifying kind of rattle down your spine, forcing your eyes to briefly meet the dead ones of the woman seated directly across the dance floor. Dead, cold eyes stare at you, have been staring at you since she saw you hard 'at work'. You attempted to evade all eye contact over the course of the night and you had succeeded for the most part.

She didn't get to do that.

She didn't get to claim you and then simultaneously refuse to be seen with you.

Naturally, you would do the same.

"Vika's not my girlfriend," you hated the way you quickly ushered the words out of your mouth, immediately drowning them with whiskey so as to not feel their effects so poignantly.

"Vika?" Your co- worker scoffs in amusement. “I haven't seen a more volatile couple in a while,” She raises her glass to you, “Thanks for the front row seats” While your co-worker’s chuckles carry across the congested bar (what is in actuality, a thinly veiled brothel), Sevika feels her heavy fists clench. She stays in the same spot she's been sitting at. Her legs spread, her elbows resting on her knees. Glaring. Drinking. Glaring some more.

She's far grumpier than usual. Anyone could see it.

Her eyes never leave your table as she downs her nth glass of the strongest whiskey The Last Drop has to offer and she watches how effortlessly you betray her. Just last night, it had been her name tumbling from your trembling lips in drunken spurts as your cunt fought to take every one of her fingers. It had been your drunken, half lidded eyes that had looked up at her like a God, pleading for her to let you cum for umpteenth time as you bucked wildly against her. You came because she allowed you to. Like a loyal dog, you had dutifully accepted everything she gave you.

So why were you being such a brat?

Sevika has had to watch you bat your eyes up at unfamiliar men. All she could think of is dismembering each and every one of those hands groping at you and making you watch as the blood splattered. The thought alone caused a rough sort of groan to rumble from her mouth. She was bloodthirsty and horny and luckily that was your speciality.

Sevika downed the final drops of whiskey that had accumulated from the bottom of the bottle. Wiping her plump, toned lips with the back of her hand, she finally rises, making a direct beeline for your table.

As she nears, your heart hammers, yet still you refuse to look at the woman and her intimidating height or her even more intimidating arms. She wasn't wearing her cloak tonight, so you could see everything. All 185 centimeters of pure strength. Your legs clenched under the table as you looked innocently up at her.

"Move," Sevika gruffs out the very second she stands in front of the table, effectively silencing everyone present. The crass rap song bleeding from unseen speakers continues in the backdrop.

“Who the fuck are you talking to?” Your client begins to ask, stunned yet remarkably shaken up. Despite trying to sound gruff, you could feel a slight tremor in his bones. The way his shoulders shrink under Sevika's shadow makes you roll your eyes.

Sevika's voice is calm but menacing. “Look, I get it. She has the body of a goddess and she fucks like she doesn't have a father-”

“H-Hey-” she doesn't spare you a single glance. Continuing to stare down the little man. Never once stumbling over her words.

“If you don't wanna lose your life, I suggest you give her to me.”

“You're dating Sevika?” he asks, very clearly rattled but masking it, albeit terribly.

“I'm not-” you begin but Sevika interrupts once more.

"My whore, please," she says, sounding bored.

"Your whore?” The man who had been on the verge of slipping his hand between your thighs, stops almost abruptly. He watches Sevika with a mixture of confusion and thinly-veneered fear.

"Fucking, Move." She does not expect you to have her say it again. By now, you should have heeded her first command. Very quickly, actually. Very obediently

With your head tucked against your heavy chest.

The fact that you weren't listening to her had her hand aching to grab you by the neck and force the submission out of you.

"I don't really have to do what you say." You cross your arms over your chest, turning your head petulantly. She hated it. She hated how much she fucking loved it.

You lean forward. Not sure where this confidence came from but praying it doesn't abandon you. Confidence is all you have in her presence. Without it, you're defenseless. And Sevika is a shark. She'll smell your weakness and it'll arouse her.

She places her hand on the table, and rests that menacing mechanical weapon there, too. The glasses rattle. She looks dead at you as she says, "If you don't get up right this second, I'm going to kill him. I'm going to kill everyone at this table.” By now, the hand that had been inching along your thigh is gone. Almost everyone around you has made a clear point to distance themselves, like you caught some weird disease named Sevika. One that you just could not shake. It pisses you off.

“You're bluffing.” You say.

“Am I?”

She does something.

Something that makes that new mechanical arm of hers steam and hiss like it's begging to be used. The blood drains from not only your face, but from the faces of every patron at the table. The vibe has been ruined. It lay in rubble at Sevika’s feet. ‘She-She's all yours,” your client all but pushes you away from their booth, right into Sevika's good arm.

“Seriously!?”

Her hand immediately wrestles into your hair, pulling your hair tie out while letting your braids rush down.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” She places her hand, warm and fucking menacing, right behind your neck as she steers you to the central stairs. Your eyes are wild and pleading as you attempt to make eye contact with anyone brave enough to save you and stand up to her. All eyes immediately flit away from you, leaving you stranded. You might as well be wearing one long leash, being dragged across the dirty bar floor on all fours as you followed your master wherever she pleased.

You can feel the entire table, probably the entire bar watching you make your humiliating ascension on the wooden staircase. You knew where she was taking you. One of the many doors on the second floor that were left unchartered by normal patrons.

“You're brave,” Sevika's mouth reaches the top of your head and you have to crane your head back at her, “I'll give you that.”

“Vika- I-”

“Oh it's ‘Vika now?” Her voice sounds playful, but behind the bangs falling over her lifeless eyes, her face is stone.

“P-Please,” you stop outside a wooden door. You're not sure what you're whimpering for, probably a sliver of mercy.

Mercy you knew she wasn't in the business of giving. Something like her couldn't give mercy.

“I fucking love to hear you beg,” she groans, before pushing you into the darkened room.

“You should've led with that,” The second you enter the cold, damp room, your back is pressed against the hard wood with a firm, large grip cutting off your oxygen. You're clawing desperately at her fingers, thinking, this is it. She's come to finally kill you. Somehow you always knew you would die at her hands. Whether it's while she's strumming you to a mind-numbing orgasm. You knew she'd end you.

“Who told you to continue selling what's mine?” There is no air, and your vision is collecting black spots. Vika forces you to gaze upon her, that deep frown forever plastered on her face and that incredibly flattering haircut. The fight in you is dying. “You don't get to go anywhere. You don't get to pass out on me, little girl, were just getting started-”

In a splitting, heavenly moment, right when you're about to crash, she unlocks her fist, bringing the air rushing back into your lungs. “Who the fuck said you could just go back to your day job like you don't belong to me?” Her hand, restless and angry slips from your throat, down to your chest. You're not wearing a bra, standard uniform for someone in your sordid line of work. It makes her anger heighten and you wince as she twists your nipples through the thin fabric of your ridiculously tight top. Her eyes rove over every curvy contour, your soft, protruding stomach, and your exposed thighs. “My body is the way I make money, Sev-” a gasp so furious wrenches itself from your throat as Sevika wastes no time pushing her thigh against your legs. She's so tall, you worry for a second as your feet lift slightly off the floor and you're made to straddle her thigh.

Sevika's mechanical arm does away with your top as if it's nothing.

Soon, the clumsy, cheap material lay in pieces on the ground. She does the very same with your skirt. The arm has teeth. Teeth that rip at fabric so easily you fear it might get hungry and bite out a chunk of your skin. But Sevika controls it well. And now you’re completely naked with only a string of cultural beads hanging from your waist. Your chest is completely exposed to her hungry eyes.

She can't take her eyes off them. Your heavy breasts and darkened nipples have her pushing her leg further between your thighs, urging you to ride her.

Despite your soft yet heavy curves she handled you like you were nothing.

“I shouldnt even fucking touch you,” she spits, despite her hand very hungrily squeezing your tit. “You make me fucking sick.”

“So why touch me then?” That tone was back. Sevika cranes your head back with a firm but oppressive grip on your cheek. Your smile is manic, teeth dripping with saliva as you spread your legs for her thigh. Immediately bucking your hips against her.

“If I'm such a filthy fucking whore, why waste your time on me, huh? You that obsessed with me Sev-”

A slap, so hot and scalding bloom across your cheek, tears sting your eyes. You rear your head back, eyes flooded with shock and gratitude because thank God she hadn't used her other arm.

All you see is death in her eyes. The air is quiet as you both contemplate her slap.

“F-Fuck-” the moan oozes out of you until you're slowly starting to rut against her leg once more. She's outrageously intrigued to find you more turned on than you had been a second ago. Her stoney visage cracks at the way your hips move hurriedly against her thigh, she could feel a damp spot forming.

“Being a brat makes you more insatiable than you usually are,” her voice is thick with unmistakable lust. "You’re fucking my thigh- shit-”

Your eyes are rolled back as you focus on humping against her like the insatiable little puppy you were made to feel like, “M'not a brat ‘Vika,” she loved the way you groaned. The way you're trembling little arms move up to secure themselves around her thick shoulders as you use her to milk your own pleasure.

“So just a bitch then?” She asks, panting, as she bends down until your lips are inches apart. She nips at your pouting bottom lip and she doesn't miss the way the word ‘bitch’ has your eyes rolling to the back of your head. You nod dumbly, so far gone, “Oh, you are a worthless little bitch huh?” Your hips stutter as a particular wave of pleasure has you humping her faster. “Look at you, you're fucking drenched and you expect me to share you?”

“M-My body is the way I make money.” You repeat. Too far gone to realize your slurring words have become incoherent. “Y-You can't monopolize on that-”

“You're mine-” a smile, evil and lascivious curls at her lips and you immediately lean forward to kiss them but her hand slithers up to keep your neck at bay. “-And you’re gonna cum soon- look at how fucking bad you want it,” She digs her hands into your braids forcing your head downwards. You're forced to watch your hips buck against her thigh. You immediately tweak your own nipples as your orgasm crests. “Shit- Sev, Fuck I'm gonna-”

“Watch that fucking tone..."

“I’m gonna cum- please hit me agai-” the second her palm contacts your skin, she's kissing against your cheek where the pain blooms. You come undone.

“F-Fuck, oh my God.” you ride her thigh like a bitch in heat and somehow Sevika feels accomplished when you use her like this, she feels like she might just cum watching you slip into your own orgasm and it drives her nuts.

Her fist slams against the wall at the side of your head as your hips stutter over your thigh, her breath is warm at your ear. “Fuck-” she hates the way she nearly cums from watching you alone. She hates the thought of anyone else easing this reaction out of you. They wouldn't know how to work your body like she does. They wouldn't know how to get you compliant like she can. And as you're high on the clouds of your orgasm, Sevika clamps a thick metal band around your neck. Aftershocks have your speech slurred and your eyes heavy.

“Wha- what's this? Sev, what the fuck is this-”

“My gift.” she kisses the side of your head, having yet to move her leg between yours.

You swallow thickly as a very real fear sets in.

“A fucking collar?! Sev-”

She kisses away your protests.

[dante-mightdie]

WAIT! you just said peaky blinders au right???? 🤭🤭🤭🤭

you know the scene john shelby gets married, like he doesnt know that he's getting married? if tommy told him, then he would have not even have considered that idea? but then ends up with the longest lasting marriage and the prettiest wife? MAKE IT SIMON I BEG MAKE IT SIMON

for reference: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z-a63i2nWz4&pp=ygUecGVha3kgYmxpbmRlcnMgZ2V0dGluZyBtYXJyaWVk

love your writing xoxo <3

yes yes yes yes yes to all of it

when he finally realises what he’s there for, who’s wedding he’s dressed up for? he kicks off big time. yelling, cussing, calling john every name under the sun for betrothing simon away without even consulting him. he doesn’t want to get married. he’s a guard dog, a mutt. his rough tongue peels the meat from bones, not taste the gentle skin of a wife

and yet here he stands, lifting the veil of who he now knows as the most beautiful woman in the world. his head turning to look at john, soap and kyle with a wolfish smirk. your nervous eyes looking up at him, pouted lips reading out the vows you prepared for him. how sweet, but he’ll have to make up for his lack of sweet words tonight when he takes his new bride to bed

but the insinuation that you needed to be married because you were becoming to ‘wild’ for your family to handle and john knows simon could wrangle you no problem. except he has no intention of doing so, using his dirty money to buy you a lovely home on the edges of the city. he’ll do the long journey into centre everyday, no problem. as long as your happy

bejewelled dresses, lavish jewellery. plush sheets and soft pillows. sweet wines and tender meat. anything to keep you happy

[rafesbowbunny]

farm girl!reader watching rafe wrangle up horses with ease…all sweaty…arms big and flexing…now she wants to be manhandled too!!!

— rina੭୧

rinaaaaa !!! i absolutely ADORE this ask and YOUU. omg.

𝜗𝜚farmgirl!reader watches stableboy!rafe handle the horses, then he manhandles her

c!w; mdni !! dom!rafe, farmgirl!reader, some ogling on reader's part (real), heavy flirting, heavyyy petting, fingering, 'unprotected' sex, p in v, squirting lol, creampie technically, rafe refers to reader as 'darl'.

notes; i have a thing for cowboys so this was SO fun to write !

the sun was high, casting a golden sheen over the fields as rafe worked in the paddock. he moved like he belonged there, all confidence and control, the kind of ease that came from years of doing this. the horses didn’t fight him; they seemed to know better.

you leaned against the fence, watching as he wrangled one of the more stubborn mares. his shirt was sticking to his back, damp with sweat, and he’d long since pushed the sleeves up over his forearms.

and god, his arms.

they flexed with every movement, muscles taut as he pulled the rope tight, his hands steady but strong. the mare bucked once, twice, but rafe didn’t falter—just dug his boots into the dirt and held his ground like it was nothing.

you should’ve been watching the horses, maybe even helping, but your eyes were glued to him. his jaw was set, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple and disappearing into the hollow of his throat. the sun caught on his skin, making him look...

your cheeks heated as you realised where your mind had wandered. but damn, the way he handled those ropes, the way he moved like he was made for this, rough and strong and completely in control, it had you thinking things you probably shouldn’t.

like how it’d feel to have those big hands on you, gripping your waist, pulling you close, lifting you like you weighed nothing. the thought hit hard, making your breath hitch as you watched him toss the rope over the post, his chest rising and falling with exertion.

you bit your lip, heat pooling low in your stomach as he wiped a hand across his brow, glancing your way with a lopsided grin. “you just gonna stand there? or you actually gonna help?”

you opened your mouth, but no words came out. the playful teasing in his tone wasn’t helping your state of mind, nor was the way his hair stuck to his forehead or the glint of sweat on his collarbone. your gaze darted away, focusing on the dirt beneath your boots, like that might cool the sudden flush in your cheeks.

“thought you had it under control,” you finally managed, your voice coming out lighter than you intended.

“always do,” he replied, tying off the rope with one quick, efficient pull that made his forearms flex. he turned back toward you, his grin widening like he could see right through your poorly veiled composure.

he walked toward the fence, his strides slow and deliberate, the air between you growing heavier with each step. by the time he stopped in front of you, leaning his elbows on the top rail, you were certain he could hear your heartbeat pounding in your chest.

“what’s the matter?” he asked, voice dipping low. his blue eyes locked on yours, sharp and knowing. “you’re all quiet. t’s not like you.”

“just... watching you work,” you said, trying to sound nonchalant, but your voice betrayed you, coming out softer than intended.

his brow arched, that teasing smirk tugging at his lips again. “watchin’, huh? you like what you see?”

your stomach flipped, and you tried to play it off with a shrug, but you couldn’t keep your gaze from drifting, his arms, his chest, the way the sweat made his shirt cling just right. you were blatantly staring now, and he knew it.

he straightened up, his broad shoulders casting a shadow over you as he reached out, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. the touch was quick, almost casual, but it sent a shiver down your spine.

“careful.” he murmured, his voice like a low rumble of thunder. “keep lookin’ at me like that, and i might start thinkin’ you want somethin’.”

your breath hitched, and for a moment, you were completely still, caught in the weight of his gaze. then, before you could even think of a response, he smirked again, stepping back and tossing the rope over his shoulder.

“better be careful,” he said over his shoulder as he walked back toward the paddock. “wouldn’t want you gettin’ yourself into trouble.”

you stood there, rooted to the spot, your face hot and your heart racing, watching the way his shoulders moved as he walked away. trouble, you thought, your lips twitching into a small, private smile. maybe that’s exactly what you wanted.

you watched him walk away, the easy confidence in his stride making your pulse quicken. but as much as you liked standing there, admiring him from a distance, you weren’t in the mood to just watch anymore.

your gaze flicked toward the barn, the open doorway like an invitation, and an idea took root, bold and reckless, the kind of thing you’d only ever do for him.

you pushed off the fence, the cool grass brushing your boots as you strolled toward the barn with purpose, your heart pounding faster with each step. when you reached the doorway, you slipped of out sight, peering around the corner to make sure rafe was still watching.

he was.

he had one hand on the paddock gate, his head tilted slightly, eyes narrowing as he noticed your movement. his curiosity turned to something darker, more intense, when you reached for the hem of your top and pulled it over your head in one fluid motion.

you let it drop to the floor, right in the door way, highlighted in the soft light spilling through the open door.

rafe froze.

for a moment, the air seemed to still, the weight of his stare heavy enough to pin you in place. then, without a word, he tossed the rope he’d been holding to the ground and started toward you, his long strides eating up the distance in seconds.

“you’re playin’ a dangerous game,” he said, his voice low and rough, his eyes locked on the door as he stopped in front of it.

he stepped into the barn now facing you, the cool shadows enveloping you, and gave him a small, teasing smile. “maybe,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, “but i think you like it.”

he didn’t answer, not with words. instead, his hands already reaching for you, the barn door swinging shut behind him with a low creak.

he gripped your waist hungrily as he stared down at your chest, a flimsy white lace bralette being the only thing between his lips and your tits.

"pardon me for stayin' the lord's name in vain but, jesus christ." he breathed, hands rounding your breasts as you slowly stepped back further into the soft hay behind you. he pulled the fabric down, marvelling at the sight of your tits right in front of his face.

he looked into your eyes for a moment and the intoxicated look you were giving him was all he needed to know you wanted exactly what he came in here for.

his lips connected with yours, rafe pushing you into the hay behind you. he followed in suit, looming over with one hand attached to a breast and another cupping your pussy over your bloomers. his lips were soft against your own and your eyebrows cinched together at the feeling of heat pooling in your tummy.

rafe's lips travelled down your neck and your chest, slowly his tongue lapped over your sensitive nipple and you arched into his mouth with a whine. you could feel his mouth quirk into a smug grin but you couldn't care less.

his fingers pressed your folds through the fabric, sending jolts through your body as he began to drag them up and down. you were running a hand through his messy hair when he brought his lips up to yours again, groaning.

you started palming rafe through his jeans, fiddling with the belt buckle confidently to tease him and you could feel his breathing against you grow more ragged. he quickly moved his hand to your hip, then slowly dragged it down to the middle of the waistband of your little shorts.

"stop teasin' ray" you gasped desperately against his mouth, another cocky smirk adorned his lips before he finally slipped his hand past the fabric and thread his fingers through your folds softly. you were practically rutting against his hand as he stroked your sensitive clit.

you moaned against his lips as he continued, now pulling at his belt buckle and jeans zipper, wanting to repay the heaven he was giving you. a single thick finger slipped into your sopping hole sending you into overdrive as your hand stuttered on its way to snaking around his cock.

he scoffed against your lips, satisfied when you finally slipped your hand further down his pants, gripping his cock. you had to hide your shock at the size of him, although you couldn't be that surprised, you were practically being flattened against the hay because of how big the rest of him was.

your eyes rolled back, his fingers flicking your throbbing clit in just the right way, and he grunted into your mouth when you started tugging at him. he stripped his jeans down to his knees to give you better leverage, only making you nearly tear away from his lips to gasp at his huge cock.

he entered another finger into your tight hole, mumbling against your lips about how good his cock was gonna feel between your legs and you hummed in response, mentally dizzy about how it was going to fit. a possessive hand gripped your waist when he finally pulled his fingers away, releasing your hand from his pants too.

"c'mere," he grunted, tearing down your bloomers and panties nearly to your ankles in one strong motion before pulling his hardened cock from his boxers, all angry and dripping in pre-cum. he noticed your open mouthed stare and grinned, darting is tongue between his lips for a second, "don' worry darl', i'll make it fit."

you shuddered at his words, and the way he was holding his shirt up with his teeth now as he slid the head of his cock over you folds teasingly. your thighs were already twitching when he slowly sunk himself in, only partly being able to fit you winced as he started slowly thrusting deeper into you until finally, you were full to the hilt.

"oh god, rafe. i th- you're- you're in my tummy" you whined, your hand brushing over where you could clearly see a huge bulge protruding in your lower stomach as his hips continued to slowly meet yours with every thrust.

he chuckled lowly, a sweet sound making you melt around him, "told you i'd make it fit." he picked up the pace, rocking into you as you sung sweet moans into his ear, his lips connected to your neck leaving sloppy kisses and small hickies you know you won't be able to hide from your parents.

he gripped your hips roughly, your back arching up as he bounced you on his cock. your walls pulsed around him, strangled moans escaping your lips as you realised you were gonna cum so soon already. rafe could feel the fluttering around his cock but only fucked you harder, his tip kissing your cervix deliciously.

your eyes were squeezed shut as you gripped his biceps desperately, feeling the pressure begin to build in your heat. his hand affectionately slipped into the nape of your neck, his thumb stroking your cheek while he snapped his hips mercilessly against yours.

"oh my god!" you cursed, your arms grappling around his neck, you swore you were in heaven when rafe groaned into your neck, praising how good your pussy felt around him.

your legs began shaking uncontrollably, a broken sob erupted from your core as hot pleasure coated your body and a stream of wetness soaked rafe's cock.

"fuuck!" rafe groaned out, spilling thick ropes of cum into you, he continued his stuttering thrusts, your tight pussy milking him dry. "you just squirted all over my cock darl', shit." he breathed, grinning from ear to ear, planting a sweaty kiss on your forehead.

taglist ! ; @drewscoquette , @dollyfiles , @holes4rafe , @filthyrafe , @bambiangels , @rafesheaven , @bambrinaa ( pls lmk if you want to be added or removed ! )

[winterarmyy]

Against All Odds | Part III

An arranged marriage with the duke's illegitimate son!bucky.

Navigation: Part I | Part II | Part III (end)

Words: 5k++

Pairing: duke's illegitimate son!bucky x noble!female!reader

Warnings: 18+ contents, no minors allowed, nsfw, gore, blood, violence, short yet emotional smut, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, overall low intensity angst with a bittersweet ending.

A/N: i want to thank all of you for taking some of your precious time to read my fic, i really appreciate it! this is the last installment of the main series, i hope you enjoy your time.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

Standing at the altar, Bucky’s heart pounded loudly; excitement and sorrow interlaced within his being. The weight of Y/N’s death still haunted him; every time he closed his eyes, those horrifying images conquered his mind.

But today, this very moment, he had been given another chance. The conflict within him was fierce; he was determined to protect her this time, to keep them safe no matter the cost. His mind raced with plans and contingencies, but all his thoughts were interrupted when the church doors opened.

As the crowd rose to their feet, for a moment, everything else ceased to exist. Y/N walked toward him, each step amplifying the intense storm swirling inside him. She was more beautiful than he remembered, more radiant than he ever thought possible. In the past, he had been unfamiliar with the nuances of his emotions, but now, with his heart fully opened, he was consumed by an all-encompassing love.

The urge to rush to her, to pull her into his arms and never let go, was almost unbearable, but he forced himself to remain composed, to hold onto the control he needed.

As she walked down the aisle, he felt like his chest was on fire; it was almost overwhelming. Memories of their past life together flashed before his eyes, a painful reminder of what he had lost and what he was determined to save. 

And as Bucky lifted her veil, he couldn’t focus on anything else; the sight of her, so radiant and beautiful, so close, so real.The delicate fabric framed her face, accentuating the soft curve of her cheeks, the gentle arch of her brows, and the deep, soulful eyes that had captivated him from the moment they met. 

When her eyes met his, he saw something unexpected in their depths; an innocence and trust that made his heart ache. He felt an overwhelming sense of responsibility to protect this woman, not just from the dangers of what lies ahead in their future but also beyond this earth; heaven or hell, it does not matter.

Bucky gently placed a hand on her waist, feeling the warmth of her body through the pristine fabric of her dress. His other hand cupped her cheek, the touch both tender and deliberate. The sight of her up close, the feel of her under his touch, was both too much and not enough. 

He leaned in and his heart raced vigorously in the trepidation of the chance that he might lose her again. But when his lips met hers, he was completely engulfed by immense euphoria. The happiness of being able to hold her again, to share this moment of tenderness, was so much stronger than the anxiety that hounded his mind. As he pulled away, he saw her blinking slowly, her cheeks flushed and her eyes filled with confusion and awe.  

To be able to see such a sight again was a blessing; Bucky thought he had lost it forever. His chest seemingly expanded to accommodate the hope and determination filling the space within his ribcage. To ensure that this time, things would be different. He had longed for this moment, to have her in his arms again, and now that it was real, it was even more profound than he had imagined.

“I’m sorry if I startled you,” he said softly, his voice carrying the depth of his emotions. “I hope I didn’t scare you, my dear.” The reassurance in his tone was genuine, a reflection of his own relief and longing.

“I—no, you didn’t scare me,” she managed to say; her voice barely more than a whisper. His eyes softened as he adored the tint of pink on her cheeks, “Good,” he added, his gaze tender and full of warmth. “I’m glad to hear that.”

Bucky’s nightmare was a relentless torture decorated with anguish and despair. And it was always the same series of events. Him riding through the frozen landscape, the biting cold of the snow searing through his worn leather boots. The icy wind howled around him, matching the torment that gripped his heart. The landscape blurred as he navigated the bloodied halls of their home, a once serene space now stained by violence and death.

Him, stumbling into their shared bedroom, his heart pounding in his chest as he saw her; Y/N’s body, brutally maimed and lifeless. The sight of his child, still and cold, was a dagger to his soul. The room was a horrifying tableau of shattered dreams and crushed hopes. His cries of despair echoed in the empty corridors of his mind, the reality of the scene blending with his deepest fears.

His body jerked violently as he jolted awake, the sudden shift from the nightmare to the waking world leaving him disoriented and breathless. The line between a mere dream and reality was blurred, the remnants of his terror clinging to him like a shroud.

He fumbled through the darkness, his mind racing as he struggled to grasp where he was. The echoes of his terror still haunted him, a grim reminder of the fragility of their happiness.

“Bucky?” Her voice, soft and uncertain, cut through his haze of panic. He blinked rapidly, struggling to focus.

“Y/N?” His voice was a whisper, fragile and filled with a tormented confusion. Seeing her was almost like a divine intervention, a moment of disbelief at her presence. He stared at her, trying to reconcile the vibrant, alive woman before him with the haunting vision he had just escaped.

Her presence was a stark contrast to the lifeless image burned into his mind. Seeing her breathing, speaking back to him, felt like a dream that will never come true.

Not wasting any time dwelling, his body surged forward, enveloping her in a gripping yet desperate embrace. “Y/N…” he murmured, his voice trembling with the raw intensity of his emotions. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, his grief and dread pouring out in the hidden agony.

The truth of his nightmare and the burden of his misery weighed heavily on him, almost impossible to bear; at least not alone. The words he wanted to speak were trapped within him, their pressure making it hard to breathe, let alone articulate his pain.

Bucky took refuge in his wife’s arm, focusing on the feeling of her hands moving soothingly up and down his back. “I’m here,” she whispered softly. “I’m here, Bucky.” Her presence was grounding; holding him tight in a reality that felt too fragile to trust.

The night was still and intimate, and Bucky’s need for her overwhelmed him. Their connection deepened as he made love to her, each touch, each kiss a frenzied affirmation of the life they still shared; a way to anchor himself to the truth of their love amidst the chaos of his dreams.

In the opulent chamber, Bucky stood like a silent sentinel, his form partially obscured by the shadows cast from the full moon behind him. The eerie silhouette of his shadow filtering through the large, arched window. The room was a luxurious display of wealth and power, adorned with velvet drapes and golden accents.

Despite the grandeur, the atmosphere was chilling, accentuated by the presence of Bucky in his Winter Soldier attire: a black mask, heavy boots, and a sleek, tactical uniform that made him appear as if he were more machine than man.

He moved with the ghostly grace of a predator, each step intentional and calculated as he approached the enormous bed at the centre of the room. The Emperor lay sprawled beneath an elaborate canopy, his slumber seemingly undisturbed by the chaos outside his lavish walls. It was almost laughable to Bucky that such a cruel ruler, whose hands were stained with countless deaths, could rest so easily, untouched by the spectres of guilt that should have plagued him.

Bucky’s gaze was unfeeling as he surveyed the sleeping figure. The Emperor's peaceful expression was a dichotomy to the turmoil that simmered beneath Bucky’s cold exterior. His presence, unmoving and imposing, made the room feel colder, his eyes devoid of warmth or emotion.With the steely void in his mind, his purpose clear as he stalked closer, each step making the heavy boots sound like distant thunder.

The Emperor stirred, his eyes fluttering open to the sight of Bucky standing at the foot of the bed. For a moment, there was confusion in the Emperor’s eyes, quickly replaced by a smirk. "I don't remember calling for you, soldier," he said, his tone half-joking, half-curious.

This was not the first visit at such ungodly hours for Bucky. Often the Emperor would call upon him to send him out on clandestine missions or covert operations.

Bucky’s unresponsive silence made the Emperor uneasy, a subtle crack in his facade of control. As Bucky’s form loomed closer, his eyes glinted with an icy determination that cut through the darkness like a blade. The realisation of the danger crept into his expression as Bucky reached the side of the bed.

Before the Emperor managed to call out for help, Bucky’s metal hand shot out, encircling the Emperor's throat with a grip of iron. His eyes widened in shock, "What is the meaning of this?" he croaked, his voice strained as he struggled against the unyielding grip.

Bucky’s voice was a low, menacing growl. "Why did you kill them?" he demanded. The Emperor’s face twisted into a mask of genuine confusion. “I don’t understand. What are you talking about?” he said, his voice strained with bewilderment.

Eyes burning with an intensity that spoke of old wounds and unending fury, Bucky was in a trance-like state. His mind focused on the Emperor as the embodiment of the callousness that had devastated his life. To him, it mattered so little whether this version of the Emperor had committed the heinous acts or not. The knowledge that past him had once inflicted such horrors was enough to ignite Bucky’s rage.

“My wife,” Bucky growled, his voice cutting through the Emperor’s confusion with chilling clarity. The Emperor’s eyes widened further, a flicker of fear beginning to replace his initial disbelief. “Why did you kill her?,” Bucky continued, his tone carrying the heaviness of an unspoken pain.

The Emperor’s expression remained in a genuine concern, though it did little to mask his growing foreboding. “I never ordered anyone to lay hands on her,” he insisted, his voice cracking with a hint of desperation. “I would have remembered something like that.”

Bucky’s gaze remained unwavering, his anger as fiery as ever. The Emperor’s words, though spoken with a semblance of sincerity, only fueled Bucky’s fury. It wasn’t merely about this specific Emperor’s actions; it didn’t even matter if he had not done the deed yet.

It was about the realisation that such brutality happened once before. Much more atrocious to know that it had been sanctioned by someone in a position of power. The sense of betrayal ran deep, rooted in the knowledge that the cruelty was a part of a larger, systemic evil that had haunted Bucky’s past.

As the Emperor tried to reason with him, his terror and desperation were transparent. "I would never harm your wife," he protested weakly, his voice trembling with an echo of dismay. Bucky’s mind flashed with ghastly memories; the cold snow he rode through, the bloodied halls leading to their shared bedroom, the image of Y/N’s body maimed, his child lifeless. The horrific images fueled his rage.

"Oh, but you will." Bucky hissed, his anger boiling beneath the surface. His free hand drew a blade, the steel glinting with deadly intent. The Emperor's eyes were wide with horror; his pleas of defence were simply a string of meaningless words lost in the wind as Bucky’s resolve hardened.

With a swift, adept motion, the blade struck through the man’s throat. The Emperor gurgled; blood bubbling from the wound as his eyes widened in shock. Bucky’s face remained impassive, his cold eyes reflecting no mercy. He plunged the blade deeper, the Emperor’s feeble attempts to grasp Bucky’s arm proving futile. 

Unfortunately for him, the first strike was not enough to quench the rage that burned within Bucky. He pulled the blade out and struck again. Again and again, the knife met its target, each jab driven by the anguish of countless painful memories. The bed beneath them soaked with the colour of crimson, the luxurious chamber now marred by the blood of its cruel occupant. The room filled with the grotesque sound of a life being extinguished, a gruesome symphony that echoed Bucky’s inner anarchy.

Bucky stood over the fallen ruler, his breath coming in harsh, ragged gasps. As the adrenaline faded, Bucky’s vision suddenly began to blur, the edges of the room dimming into darkness. The world seemed to contract into a tunnel of darkness until a voice cut through the haze. “You really have to be that… brutal?” The voice was calm, yet filled with an air of reproach.

With his sight suddenly altered, Bucky turned towards the sound; the silhouette was unclear in his clouded vision, however he recognized the voice. “Steve,” he called out, his voice a low rasp.

Steve, the crown prince, stood in the doorway, his expression was weaving traces of concern and resignation. He took a step forward, the dim light catching the determination etched in his features. Tomorrow, he would be the new emperor, a role thrust upon him by necessity and circumstance.

Although Steve was one of the emperor’s blood; his only living male heir. His mother was not the empress but one of the many wives the emperor had taken. In the emperor's eyes, this made Steve unworthy of the crown, despite his lineage. This disdain had placed Steve in a precarious position, viewed as a threat rather than a successor.

In the past, Bucky and Wanda had seen Steve meet a tragic end, assassinated by the devout followers of the Emperor who refused to relinquish power. This time, Bucky and Wanda had approached Steve with a plan to overthrow the throne.

While withholding the truth of their origins, they convinced him to claim the crown for his own, knowing the kingdom already favoured him. The real challenge lay with the noble families, whose support was crucial. Over the past few months, Steve had skillfully manoeuvred through the intricate web of politics, winning their allegiance.

Meanwhile, Wanda had been executing a 'clean-up' operation at the magic tower, ensuring no loyalists of the emperor remained. By the time Bucky entered the emperor’s chambers, all potential threats had been neutralised. Soon, the kingdom would surely hear news of the youngest female master of the tower reigning in power.

“Hey, Buck. You okay?” he asked, his voice gentle but firm. Steve noticed the way Bucky’s eyes seemed to glaze over, staring into nothingness. Concern etched into his features, he took a step closer. Bucky blinked a couple of times, trying to clear his vision, but the blurriness persisted, leaving him disoriented.

As Bucky’s vision began to clear, he saw Steve’s concerned blue eyes staring back at him. “Yeah, just…” Bucky shoved his hand into his pocket, retrieving the teleportation stone given to him by Wanda prior to the mission. His gaze fixed on the shimmering stone, the weight of his debt to the ancient magic pressed heavily on his mind; knowing the time to pay for it was drawing near. “…just missing my wife.”

Steve watched, a silent understanding passing between them. Bucky crushed the stone in his hand, the stone's magic activated with a flash of deep red light, enveloping Bucky in its embrace, swallowing him into the abyss and back to his home, to Y/N.

Moments later, the warmth and chaos of the Emperor’s chambers vanished as the cold night air hit him as Bucky found himself on the balcony of his home. Through the transparent glass, he could see his room bathed in a faint light. Inside, Y/N was reading by the soft glow of a night lamp. The sudden swoosh of Bucky’s arrival drew her attention, and she lifted her gaze from the book to the source of the sound. Her eyes widened as she saw the dark silhouette standing on the balcony.

"Hello?" she called out softly, her voice quivering with fear. She set her book aside and stood up, her silk nightdress flowing around her like a whisper of moonlight. She walked to the balcony door, the rhythm of her heart quickened as anxiety creeped in. 

As the door opened, the cold wind tickled a shivering goosebumps on her skin. She looked up at the man, her eyes widening in surprise and anxiousness. Bucky, on the other hand, remained still; his mask and dark attire made him look as if he were a ghost from her nightmares. His eyes, however, were unmistakable. The familiar blue gaze met hers, and she recognized him instantly.

Y/N’s initial fear melted away as she stepped closer towards him, "Why are you out here in the cold, love?" she asked gently, standing only inches from his foreboding self. The distinction between them was hardly difficult to spot: her soft, fragile appearance in her silk nightdress against his imposing, almost monstrous form in his combat gear.

Bucky stayed silent, his eyes trained on her as if trying to memorise every feature, every delicate line of her face. She reached up, her fingers slightly trembling to the cold, gently removing his mask. The emotionless facade that he put up crumbled almost instantly, his eyes softened as she smiled up to him. Her hand reached up to cup his cheek, feeling the roughness of his stubble, "Come inside," she urged softly. "You're freezing."

He didn’t argue as he allowed himself to be led into the warmth of their room. Y/N’s hands moved with gentle resolution. As they reached the side of their bed, she began undressing him from his harsh, restrictive attire down to his shorts and sat him on the mattress behind him. She traced the scars on his body, each one a testament to the battles he had fought, and her fingers made their way up to his stubbled jaw, cupping his cheek tenderly.

"Bucky… you look so troubled." She noticed. "What's wrong, my love?" her voice filled with concern. She came to his side, sitting close as she spoke softly, “Tell me,” her eyes searched within his, “...please?” 

Bucky took a deep breath, his heart heavy with the burden of the truth he was about to reveal. "Y/N," he began, his voice slow, as if he was afraid, "This... this isn't our first time living through this. Our marriage, our life together, it was supposed to be different.”

Everything that had been haunting him for the past months spilled out for Y/N to consume. He spoke of the first time he stood at the altar, the way he was clumsy and rough the first time he touched her, their awkward moments, and the ups and downs that became the foundation of their budding romance.

He told her about her pregnancy, the joy he felt from it, how she glowed with happiness, and the dreams they had for their child. He recounted his request for retirement, wanting to leave his life as a weapon behind to be with his family, to protect and cherish them.

But then he spoke of the horror that shattered his world. How he found her dead with their child, both victims of the Emperor’s cruelty. He described the devastation, the unbearable pain, and the crushing sense of failure. He had lost them both, and his heart had been torn apart. "I lost you once before. You and our child," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

Bucky continued, his words pouring out in a rush. He spoke of Wanda, how she had given him a chance to come back, to change things, to save her, to save them. He told her about the sacrifices, the battles fought in the shadows, and the relentless drive to protect her and their unborn child. He described the nightmares that haunted him, the fear of failing again, and the desperate hope that this time, things would be different.

Yet, as he bared his entire soul to her, Bucky kept one critical detail shrouded in silence. He did not mention the true cost of altering time, the personal price he had to pay for this chance at redemption. The burden of that price, the debt to ancient magic that had exacted a toll on him, remained untold, a hidden weight that he bore alone. At least for now.

Y/N was silent, her mind racing to comprehend the enormity of his confession. It sounded impossible, yet there was a sincerity in Bucky's voice, a pain that was all too real. She thought back to the subtle hints in his behaviour, the way he seemed to know her so intimately, as if he had known her for a lifetime. She remembered the moments when he would finish her sentences, anticipate her needs before she even voiced them, and the way he looked at her with such profound love and fear, as if he was afraid she would disappear.

Tears welled up in Bucky’s eyes as he reached for her hand, holding it tightly. “It’s true, Y/N. Every word. I’ve lived through this nightmare, and I couldn’t bear to lose you again.” However, Y/N’s silence scared him. He felt his heart pounding in his chest, terrified that she would reject his story, reject him. Bucky's tears fell freely now, landing on her skin like tiny droplets of despair. "Say something, please," he begged, his voice choking with emotion.

Y/N’s mind and heart were in turmoil, but something deep within her, something in her soul, told her to put her faith in him. Just like that, she believed him. Her heart ached at the thought of the pain he must have endured. She cupped his face in her hands, her eyes searching in his ocean blues. “I’m so sorry for leaving you so soon, love,” she said softly, not knowing why her voice broke..

Bucky’s reaction was immediate. His eyes widened with relief, his tears flowing even more; raw and unfiltered. He pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly as if afraid she would vanish. “Y/N” he whispered against her hair, his voice was a sound of agony and respite. 

Y/N’s own tears fell as she held him close. She didn’t fully understand the mechanics of time or the magic that had brought him back, but she knew one thing: she loved this man with all her heart, and she would do anything to ease his pain. 

“Thank you for saving me.” she echoed, her voice soft but firm.

Their tears of sorrow began to shift into a more tender, fervent connection as their need for each other deepened. Bucky’s lips found Y/N’s in a searing, passionate kiss. Their tears mingled and cascaded down their cheeks as they lost themselves in the embrace. Each touch, each kiss, was imbued with an urgency to reaffirm their bond and erase the pain that had haunted him.

Every piece of clothes were thrown aside; discarded in their frantic desire to be closer. Bucky’s touch grew more intimate; hands moved to pin Y/N's hands above her head, pressing her wrists gently but firmly into the bed. His eyes, dark with desire and love, bore into hers.

“Let me see you, my dear. Please, let me see all of you,” Bucky whispered, his voice trembling with emotion as he removed his hands from her wrists, roaming over Y/N’s body. His touch is a mix of reverence and desperation. He explored the curve of her waist, the gentle slope of her hips, and the soft, supple skin that felt like a lifeline to him. 

He trailed his lips down Y/N’s neck, savouring the softness of her skin, leaving a trail of heated kisses. His breath warmed her as he explored her collarbone, the hollow of her throat, and lower, where his lips brushed against the delicate curve of her breasts. Each kiss was a worshipful caress, a testament to his adoration and need for her.

A simple nudge of his hips and Bucky sinks in, breathes caught in the air when he starts to move; “You feel so good, so tight around me.” His thrusts were slow, sensual yet deliciously deep. “I love you so much,” his declaration spread warmth all over heart, filling up every space possible; much like his huge, throbbing cock to her cunt. So full, so good. While he rocked his hips, Bucky’s lips trailed delicately on her cheek, “My dearest” he murmured watching the tears fall from the corner of her eyes, “My everything”. 

Y/N, feeling the intensity of his love and the raw need in his embrace, responded with equal fervour. Her hands ardently moved over his broad shoulders and down his back, feeling the contours of his muscles tense and relax under her touch. She could sense the urgency in his movements, the way he clung to her as if she were his salvation.

Bucky’s calloused fingers slipped downwards, reaching to where their bodies were most connected. He found a grounding pleasure as he swirled soft circles on her sensitive clit; rubbing it the way he knew she loved. Y/N leaned into his touch, her body responding to his every movement. Her breaths came in short, heated whimpers as Bucky’s hands continued their exploration, his fingers grazing over her sensitive skin with a mix of tenderness and hunger.

Creating a slight distance between them, Bucky leaned back and revelled in the sight of her; what a view she was.

Her hair was messy in the most beautiful way, cascading around her face like a halo. Her hands gripped the sheets behind her, knuckles white, grounding herself in the intensity of the moment. Her body arched gracefully, a perfect curve that pushed her hips toward his in a silent plea for more. His fingers; now wet with her slick, continued to rub tight circles on the sensitive bundle of nerves.

“There she is. So pretty for me, so fucking gorgeous,” Bucky murmured lowly, his voice filled with desire and awe.

“Bucky, please,” she whispered, her voice a plea, her legs around his waist tugging him closer.

Bucky found her shy desperation was seductive yet so innocently pure. “God, how am I so fucking lucky?” Bucky’s breath shuddered as he felt the way her pussy clenched in protest of his delay; his voice heavy with emotion as he moved against her, his eyes locked onto hers. The raw need in her voice, the way her body responded to his touch, made his heart swell with unrestrained desire.

The metal of his left hand found their way to her hips, guiding her with a gentle yet insistent touch as his fleshed finger worked on her clit. Despite the hard and hasten pace of his thrusts, their movements were synchronised, each grind was a need to chase that height of ecstasy. 

The room was filled with their whispered breaths, their shared moans of pleasure, and the undeniable proof of their love. Their connection transcended the physical, reaching into the depths of their souls, reaffirming the bond that had defied time and fate. 

“I love you so much, Y/N,” Bucky whispered, his voice raw and filled with affection as he held her close, their hearts beating in perfect harmony.

“I love you, too, Bucky.” she replied, her voice trembling with the intensity of her feelings.

As they reached the peak of their high, their cries of passion were mingled with their whispered promises of devotion. Every touch was a declaration, every kiss a vow to never be separated again, and every warmth filling inside her was a possible gift of a future they looked forward to.

Afterward, they lay entwined, their breaths slowly returning to normal, the room filled with a quiet sense of contentment and amour. Compared to prior, this time, their touch was gentle, almost innocent compared to the fervent passion earlier. They held each other, caressing skin, savouring the quiet moments of closeness. Bucky felt at ease, a sense of peace washing over him that he hadn’t felt in what seemed like lifetimes.

Bucky’s perspective was filled with the sight of Y/N. He drank in every detail, from the curve of her lips to the softness of her cheeks, to the way her eyes sparkled even in the dim light. Her skin was a beautiful contrast to his own, delicate and smooth; pure and untainted. He traced his fingers lightly over her features, committing them to memory with a sense of awe and gratitude.

She yawned as fatigue creeped in, snuggling closer, tighter. Bucky brushed a stray lock of hair from her face. “You should sleep, sweetheart.” he whispered softly. Y/N smiled, her eyes already half-closed. “See you in the morning?” she murmured, her voice laced with drowsiness.

At that moment, Bucky’s vision began to blur again; worse than before. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear it, but the edges of his sight remained dark and unfocused. He felt a pang of fear but pushed it aside. The time had come, he realised. He kissed her forehead gently, revelling in the feel of her skin against his lips. “See you in the morning, my dear,” he replied, his voice steady despite the growing darkness in his vision.

He smiled down at her as she snuggled, his heart filled with joy and serenity. Bucky held onto her tightly, cherishing the moment, knowing that no matter what happened, their love had conquered time itself. He marvelled at the fact that against all odds, he had saved the woman he loved, and nothing could take that triumph away from him. In the end, even with his eyes still wide open, he let the encroaching blackness take over, surrendering to the inevitable with a heart full of love and a soul finally at peace.

End.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: we have reached the end of the journey, i am sorry if you feel like the story is a bit rushed; i am not capable to commit more than 3 chapters, otherwise this will ended up being in a hiatus. i, however, can consider writing oneshots for this au somewhere in the future. meanwhile, leaving your comments behind would definitely make me happy!

[zxvmp]

Cracked (Stoner!Dabi x Nerd!Fem Reader)

tags: Smut, highschool AU!, there’s no quirks, dabi doesn’t have burn marks, dabi has an eyebrow piercing, unprotected sex, vaginal sex, marking, rough sex, degradation, smoking, peer pressure(?)

summary: you get assigned to tutor the senior stoner. going to his house for a study session escalated to something more.

You weren’t stoked for tutoring Dabi. Sure, you loved to help people study, but when it came to people like him, you found it difficult. He was failing practically every class and the only senior in Physical Science A. You were amazed he was still even allowed to attend the school.

When you were told you had to tutor him, you almost ended it all in that exact moment. You, a straight A student, top of all your classes, tutoring him, a failure.

“No disrespect, sir, but why me?” You asked your principal, attitude in your tone.

Dabi scoffed and slouched into his chair next to you. The principal eyed you both before letting out a sigh.

“Miss (Y/N), I know this task may seem…” He paused and stared at Dabi who grinned and gave a small wave, “Difficult…. but he could really use the help.”

You side eyed Dabi before pouting, “Fine.”

~

After your meeting in the principals office, you and Dabi exchanged numbers. You set up a study date at his house directly after school, and he surprisingly agreed without complaints. He even offered to drive you after school since you normally took the bus. You were a bit hesitant a first, but you took him up on his offer.

Once the final school bell rang, you waited at the doors to the student parking lot. Multiple students left and the cars in the parking lot dwindled down. You began to wonder if Dabi lied and ditched you.

Just as you were about to press his contact to call him, he turned the corner of the hallway.

“Took you long enough!” You cross your arms and leaned your weight onto your right leg.

He smirked, “My apologies, your highness.”

You rolled your eyes and followed him out of the school. His car was parked at the end of the lot. It was an all-black hellcat. You almost forgot he came from a rich family. His brother was a very smart student, almost on your level. However, he had three more years ahead of him to reach yours.

The moment you opened the passenger door, the scent of weed entered your nostrils, causing your nose to scrunch up. Dabi noticed your facial expression and chuckled as he hopped into the drivers seat.

“Seriously?” You peaked your head into the car and raised an eyebrow at him.

His right hand was already on the steering wheel, ready to drive. “Um, yeah? Get in.”

A groan escaped your mouth as you tossed your backpack onto the floor of the car before plopping down onto the leather seat. Before he backed out of his parking space, he pulled out a vape and took a long hit. You stared at the device and read: “Blue Rasperry, Breeze Pro.”

His eyes met yours and noticed what you were looking at, “Wanna hit it?”

“Are you crazy? No.”

Dabi snickered as he placed his hand on the back of your headrest, twisting his body to look in the back window, “Figured.”

You peaked over at him as he backed out of the parking space. His black T-shirt slightly lifted, causing his lower abdomen to show. Your eyes immediately darted to his prominent V-line.

Dabi caught you looking as he returned to his sitting position and smirked. You rasied eyebrows and averted your eyes away from him to act like you weren’t caught.

The drive to his place was quiet. Neither of you spoke a word to each other. Only occasional glances. His music taste was much different from yours. Though, you did know some of the artists he played: Lucki, Pierce the Veil, and Chase Atlantic.

When you arrived at his place, you picked up on the fact that he had his own apartment. It made you wonder why he moved out so early. It’s not like you were in college yet, and it was only the second trimester. However, you kept your questions to yourself.

His place smelled like weed and air fresheners. At least he tried to mask the scent.

You slid off your uggs at the doorsteps and followed him towards the kitchen. Not knowing where to go, you nervously held your backpack and waited for him to say something.

Dabi noticed you looked lost and pointed towards the large couch in the living room, “You can set up, or whatever, in there.”

You nodded and did as he said. You placed your laptop on the coffee table and set out pens and pencils along with some notebooks.

Dabi was busy searching the refrigerator for food while you patiently waited.

His apartment was neat for the most part. There was a large TV that gang over a fire place with blue flames. You found the blue flames fun to look at.

“You want pizza?”

You perked up at his voice and turned to look at him. He was leaned against his counter, facing you with his phone in hand and a lit joint in the other.

“Um, sure.”

He nodded and brought the joint to his lips. You turned away and began to scroll through your phone as you waited for him to finish ordering. Once he was done, he took a spot next to you on the couch with two water bottles and an ash tray.

You eyed his joint, “Do you really have to smoke right now?”

He shrugged his shoulders, “Helps me focus.”

His words made you curious. Did weed really do that? You thought it made you freak out.

Dabi could read the curiosity on your face. He held out the joint for you to take it, nodding his head slightly for you to hit it.

You shook your head, “I don’t smoke.”

He frowned and left his hand out, “Oh c’mon, one hit won’t hurt.”

You hummed and stared down at his hand. Would one hit really hurt? You were honestly considering it.

“Here,” Dabi took a long hit and scooted closer to you. You could smell his cologne and the weed much more. He raised his free hand and pointed at your mouth. You blushed, nervous at what he was indicating. However, you complied. You opened your mouth and watched as he exhaled the smoke into your mouth. “Take a deep breath.”

You followed his instruction. As soon as you did, you felt a slight sting in the back of your throat, but you didn’t cough.

Dabi hummed, ���That’s funny. You took it a lot better than I expected.”

In your mind, you were stressing out. Why were you going along with what he said? Why did he look at you the way he did? And most importantly, why was he looking better than usual?

Dabi had attractive features, you knew that. You just didn’t care. You didn’t like his personality. He was a jerk, a loser, and he smoked. But, you couldn’t help but feel something towards him. You always have. That’s why you hated the fact you had to tutor him. You knew your feelings would increase.

“Um- So, what class do you wanna focus on today?”

He took a drag of the joint and squinted his eyes as he thought. Smoke trailed out of his nose as he softly exhaled. “Ask me later, I wanna finish this joint first.”

“Dabi-” You were cut off by him placing the joint in between your lips. Your eyes widened, but he calmed you down by giving you a reassuring lazy smile.

“Inhale.”

Once again, you followed his instruction. This time, there wasn’t a burning sensation. You took it a lot more smoother. It made you wonder yourself how you took it so well. As you pulled back, you maintained eye contact with him and exhaled softly. His half-lidded blue eyes peered into yours. It made you nervous.

Your study session somehow turned into a smoking session. Never in a million years would you think you’d be seated on Dabi’s couch smoking with him. Each time you tried to bring up the topic of studying, he’d blow you off and say ‘one more hit, then we can.’ Except that was 10 hits ago and the pizza he had ordered earlier was opened on the coffee table with two slices gone.

Dabi handed you a water bottle because he could tell from the look on your face you needed it. You’d never been high before. Everything was hitting you at once. Your vision was slowed and your body was much more sensitive than usual.

“How you feelin’, pretty?”

The joint was smooshed into the ash tray, finished by the two of you. You finished your water bottle and placed it on the coffee table.

“I… don’t know.” You giggle. “You sure this helps you focus?”

He nodded, “Always. Now, can you help me with this.” Dabi pulled out an old test he took in science. “My teacher told me he’d let me retake it Friday.”

You stared at his score, 10/45.

“Damn, that’s terrible.” You blurt out.

He choked back his laughter and looked at you. Your eyes were red and lowered. Your always neat hair was disheveled and you had a blush coating your cheeks. You were absolutely fried. He smirked at your broken form. He managed to crack the nerd.

You took notice that he had been staring at you and tried to recollect your thoughts, “Um, right, science.” You picked up his paper and stared at each question he got wrong. However, your mind couldn’t focus with his eyes scanning your body. You felt nervous under his gaze. “So, what don’t you understand?”

Dabi leaned in closer next to you and scanned the questions you had just looked at. You swallowed a thick lump in your throat from how close he was. Your thighs were touching and his arm was mere inches away from brushing up against yours. You admired his side profile as he looked at the paper you were holding up. His jawline was sharp, like his nose.

Dabi side eyed you, “Are you gonna help me, or keep staring?”

If you were sober, you’d know exactly how to answer his question. The fact was, you weren’t. You were high and somehow horny. Being near him wasn’t helping either. Anything he did made your body slightly twitch.

Your lips parted, but you couldn’t form a sentence.

The next thing that happened shocked the both of you. You dropped the paper and began to straddle him. His hands rested on the waist band of your leggings, while yours rested on his chest. Your heart was beating fast, and your chest was rising and falling rapidly.

He smirked at the state you were in, “What’s up with the sudden change of heart? Thought you wanted to study.”

“No, what I want now is…” You paused, unable to say the next word out of shame and embarrassment.

Dabis hand began to creep his hands underneath your crewneck that loosely rested on your shoulders. “…Is?”

You turned your head to the side and balled your hands up on his shirt.

He lowly chuckled as his hands stopped at the clip of your bra. “Tell me to stop and I will.”

Your bra was unclasped and shortly after, disregarded on the floor. Next was your crewneck. Inch by inch, Dabi lifted it up your body. Just as your breast began to appear, he stopped and looked at you. He had a smug smirk plaster on his lips, almost like he knew you’d end up like this.

“Well?”

You let go of any restraint telling you not to and leaned in to kiss him. It was a quick kiss. You pulled away ever so slightly to look at him in his eyes. All you could see was lust. In an instant, he crashed his lips onto yours roughly and fondled with your breast underneath your crewneck. You began to grind on his crotch in the process.

Finally, he got your crewneck off of you and tossed it on the floor. His mouth latched to your neck, littering it with his markings. While his mouth was busy on your neck, his hands were busy groping your boobs.

Soft mewls escaped your lips as you continued to grind against him. You could feel the bulge in his pants grow the louder your sounds were.

“You’re a freak, you know that?” Dabi muttered in between kisses.

You disregarded his words and reached down to take his shirt off. However, he stopped you and pulled away from your neck.

“Lay down.”

His tone was darker, more dominant. You followed orders and laid on your back with your head against the arm rest.

“So quick to follow orders,” Dabi chuckled, “just how desperate are you?”

You sigh, “Dabi-”

He hushed you. You formed a line with your lips and stayed silent. His eyes traveled down to your leggings, making your thighs press against each other. He smirked watching you squirm.

Your leggings and panties were ripped from you, tossed to the side. Now, you were completely bare underneath him. Dabi looked at each curve of your body, thinking of all the ways he could crack you even more. Just the thought of you going dumb on his cock made his dick twitch in his boxers.

The tension was thick. Dabis boner poked at his grey sweats, making your stomach do somersaults.

“Sorry, (Y/N), but I can’t wait any longer.” He began to rid himself of his pants and boxers, letting his cock spring free. “I’m sure you can take it though, right? I mean, you handled the weed well.”

You stared at his dick. It was big, thick too. A vein ran up from the base towards his tip. He kept his dick clean, which you liked. It wasn’t perfectly shaved, but it wasn’t extremely hairy either.

“C’mon, let me hear you say you can.”

You swallowed, “I- I can.”

He smirked and took off his shirt, tossing it to the side to join the rest of your clothes. “That’s my girl. Now, just lay there and look pretty for me, ‘mkay?”

You nodded.

His tip parted through your wet folds, gathering your slick to make it easy to slide in. Once his tip pressed into your tight hole, the two of you hissed. But that didn’t stop Dabi, he couldn’t stop. His hips bucked forward, shoving his length into you fully. You cried out, tears forming in your eyes from both pain and pleasure. He stretched you out, but at the same time made you feel so full.

“So fuckin’ tight..” He breathed out. “Relax, baby.”

Your tensed muscles calmed down, making it easier for him to move. Once he was able to complete a thrust, any sign of concern left Dabis body. You scratched at his back and moaned as his pace quickened. He gripped your hips so tight they were sure to leave bruises.

With each thrust he thrusted, the more it felt good.

“Fuck—Ah!” You gripped his forearms and tilted your head back.

Dabi was in love with the way your stomach bulged when his dick would move. With one hand, he pressed down on your stomach to feel himself moving in you. Your eyes widened and a broken cry came out of you mouth.

“You like that?” He laughed, “Man, you really are a slut. Underneath that nerdy persona, you’re just a freak aren’t you?”

Your eyes rolled back as his hips snapped upwards, making his dick hit deeper into you.

“Answer.”

“Yes! Fuck—yes.”

He hummed and continued to thrust into you at a brutal pace. You were on cloud nine, lost in pleasure. The weed in your system made the sex so much better. In addition, Dabi was constantly hitting your g-spot, which really made you go dumb.

Dabi shook your hands off him and hooked his arms underneath your thighs, putting you into a mating press. In this angle, he could reach even deeper.

You couldn’t form words anymore. Only, his name and moans came out your mouth.

“That’s right, keep on moaning my name pretty girl. Let me hear you scream.” His thumb began to rub harsh circles against your puffy clit, making you clench around his dick. You felt your stomach began to tighten.

The combination of his dick thrusting into you and the stimulation on your clit was beginning to become too much for you.

“Please, slow down. ‘S too much.” Your voice was high-pitched and whiney.

Dabi didn’t slow down, in fact, he picked up his pace. You were completely over the edge. Your orgasm took over your body without warning. Ringing began to form in your eyes and your vision blurred as you came on his cock.

You threw your head back and let out a final moan, clamping down on his member. Dabis thrusts began to stutter from how tight you became.

“Ah—fuck, don’t go giving out on me now. I know you have another one in you.” Dabi leaned down to your ear and continued to thrust into you, “Give me another, yeah?”

Even though his breath was warm, his words made your body shiver. You reluctantly nodded. You don’t even think you could stop him if you tried.

Your body was still recovering from your last orgasm, but Dabi paid no mind to that. He wanted to completely ruin you.

When he saw tears fall from your eyes, he knew he achieved his goal. You were hanging on by a mere string, clinging onto his forearms once more to help steady yourself.

Dabi was coming close to his high, and he so desperately didn’t want to leave your warm walls. His thrusts became erratic, his rhythm lost.

“Want it in me.” You mutter between moans. “Please.”

Your words broke something in him he didn’t think he had. It boosted him. With a final snap of his hips, he emptied his load into you. Filling you to the brim.

“God, you’re so fuckin’ perfect.”

Dabi collapsed beside you, his head cradled into your neck as he caught his breath. You closed your eyes and blacked out from being so tired.

The next time you opened your eyes, you were in his black T-Shirt and had a blanket draped over your body. Searching the room, you saw him in the kitchen in nothing but grey sweats. His dark hair was messy and you could see his muscles flex as he lifted a frying pan. When you saw a pancake flip, you shot upwards. Was it already the next day?

The noises of you shuffling on the couch caused him to look over. A smile formed on his face.

“Mornin’ princess.”

[lanasblood]

TEMPTATIONS | miguel o’hara x reader

summary: in the midst of a vibrant nightclub, you found yourself consumed by a heady mix of desire and anticipation as you encountered miguel o'hara for the very first time, and oh, what an encounter that was.

word count: 3.6k

warnings: nsfw 18+ (minors do not interact), head empty just smut, alcohol, fingering, mention of penetration (p in v), voyeuristic and exhibitionistic behavior, kissing and touching, power play, just two horny strangers basically, 

note: my first and probably last attempt at smut (if one of my mooties sees this, ignore me, I’m testing something) 

* gif’s not mine

"Oh, I didn't order this..." A dreamy sigh escaped you as you gestured toward the glass and lifted your gaze, looking up at the waiter, who had gracefully approached you like a gazelle, carrying a round tray in his right hand. You had ordered yourself a light, spritzy cocktail because your world was already wrapped in cotton, and a strong tequila like the one right in front of you would likely exceed the perfect level of intoxication. You didn't feel sick, but thick veils of mist flickered before your eyes, and your teeth gradually felt suspiciously numb. It was the perfect time to dial it down a notch and fully savor the lighthearted moment for you enjoyed being pleasantly tipsy, without the discomfort of getting too drunk.

"The gentleman over there sends his regards and asked me to deliver this message," the waiter said with a smile, "The drink is on him."

For a moment, it felt like his words were sluggishly making their way into your hazy mind, but you snapped out of your daze and took the perfectly folded note from him. Your eyes followed his hand gesture and landed on an incredibly attractive man seated a little further away from the dancefloor, in the dim light of the club, also indulging in his exquisite drink. He had casually undone the top three buttons of his pearl-white button-down shirt, probably due to the stifling heat, and rolled up his sleeves, offering you a tantalizing glimpse of his defined chest muscles.

He flashed a stunning smile, though there was a touch of arrogance, something edgy, in it. You couldn't quite pinpoint it, but there was an intriguing allure to his expression.

This seems much more your style.

In neat handwriting, this short and concise sentence was written on the paper. You stared pensively at the glass of tequila on your table. Was it not appropriate for you to be drinking cocktails?

You offered a hesitant smile, as you delicately held and lifted the glass. A rosy hue tinted your cheeks, a blush that couldn't solely be attributed to the alcohol. His intense gaze fixed upon you, leaving a strangely electrifying sensation on your feverish skin.

"Thanks," you silently formed with your lips, getting lost in his unfathomable eyes for a moment. You couldn't quite determine the exact color of his eyes, as the darkness around him revealed little, but there was something fiery in his gaze. His slightly longer dark hair was tousled in a chaotic yet undeniably sexy way, as if he had just moments ago buried a woman beneath him in a frenzy of passion, causing his hair to become disheveled.

The thought was undeniably erotic.

Without thinking, you took a big sip of the tequila, and in that same moment, a sensation of both heat and cold sent a shiver down your spine, causing an involuntary shudder. The alcohol was relentless, mercilessly scorching your throat, and your stomach clenched uncomfortably.

You should have taken a small sip, but in your boldness, you had wanted to prove to him that you could handle the high-proof tequila, that it was your style.

As the loud thumping from the speakers reverberated in you, practically vibrating in your chest, the bright beams of light flickered at a smooth pace over the dancing crowd, gently caressing their grotesque silhouettes, briefly illuminating the flushed and sweaty faces of the people, hinting at their burning desire and fervent bodies yearning for the touch of unfamiliar hands.

"God," you murmured, choked, and closed your eyes for a moment. The glass shimmered on the table, and you pressed your thumb gently against your lower lip, trying to alleviate the persistent burning sensation.

"You were supposed to enjoy it and not see it as a challenge..."

Your body involuntarily tensed as you heard a foreign voice so close to your ear, feeling the tingling breath warm on your skin. You opened your eyes and looked up, feeling bewildered. It was him. His smile was audacious, arrogant, and strangely enticing in its own way, a promise.

You found yourself momentarily paralyzed, locked in a gaze with him, before regaining your composure and mustering a response. "I do enjoy a good challenge," you replied, your words laced with a subtle undertone that veered towards the provocative allure. You couldn't help but get lost in the depths of his eyes, feeling as if you were drowning in their almost reddish-looking intensity.

"I can see that," he responded with a charming smile, his tone dripping with amusement. It had the power to make your knees turn to jelly. Thankfully, you were seated, saving you from any potential embarrassment of stumbling over your own feet. But it wasn't just the alcohol that had your senses tingling; there was an undeniable magnetism in the air.

"It’s brave of you to come here alone," his grin sent shivers down your spine. "May I?" He nodded towards the empty seat next to you — there were plenty of free seats at your table, yet he chose to intrude upon your comfort zone and occupy the chair right beside you. Nevertheless, you granted him permission; perhaps it was his intoxicating scent that clouded your judgment and compelled you to make that decision.

"I’ve been here for a long time. And mostly alone," you let him know, observing every taut muscle as he took a seat beside you. There was something formidable about him; an immense presence. The intense longing to surrender to him clung relentlessly to you, and you found it difficult to resist the urge to actually give in. It was an experience unlike anything you had ever encountered.

He ran his right hand through his tousled dark hair, as if he had done it a thousand times before — which he probably had — and smiled at you. You found yourself lost in his enigmatic eyes for a moment. "You are drawn to danger," he stated, his voice void of any question.

"Are you not?" you asked him, crossing your legs, causing the short, strapless black dress to ride up slightly, still covering the essential areas. You could feel his gaze lingering on your bare thighs, causing his muscles to tense involuntarily.

"Mhm," with a graceful motion, he ran his hand along his jawline and briefly closed his eyes, "I guess, in a twisted way, I am." Bringing the glass of tequila to his lips, he paused for a moment, as if savoring the smoky aroma that wafted from it, before taking a leisurely sip.

“So, danger brings you here tonight?”

Your eyes instinctively traced over his muscular upper arms, the tensed muscles and the delicate hairs that adorned them, clearly visible beneath his rolled-up sleeves. As he gently placed the glass on the table, his full lower lip glistened, a subtle smile forming at the corners of his mouth. Rather than giving a conventional response, he simply looked at you, captivating you with his gaze. In that moment, his piercing eyes seemed to light up, a hint of something wild and untamed flickering across his features. His eyes were red.

You gasped for air... a shiver relentlessly cascaded down your spine, giving way to a blazing inferno that almost consumed your body. The pulsating sensation in your veins drove you to the brink of madness, while a familiar ache in your core elicited a soft sigh. This man was the epitome of masculinity... you had never experienced anything like it before.

"Do you see the woman over there?" You were still feeling stirred up, but you followed his gaze and spotted a young, quite attractive blonde woman sitting at one of the tables, no more than ten meters away, with a stunning man by her side, dark hair, sparkling eyes, and his upper arms were completely tattooed, visible through his muscle shirt.

"Yes," you whispered breathlessly.

"She resembles you in many ways." You furrowed your brow once again, puzzled by his comment. It couldn't possibly be about your appearance, as you looked nothing alike. Your gaze shifted questioningly to the unfamiliar, handsome man beside you, admiring his striking profile and the scruff of his five o'clock shadow.

He turned his gaze away from the two strangers and locked eyes with you. 

"She also loves challenges, and the danger." For a brief moment, his eyes lingered on your lips, and you couldn't help but bite down on them, causing his muscles to tense again. This time it wasn't intentional; you weren't trying to seduce him. "Watch how he’ll devour her like a vampire."

Unable to tear your eyes away, you couldn't help but give your full attention to the spectacle unfolding before you. The man leaned in towards the young woman with a seductive smile, gently brushing her hair away in a fluid motion, revealing her exposed neck, and with a stroke of his tongue across her bare skin, he left behind a moist trail.

"How did you know that?" You whispered so softly that normal people would have had great difficulty understanding you, but the man next to you had no trouble at all.

"I have my ways. Sarcasm, a healthy dose of cynicism, and the occasional tequila," he took another sip of his drink and ran his fingers through his hair, "They keep me going."

"Keep you going and make you have everything and everyone under control?" you wanted to know, a teasing undertone in your voice.

"At least, the illusion of control, yes." It wasn't his intention, but it felt as though the desire you had initially felt towards him had only grown stronger.

Shaking your head, you struggled to regain a clear mindset amidst the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body, "Illusion or not, you seem to handle it with style."

"Style, huh?" he chuckled to himself, thinking back to his note for you, a deep rumble in his chest, "I'll take that as a compliment. Besides, in combination with a good poker face, it can get you pretty far in this crazy universe."

You shifted your gaze, the woman appeared somewhat pale, while the man whispered something in her ear again —something you would have loved to hear. She shuddered, repeatedly, and her gaze gradually became glassy. Her lips parted slightly as she pressed herself against him, yearning to touch him, and perhaps even more, running her hands over her breasts and her entire body, tilting her head, biting her lower lip.

And then it dawned on you. You knew exactly what tattoo-guy had in mind. "Is he going to—" you gasped breathlessly, looking at the man beside you. "Here in the club where everyone can watch?"

He appeared completely calm and composed, not half as outraged by the spectacle before you as you were. He took another sip of tequila, letting it slide down his throat, and looked into your eyes alternately. "She wants it. There is no reason to intervene."

You wanted to protest loudly and tell him that the woman currently had no control over who or what she wanted, considering she was under the influence. But his hand on your thigh silenced you in an instant. The rushing thoughts faded into the background, suddenly seeming much less significant.

His warm hand ventured higher, erasing all the questions in your mind in a single stroke. A shiver ran through your heated body, and you couldn't help but bite down on your lower lip and close your eyes. His warm breath on your neck made you tense up. 

"What are you doing...?" Almost involuntarily, you lowered your right leg that had been crossed over, as if to grant him greater access and space.

You opened your eyes and gazed at him with anticipation, your vision hazy, your body yearning for his touch. Your hand moved across your own body as if guided by an invisible force, brushing aside the long strands of your soft hair. He wanted to seduce you, much like the man with that woman, but you were determined not to make it easy for him. The intensity of his effect on you was thrilling, almost painfully so. It was exactly what you had been seeking for in recent years – something that would consume you rather than just arouse you.

His eyes followed your hand as you raised the glass of tequila and then returned it to the table.  You had a different plan in mind — you dipped two fingers into the amber liquid, offering him a seductive smile, never once taking your eyes off him. Slowly, you brought your tequila-dripping fingers to your luscious lips, moistening them in a deliberate, tantalizing motion.

Every fiber of his being tensed up, as if it took an enormous effort for him to refrain from plunging his tongue into your lips, to savor the lingering taste of tequila and the sweetness of your skin. But with remarkable self-control, he resisted the overwhelming urge. You realized he saw through your audacious challenge, and in that moment, you knew he would give you exactly what you desired.

His hand disappeared under your dress, and you stifled a moan as he pressed two fingers against your center, through your underwear. You hadn't expected this move at all. Your body was engulfed in flames, craving his touch. But your attention remained captivated by the beautiful woman and the man that was savoring her. He had buried his head in her supple neck, kissing and sucking on her skin, leaving behind a trail of love bites. It was only now that you seemed to notice the numerous pairs of eyes around you... all of them fixated on this couple.

"Isn't it highly exciting?" he whispered in your ear, having followed your gaze. The woman moaned, seemingly enjoying the kisses in an indescribable way, sending another shiver down your spine and a pleasurable ache spreading in your lower abdomen.

"Yes," you said huskily. This man had an unimaginable amount of power over you, while you seemed to have none over him. After all, the tequila situation hadn't fazed him. "But it takes more than that to catch my attention." 

"Oh really?" he raised an eyebrow, teasingly. "And what exactly does it take to catch your attention?" You gasped as the pressure on your core increased; he was caressing you over your panties now.

"Someone who can keep up with m-me," you breathed, "Looks alone won't do the trick."

"Is that so?" Your eyes followed every motion as his tongue licked over his lower lip, almost in slow motion, the witty smile never leaving his lips. "Well, I have to say, I'm not easily impressed either. It takes more than a pretty face to pique my interest." Upon hearing that you slightly furrowed your eyebrows,"Perhaps we should put our theories to the test?"

His words, surprising and enticing at once, echoed in an incessant loop in your foggy mind. You glanced at the couple once again, feeling the crackling tension that was almost electrifying, and you would have never expected that the role of a voyeur — even if it was just observing kisses — would arouse you so much.

"Perhaps." You wanted to feel so much more from this man than just his hand and hungry glances. And perhaps you were indeed foolish to believe that you could easily wrap a man, especially this one, around your little finger, but you at least wanted to try, "Be warned, I'm not one to back down from a challenge." You pushed your hips forward, slid a little closer on the padded chair, and sank into it. Your hand wandered onto his thigh, your long nails digging into it tightly.

"Neither am I," a low growl in your ear made you shiver again, "I guess we'll see who can keep up with whom." The pressure on your core eased just for a moment before he slipped his fingers into your panties. You moaned loudly, shamelessly, as his fingers found their way between your slick folds, wet and throbbing, and his free hand closed around your jaw. He almost forced you to look into his hungry eyes, which had never looked more dangerous than in that moment. 

"So much courage should be rewarded," his warm breath met your lips as he pushed two fingers inside you. On impulse, you tensed all your muscles, and a loud, prolonged moan threatened to draw attention from all the guests. However, you bit down on your quivering lower lip with all your strength, suppressing it as much as you could.

For a moment, you forgot about his mocking gaze and completely surrendered yourself to the comforting images that flashed vividly in your mind's eye, one after another. You could clearly feel his fingers inside you, his thumb circling and massaging your most sensitive spot so charmingly,  like the most precious pearl, but in your mind, you were in a completely different place, and you knew that you owed it to him and his intoxicating demeanor. His muscular body hovering over you, rumpled bedsheets, loud moans, your long fingernails on his broad shoulders — how he kept thrusting into you, filling you up completely, and the wonderfully demonic eyes that glowed so brightly above you.

The various sensations nearly drove you insane, and you let out a loud moan as the images gradually blurred into a massive splash of colors, and you found yourself back in the club. The waves of the impending orgasm towered over you relentlessly, like a giant house of cards, and you felt that you would be buried under it any moment. And as you looked at him, you realized that one thing in your erotic short film — in which you had simply cast him as the main character — was real. The desire in his burning eyes. He stared at you like a hungry predator, and it dawned on you that it was just because of what he was doing to you — right in the middle of the club.

"If only you knew," his fingers moved faster inside you, his thumb massaging your clit incessantly, you almost lost your mind, "how much I’d like to fuck you right here on this table."

And that was it. His words were the trigger, the fateful gust of wind that brought the house of cards crashing down. Your orgasm overwhelmed you with the intensity of a comet, only to have you find yourself moments later in a consuming sea of flames. You completely lost touch with the sense of space and time, gripping his thigh with all your strength, as your muscles tightened around his fingers; as long as your orgasm lasted until it gradually subsided, and you managed to regain control over the incessant trembling.

Your gaze blurred, your breath in gasps, sweat ran down your neck and lingered somewhere between your breasts. You had absolutely no clue what had just happened and whether anyone had noticed, but to be honest, you didn't really care. You looked at this incarnate devil, who had just given you an incredible orgasm with just his fingers. He smiled a heavenly devilish smile, revealing a row of perfectly white teeth with unusually sharp cuspids. Fangs. It almost looked like he had fangs, you realized, as his red lips burned upon yours, but you hadn't tasted them yet, and without batting an eye or giving him any chance to stop you, you pressed your lips against his.

His body no longer had the strength to push you back. He tasted your lips, savored your sweet scent, and buried his hand in your long hair. As you let out a soft moan into his mouth, he wrapped his arm around your waist and with a fluid motion, positioned you straddling his lap. Once again, you gasped as his warm tongue invaded your mouth, hungry for more. He completely threw you off balance, and your organized thoughts fluttered chaotically, intertwining into an uncontrollable mess, leaving you fearing you would never be able to sort them out again.

You had once again gambled too high. You had absolutely no chance against him.

You could feel his smile against your lips, before he reluctantly let go, the connection between your wet lips remained unbroken until the very last second, as if they were glued together. 

"Miguel," his eyes gleamed; the chaos of hair practically begged for you to grab onto it with your fingers. "Miguel O'Hara," he introduced himself, his deep, passionate voice vibrating almost in your chest.

You didn’t realize how you told him your name as his hands slipped under your dress, clutching your round butt, squeezing slightly, which you acknowledged with a low moan. It took seconds; within seconds you were aroused again, in a cruel way, not least because his hard cock pressed through his pants against your throbbing pussy.

"It’s a pleasure, y/n" There was something indescribable burning in his eyes, something dangerous. He enjoyed playing just as much as you did; after all, you had often been the one to almost cruelly tease men and then leave them high and dry, halfway through, just to prove something to yourself.

And in that moment, in this strange moment, in which you sat there so horny, with wild, tousled mane and in that skin-tight dress, on the lap of one of the most attractive and simultaneously most dangerous men you had ever seen in your life, you didn't know whether his tempting suggestions, like a deep fantasy, now planted in your mind, would be followed by actions, or if your karma would thwart your plans and leave you here all alone, in this incredibly aroused state...

[asa-do-your-thing]

Mine is the Vengeance

18+ MINORS DNI (Dark)Aemond Targaryen x F!Reader (/OC, hair colour is mentioned), mentioned Aegon x F!Reader 3.8k Warnings: DEAD DOVE I REPEAT DEAD DOVE, dubcon, noncon, blowjob, cunnilingus, P in V sex, smut duh, derogatory language, sexism, parent-child incest mentioned, as always no proofreading no nothing

Time had seemed to slow around you. Biting back tears, you flinched every time Queen Alicent took another section of your dark locks to braid them sweetly up onto your head, creating a beautiful updo. Two moons had passed since you’d been married, and it was common knowledge that Prince Aemond Targaryen had only ever touched you on your wedding night, refusing to interact with you more than he had to, only the two of you and Queen Alicent knowing why.

It was not your fault, you thought to yourself and sighed. You were not to be blamed. Though still, you had to be grateful that he stepped up the way he did. A true Prince, you thought with a tiny sneer.

“‘Tis alright, my dear, he can be peculiar about your… previous duties to King Aegon. It is now in your responsibility to give him a son, seeing as… the realm does not have a clear successor. To keep the peace, you’ll gift Prince Aemond a little son, so that Jaehaera can marry someone befitting her position,” Alicent whispered soothingly, yet the frigid coldness of her voice did not soothe you at all.

Ah yes, having to give your husband your body, because your rapist is burnt and broken beyond repair, so no heirs may follow. Wonderful. Wonderfully splendid news indeed. Though, with a resigned nod, you accepted the Queen Mother’s dubious advice and flinched as she pinned your veil into your braids.

“Now you look beautiful enough for him. Go now, child, and do what must me done. And oh, before I forget it - do give him one of the smiles that enraptured King Aegon so. You know, he told me that that was the reason why he… paid you such attention. He always used to ramble on about your smile. Now go, child, go, and show Aemond how pretty you can be.”

With a lingering trace of hesitation, you rose from the stool, your royal dress rustling softly against the stone floor. The reflection on the grand mirror struck you; you were a vision of pure elegance and regality, every inch the consort of a prince. As you walked towards the door, Alicent's words rang in your ears, "...show Aemond how pretty you can be."

The long hallway leading to your marital chambers seemed like an endless path. It was as though each step echoeed back into the silence, reminding you of your duty and what had to happen for you to walk this shameful path. Aegon, drunk. Aegon, sobbing. Aegon calling you ‘Mother’ while he held you down onto the mattress.

Aegon, who had screamed at you. Aegon, who after having received an earful by the Hand, Lord Otto Hightower, rashly betrothed you to Prince Aemond. Aegon, who caused all of your and Aemond’s misery. Though… it was your misery, first and foremost. Aemond never had to cry because Aegon had ripped him up because he was too drunk and eager. You clutched the delicate fabric of your gown, feeling knots in your stomach. Swallowing hard, you lifted your hand to knock on the door.

Prince Aemond sat his desk, engrossed in scrolls bearing news of the current situation across Westeros. Alliances, Troop movements and such things. He looked up as you enter, his violet eyes betraying surprise before he quickly masked it with hateful indifference. His gaze travelled over your form, taking in your carefully arranged hair and the gown that fell around you like a dark green waterfall.

"Are we receiving guests?", he asked with a hint of sarcasm in his cold voice. Your heart fluttered uneasily but summoning all the courage you had left, you flashed him a radiant smile - one that was reportedly fondly spoken about by King Aegon himself. Maybe… maybe he’d play along, just this once…

"No," you replied softly, moving closer to where he sat. "I just thought... perhaps..."

You trailed off, aware that your cheeks were red with embarrassment. He regarded you for a moment longer before sighing and setting aside his papers. He stood to his full height and stepped closer to you, glowering down from his not insignificant height.

“Did the Queen Mother send you?”

Clenching and unclenching your fists, you nodded gently. “Yes, my Prince. I was to, well I still am to… fulfill my duty.”

The Prince looked down at you with a blank face, before disgust took over his fine, Targaryen features. Stepping ever closer to you, he held you by your wrists and looked you over, like cattle in the markets.

“Hm. Wouldn’t it be the greatest way to show my dear brother, the King, that I despise what he had done by just not touching you? Hm? So that I’ll be the next in line? Hm. I doubt that the Queen Mother really wished for me to bed you. Maybe you are just such a harlot that you’ve decided that you neded to get your fill again, now that my darling brother is burnt and crippled?”

His words stung, every syllable colored with venom. Your eyes welled up, threatening to spill over with unshed tears. Your heart clenched as he let go of your wrist. You turned away from him, unable to bear the scorn etched on his face.

“No,” you whispered lost in the silence of the room. “I am not a harlot,” you affirmed more firmly, turning back to him, your chin held high even as your eyes betrayed an ocean of hurt. “You know I am not. You know exactly what the King has done. Does that truly make me a whore? And I came here because it is my duty. Whether you choose to fulfill yours or not is up to you.”

Aemond crossed his arms over his chest, appearing unmoved by your heartfelt plea. But you saw something flicker in his eyes, a spark of understanding perhaps? It was quickly extinguished by a cold hardness that made you shiver despite the warmth of the room.

“Your duty?” he echoed, his tone laced with mockery and bitterness. “What a pleasant duty it must be for you – first my brother and now me?”

He began pacing around the room, looking more like a caged beast than a prince. You watched him quietly, feeling small and insignificant beneath his irate gaze.

After a long silence that felt like ages, Aemond stopped before the hearth, its flames casting ominous shadows on his face making him appear more dragon than man. He finally said in an eerily calm voice, “I will take you, then. Take you in every way known to man. You’ve been a whore once, so why not be a whore now? Give me my damned son and then you can go and fuck my corpse-like brother again for all I care.”

The words hit you like an ice-cold gust of wind in winter's heart. The world seemed to crumble around you as you grappled with the gravity of his words.

“My Prince, Prince Aemond,” you implored softly. But a single glare from him stopped your protest. “As you wish, my Prince.”

Silence between the two of you spread as the two of you stared at each other, not quite knowing what to do now.

“Take off your clothes, but be slow. With every piece of clothing that you lose you shall tell me what my brother had done to you. Tell me all about yourself and your wonderfully wretched body, my dearest Lady Wife,” he murmured and sank into a chair with a small smirk, pouring himself a cup of wine.

You felt like a deer caught in the glare of a predator, frozen and terrified. But this was your duty, as painful and degrading as it was. Each slow inhale and exhale felt like a shard of ice piercing your lungs as you reluctantly began to unlace your dress from the back. As the fabric loosened, you began to speak, each word echoing sharply in the silent room.

"His hands...he was rough with them," you started, trying to keep your voice steady. "He tore at my clothes with an eagerness that scared me."

The room was silent except for your voice and the soft rustling of fabric. The first layer of your dress fell to the ground, pooling around your feet. You could feel Aemond's gaze on you, cold and unyielding.

"He pinned me down in the council chambers...," you continued, paling slightly at the memory. "His breath stank of wine... he didn't even look at me... not really. I was two and ten, I’ve not even flowered then."

As you spoke, another layer fell away. You stood before him shivering slightly, feeling naked despite being partially clothed, your veil tickling you softly.

Your eyes met Aemond's gaze and for a moment, there was silence - a tense void filled with resentment, hatred – but also a seed of understanding that seemed to have sprouted from his icy demeanor.

“He didn't care about me... I was just an object to him,” you whispered, stepping out of your last dress, standing there like a doll, which some girl used to dress up, as you stood there in your shift, your hose and your luxurious headdress. “He always wanted me to tell him that I loved him. All while he was fucking me, scraping my face against stones, letting me bleed.”

Aemond’s eyes widened slightly at your statement while his jaw clenched tight. He downed the rest of his cup in one go and sat onto the bed, motioning you to come forth.

“That sounds like you were not a whore at all… but your gasps and moans were heard all through the Red Keep. Why did I always have to listen to your moans, never your sobs? Why did I even have to see you bouncing on his cock, tits out as if you were on the street of silk?” He asked slowly and bent you over his knees, methodically rolling up your shift to bare your arse to him.

All the heat rose to your face in embarrassment and anger as you tried to lie down in a more comfortable position, or, preferrably, to wriggle out of his grip completely. All you got, in return, was a hard slap against your supple arsecheeks. “Aemond! My P-prince! What are you-?”, you yelped, but were cut off by another rough spank.

"That's 'Prince Aemond' to you," he said, his tone firm. "And you will speak to me respectfully or you won't speak at all."

You bit your lip, forcing back the tears that were threatening to spill from your eyes as your face burned with shame. But under his gaze, you found the strength to continue.

"My... my moans," you choked out, swallowing dryly. "They were not of pleasure but of pain. The King... He... He enjoyed making me cry out..."

Another slap made you gasp with surprise, your body jerking under the sudden pain, your headdress jangling at the sudden motion. You glared at him, your eyes aflame with anger and hurt. But he remained stoic, his face impassive as he stared back at you.

"You were there in the shadows, watching... listening," you said bitterly. "Did it bring you pleasure too? Hearing my cries? Seeing my discomfort? Pumped your fist while I bled?"

Aemond didn't respond but his grip tightened on your wrist and for a moment his face hardened.

"Am I expected to believe that?" he asked softly. "You expect me to believe that it wasn't consensual? That you weren't enjoying yourself? You looked so serene. Like the statue of the maiden in the sept…"

His words were like a knife in your heart and you jerked away from him only to be pulled back into place by a strong hand on your shoulder.

"Look at me, woman," he commanded, forcing your head up so your eyes met his. There was a strange look in his eyes now – not quite apologetic but no longer filled with rage either. “Tell me that you’ll look at me the same way and that you will not be complaining, chattering or crying. I want you to be as serene as you were back then.”

Bile rose in the back of your throat but you nodded slowly, getting up, but yelped as Aemond ripped your shift off your body, leaving you there in your bejewelled veil and your stockings. Not for long though - he pushed you down onto his bed with a force that knocked the wind out of your lungs.

“Tell me you want me too. Tell me that you’ll be as wanton for me as you were for him,” he whispered into your ear, his long silver hair brushing over your shivering, naked form. “Don’t deny it, I know you liked it, just as you’ll like this… But I’ll be gentle, I’ll treat you like a Lady…”, he mumbled on as he fumbled with his doublet.

Was he… was your sick, twisted husband truly trying to get himself to forget that you were here against your will? That you would never truly give yourself to him or his brother?

You did not immediately reply and received another slap, this time against your mound, making you yelp. “I… uh… yes?”

"Good. That's a good girl," Aemond purred, his eye flashing dangerously in the candlelight as he worked the buttons of his doublet. "Remember, you're here to please me. You're here to make me feel like the king my brother is."

His words stung, but you chose not to respond. Instead, you lay stiffly on the bed, your eyes fixed on an intricate pattern on the ceiling, trying desperately not to think about what was about to happen.

"What happened with my brother... It doesn't matter now," Aemond said softly, interrupting your thoughts. He dropped his doublet onto the floor and moved to unbuckle his pantaloons. His eyes ran down your exposed form greedily. "I will make sure that it is different. I will make sure you enjoy this."

His hands roamed over your body — fingertips barely skimming your skin, followed by gentle caresses and soft strokes that made you shiver despite yourself. He was true to his word: he was gentle — at least so far.

"Stop it," you whispered, your voice breaking as you pulled away from him and covered yourself with your arms. "Please."

Aemond's brows furrowed in confusion — or perhaps frustration — as he looked at you questioningly.

"I said I want... I want you too," you lied through gritted teeth, forcing a smile onto your face. You had to keep him appeased — keep him from hurting you any further. "But I want you... naked too. Show me how I should touch you."

Your plea seemed to surprise him as he quickly rid himself of the last articled of clothing. “Tsk, tsk, tsk, such a wanton little wife I have. Laying there with Jewels and a modest veil covering her hair… wanting to touch me. Alright then, Lady Wife, touch me,” he tutted and pushed you back up onto your knees, his finger pressing against your chin. “And do keep your wonderful smile while you try and take me with your mouth.”

You looked down at Aemond, the glow of the draping curtains casting shadows along his chiseled body. Forcing a shaky breath through your lips, you nodded and gently wrapped your hand around his hard cock. The contact made him hiss and you glanced up through your lashes to see him watching you intently, a peculiar look in his eyes.

"Well? Don't just sit there," he growled, his fingers tangling in your hair, playing with your veil. You swallowed hard against the knot in your throat before you lowered your head down onto him, his swollen, leaking tip staring at you teasingly as you wrapped your lips around him, quickly bobbing up and down along.

But Aemond had different ideas. He guided you at a leisurely pace, drawing out the experience as he muttered deeply under his breath. His thumb brushed against your cheek, wiping away a tear that hadn't fallen yet.

"Slow down," he murmured. "I want to enjoy this." The way he spoke to you was as if he truly believed that this was what you wanted too. It was like he was coaxing you along, encouraging you like one might a timid horse.

You could feel the heat radiating off him as he pulsed subtly under your touch, his fingers relaxing their grip on your hair as if he was trying to fight against the pleasure coursing through him. His other hand fumbled for something on the side table - a small vial of sweet smelling oil - and tilted it into his palm.

"Open," he commanded softly. As much as you didn't want to obey him, fear of punishment had you complying immediately. He slowly poured the warm liquid into your mouth before pulling back slightly to watch it run down your chin and onto your heaving tits. It tasted nice, at least, you thought. At least he hadn’t hurt you too much. At least, you thought with an embarrassed blush creeping up your cheeks, it felt… okay. Not good, not great, but there had been a certain head between your thighs. Maybe it had just been the lewdness of the situation.

"That's a good girl," Aemond purred in your ear, his voice thick with lust as his cock twitched against your cheek. "Now, back to it."

You swallowed him deeper this time, taking him all the way down, your nose brushing against his pubes. He moaned approvingly, his grip on your hair tightening again as he started bucking his hips into your eager mouth in short, shallow thrusts. Your mind drifted away as you thought of anything but what was happening: the feel of sea breeze on your face, the smell of wildflowers blooming on the hills of your home, and the sound of your mother singing one of her lullabies.

Aemond's breathing became ragged and uneven above you. "I'm close," he panted, warning you just before hot, sticky seed shot into your mouth. You didn't stop until he told you to pull away, gasping for air as you wiped your face and chest with the edge of the bedspread. There was a tense silence between you both before he finally spoke up again.

"Get on all fours and spread yourself for me," he said simply. “I wish to taste you.”

As you were unpinning your veil, you felt Aemond’s big, sleek hands on your shoulders as he shook his head. “No, keep that on. I want to fuck my little doll - the doll Mother has dressed, the doll my brother has played with. But now you are mine. My pretty doll. Taking me so innocently…”, he rambled once more as he lowered himself between your trembling thighs.

Were men not supposed to be spent after their release? What was he doing to you?

You braced yourself as best as you could against the intrusion, trying not to whimper as he spread your lips apart. His tongue lapped at your clit, teasingly at first, then firmly, compelling you to arch your back and cry out in both pleasure and pain. His fingers plunged inside of you simultaneously, stretching you impossibly wide while his tongue continued its ministrations on your overly sensitive button.

"You like that, don't you?" he asked smugly, his voice full of satisfaction. "Tell me you like it."

"I... I-I," you couldn't help but moan as he pressed his face against your core harder, his tongue leaving a trail of fire along your sensitive folds.

"Say it," he growled against your thighs, his cock hardening once more against your thigh.

"I... I like it," you panted. "Oh.. oh Gods Aemond - I like it. Just like - mmph!��

His finger pushed into you to the hilt, curling and stroking inside until you were trembling on the edge of climax. "Say my name again, whore," he demanded low.

"Aemond," you gasped out, panting for breath. "I - I like it Aemond!"

He chuckled darkly against your core, his tongue flicking over your clit furiously as his fingers moved in and out of your wet channel. The waves of pleasure crashed over you like a tsunami, rendering you helpless underneath him until your back arched from the mattress and you cried out his name once more, clenching around his invading digits.

He pulled back just as quickly as he'd started, leaving you panting and drenched with sweat. "Good girl," he praised, wiping his mouth with the back of his forearm before capturing your lips in a searing kiss, forcing his tongue roughly into your mouth. As much as you hated to admit it, your body responded to him regardless of what your mind thought of him; juices slicked between your thighs as he ground against your core, hardeness poking your soft flesh.

You hated it. You loved it. You hated him. You loved him. You -

"Now let's see how tight that cunt really is," he growled against your ear before roughly rolling you onto your stomach, spreading your legs apart and plunging his length inside with one smooth motion, placing your veil over your hair in a way his mother used to do in the sept.

You could do naught but squeal and moan, trying your hardest to push him out with your cunny while tears formed in your eyes. Did he not promise to be gentle? But if you were to complain, what would he do then? What was he doing now? Your mind raced incessantly.

Would he also want to call you Mother? Suckle on your teats after he was spent? Or was he different to Aegon? Aegon would’ve finished minutes ago, you thought nervously. Why was Aemond toying with you like that?

He pulled back, almost fully before slamming in again, mercilessly repeating the motion until you were begging for mercy. "Aegon was right," he grunted as he pounded into you, grunting with each thrust. "You are tighter than a maiden!"

The mention of his brother's name sent daggers through your heart and spurred you onwards. Your walls clenched and unclenched around him, desperately trying to force him out.

"Yes," he moaned, interpreting your actions as pleasure instead of pain. “That's it my pretty doll, squeeze me tighter... tighter! Show your husband how good you can treat him!”

With a final grunt, he released his seed inside you, collapsing on top of your trembling frame. "You're mine now, doll," he panted, spent but still hard inside of you. "Mine and only mine. Put on a cloak and go show yourself to Aegon in his sickbed. Show him my dripping seed. Tell him that you’re mine." A few seconds passed before he pulled himself out of you and turned away. “I’ll see you in a month, if your blood has come again. If not, well… Fare well, until you can hand me my heir. Good night.”

[bl00dlight]

A Song of Shadow & Flame

CANON Dark! Aemond Targaryen x OC niece Targaryen. | SERIES

Warning; future chapters will include:

Graphic Violence, XXX content, Targcest, Spoilers, Canon depravity, death and war, troubling being afoot, menacing, mischief making, genocide, murder, blood, guts, dragons etc.

Word Count ~ 2k+

Index

i ●ii ● iii ● iv ● v ● vi● vii ● viii ●ix ● x ● xi ● xii ● xiii ● xiv ● xv

Prelude ~

Princess Visenya Velaryon, had always been cited as a fair & bold creature. Born in 111AC, a smile that gleamed with mischief adorned her face, marking her most like her mother Rhaenyra. She was, indeed, the picture of a Valyrian Princess, the picture of her mother – with wide eyes and demure glances which hid the current of cunning beneath. She was a but harmless thing, playful at best, impish at worse; at least so far as her grandsire King Viserys thought. Proclaimed as the Laenor Velaryon’s only daughter – the Princess did not inherit her father’s deeper skin or the ringed seafoam shaded locks of Velaryon women. Visenya in fact, did not possess many of House Velaryon' traits, both of the body and mind she seemed of true Targaryen stock, and it was but her mother Rhaenyra who knew, the young princess indeed was just that. Visenya’s impish glares and taunts were alike to that of The Rouge Prince, and to the common Lord or Lady of the court, one might think she inherited such a trait from her mother’s uncle. However, other more insidious rumours deemed Visenya a bastard of Prince Daemon’s, conceived by her mother unknowingly, right before she had wed Ser Leanor. Such rumours would be deemed, most truthful.

i - 'Old Wounds'

123 AC ~

The Princess Visenya, having but defying her mothers’ orders found her way to the Dragonpits alone, once more. She snuck through the winding caverns the soft glow of firelight shading the stone walls, her crimson dress dragging along the volcanic sand below. It was a soothing place, she thought, the warmth of the air… the smell of dragonfire which would linger upon one’s flesh, the gentle growls, and mummers of stirring Dragons. A place in which only a Targaryen might feel at ease. However, it was not the mummers of waking dragons which echoed through the caves in which Visenya heard. Her head peaked, her brow furrowing in confusion as she heard stifled sobs. Wrathful sobs.

She walked with caution, following the solemn sound until she stumbled upon him. The silver haired boy with his knees to his chest, his fists tightly scrunched. She stopped, taking in the sight, a most startling one for the Princess. Aemond.

It was only but a few hours ago that she had heard of her half-brother’s marvellous prank, allying with their eldest Uncle, Prince Aegon; to give Prince Aemond a pig instead of a dragon, to lure and taunt him just to see his face fall from glee to humiliation. Visenya had coiled with hearty laughter as her brother’s recounted the story, she longed to have been there, to see the propitious Prince Aemond faulter. However, her joy was shortly curtailed as Aemond had stumbled upon the scene, the imprint of his stern furrow upon hearing Visenya’s laughter still within her mind. Indeed, the sight she saw before her now, was unlike his affectedly stern façade – it was weak, crumbling, hurt.

The young Princess approached him softly, her face washed with a slight uncertainty.

“Aemond?” Her voice echoed quietly.

Aemond lifted his chin. A thin veil of tears dampened his lashes, his eyes red, bloodshot, and heavy with sorrow. In response, the prince simply glanced down, his expression sullen.

"I’ve no interested in your gloating." He said.

The silver haired girl raised an eyebrow. Her mouth curved upwards in a bemused smirk. "Why would I gloat? It was a rather clever prank. Regardless, it was not I who did it."

The prince’s fists clenched. His knuckles turning white as he looked up at her, his grey eyes glaring. "Yet you snickered all the same, you all laughed at my expense! I cannot forget what you all did to me, how you all..." His voice trailed off, his gaze falling to his fists. When he looked back at her, there were fresh dampness under his cheeks as his expression turn bitter.

“Leave. I should not like you reporting back to your brothers the details of my misery.” His voice a low warning.

“I had no intention to.” Visenya raised her brow, her arms folded. As she looked upon the prince she couldn’t help feeling a flicker of pity, his gaze so bitter… so wrathful. She sighed, coming down to sit beside him.

“It was a mere jest. Do not tear yourself to bits over it. Your thoughts are far harsher than the truth of it.” Her attempt at sympathy making her cringe.

“You know nothing of my thoughts!” Aemond snapped.

The air settled between them for a moment, the silence brutal as she looked to him, her hand hesitantly placing itself on his shoulder. Aemond snapped his head, his eyes narrowing as he brushed her hand away.

“I do not need your pity.” His tone curt.

The princess rose, scoffing as she extended her hand to him below. “Get up.” She spoke promptly.

His face coiled with both refusal and confusion. “What?” He snapped.

“I said, get up. If you do not need my pity, so be it. But I cannot stand to listen to your whining any longer. Come, I am visiting Silverwing, and you shall be my torch bearer.” She smiled mischievously, her hand lifting him up, then walking to another torch mounted on the stone walls, using it’s flame to set hers alight.

Visenya walked back, forcing the rough trunk of wood into his hand. “No- “His voice grating as she then shoved her hand upon his mouth. His eyes wide with shock as she crooned into his face.

“Enough of your sulking. Come. You wish for a Dragon, no? Then you ought to learn how to tend to one.”

She pulled him with her, further into the dark caverns of the Dragonpit until they came to Silverwing’s lair. “Silverwing, māzigon naejot nyke.” Visenya cooed.  Silverwing, come to me.

The sudden shake of the earth bellow accompanied the grumbling of the large beast, her silver scales gleaming by the flickering torch light. Visenya turned, glancing at Aemond, his eyes like moons boring into her dragon.

She watched as he stepped back, his neck tilting upwards, the breeze hitting his silver hair. A smug smile came to Visenya’s lips as she turned to Aemond. His face was still set in stone, his gaze hardening as he watched the great beast. "So," the princess prompted, "Are you going to pet her? Or shall you remain sulking?”

Aemond's lips parted, he was about to make a snide remark before sighing. "Of course not." He walked closer to the dragon, standing a few feet away from her. The beast was enormous, the sheer size of her body dominating the wide cave, her lithe yet robust frame looming over the two young Targaryen’s. Silverwing's grey head looked down at him, her eyes narrowing. The prince had not stopped to wonder how the dragon would react. Aemond grumbled under his breath, then took a hesitant step forward. He looked at the dragon, its shining silver scales glinting in the dim light, his breathing hitched. The Prince could not help his anxiety, he had never been so close to a dragon before… never felt its hot breath warm his skin. He moved closer, swallowing a ball in his throat.

Aemond had taken another step forward when Silverwing's body rattled with warning, her low growls causing his steps to falter, his hand tightening on the base of the torch. He would not allow himself to look away, he would not show fear, nor would he retreat. The torch cast a long shadow upon the cave walls, Silverwing’s breath rapidly increasing as he moved closer, her nostrils flaring with each exhale. The dragon's eyes did not stray from the young prince, studying his every movement as Visenya let out a soft chuckle, revelling in his rattled stance.

"She shall not bite you." An amused smirk curled upon her lips. "Silverwing, māzigon." she cooed. The dragon's head turned, her eyes focusing on the princess before she did so.

"There, you see?" Visenya asked, she looked over to him, a small part of her finding the utmost enjoyment in the nervous expression he wore. The dragon raised her chin, letting out a soft whisp of hot air from her nostrils.

Visenya’s amusement brought no pleasure to Aemond, his expression taut, his neck tilting up to look at the dragon approaching him. The dragon halted, lowering its head almost appearing as though it were sneering at the young prince. Aemond stilled, taking one step back as Silverwing’s jaw neared him. Visenya’s eyes wide with an intrigue as she watched her dragon interact with her uncle. Silverwing was indeed, sizing him out. Aemond’s chest rose, and with that he stepped back once more, folding his arm as though he were unimpressed with the beast’s size. Silverwing giving out a soft huff as she moved, her large head nudging against Visenya.

“She was Queen Alysanne’s dragon.” Aemond spoke matter-of-factly.

“You know of her histories?” The princess raised her brow.

“Unlike you, I have decidedly taken an interest in our House’s legacy. It apart of our duty.” Aemond replied, firmly.

Visenya scoffed, turning as she sauntered towards him, her arms folded as a smug smile appeared upon her lips. “I am far too busy actually flying and tending to my dragon to have time to reading of other Targaryen’s doing the same.” Her voice haughty.

“I have yet to see you do such a thing.” He furrowed his brow in disbelief.

Aemond watched as Visenya placed a gentle hand upon Silverwing, whispering a soft farewell before they exited her lair, the princess spoke smugly, “Yes, well I do not expect you to pay much attention to my doings. Regardless, I am already rather adapt, Daemon said I did not need a saddle so-“

“Daemon?” Aemond raised his brow, and Visenya shrugged, nonchalantly about the fact. “Yes.”

The young prince furrowed his brow in deep disapproval, his stern demeanour returning as he stopped, Visenya turning as he spoke.

“Uncle should know better than to allow such a thing.” He barked. Visenya stepped forward scoffing. “So? Those bloody Maesters- “

Aemond stepped closer, his voice overlapping hers. “Those Maesters are doing their duty in making sure you are equipped to ride properly. You ought not to be going on saddleless joyrides with Uncle Daemon.” The Prince stared sharply, unyielding.

“Are you to tell on me?” The princess gritted her teeth.

A disenfranchised look came to Aemond’s face, he spoke more like a father scolding his daughter than a boy of her own age “Daemon is not fit to minding you. You are a Princess of the Relam, if anything were to happen-“

Princess Visenya’s eyes widened in both panic and fury, she could not have the precious time she spent with her father ruined by Aemond’s incessant need to dob. “But nothing did happen! If you dare speak a word of this I shall tell my brothers that I had caught you sobbing and sulking in the Dragonpits all by yourself… like a helpless, pathetic babe whining for its mother.” She interrupted.

“Do not dare.” He sneered, his gaze lowering.

“Swear you shall not tell.” Her voice raised, stern. Silence fell between the two as their gazes pierced into each other, they stood opposed in the darkened space. “Swear it.” Her tone sharp.

He said nothing, the silence lingered as he felt his strength faulter. “Fine.”

The two Targaryen’s did not speak again as they walked up out from the Pit’s entrance. Visenya’s eyes expanding in a deep trepidation as she was met with the folded arms of her mother, Rhaneyra’s face stern. “It may please you to know that you’ve had every guard and servant forced to abandon their duties so they may search for you.” Rhaneyra’s voice echoed at the carven entrance, her head tilted downwards as she gazed into the calculatedly soft eyes of her daughter.

“I had told you where I wished to go.” Visenya lowered her gaze in sweet self-admittance as her mother shook her head.

Rhaenyra spoke firmly to remind the young Princess her mother was indeed, well aware of her charmed tongue, often used to evade trouble. "And I had told you no more leisure trips to the Dragonpits without an escort.” Rhaneyra’s doubled down as the young Princess protested. “But mother- “

Rhaneyra’s tone softens as she steps forward, placing a hand upon her daughter's shoulder. “Visenya, I worry for you.”

Visenya turned her head, gesturing to the seemly meek Aemond which stood behind her “But I was not alone. Prince Aemond had accompanied me.” Visenya gave the young prince a narrowing gaze, subliminally signalling for him to nod; he did. The future Queen could not help but tilt her head, a small warmth in her chest as finally, it seemed there may be hope for some level of kinship between her own and Alicent’s children.

Rhaenyra regained focused once more, her voice almost lenient, “Aemond is but a year your prior and the King’s young son no less, tis not his duty to protect you. And while I am glad of the peace the two of you have forged...” Rhaenyra sighed softly, and shook her head a little, clearly unimpressed. “I will not have my only daughter risking her life to get to the Dragonpits, without a proper escort. The streets are most unpredictable, my girl.” She shuddered.

“I did not take the streets.” Visenya protested, a small smile upon her face as though the news would be pleasing to her.

Rhaenyra frowned, stepping forward to Aemond as her concern reignited as she gazed at them both, “You took the passages?" She leaned towards her daughter, her voice hushed so that her half-brother would not hear. "I ought to have the mind to bar you in your chambers until the moon turns!” Rhaneyra's tone hardened once more.

Visenya looked down, her gaze ruminating on the floor as her mother’s tone grew stern, there was a pause; she felt embarrassment coil within her, why must mother do this in front of him, she thought. Rhaenyra sighed as she noted her daughter’s meek demeanour she let her frustration dissipate, she did not dare scold her own child in front of her half-brother.  Aemond noticed the tension ease between them, he remained still, his arms held behind his back as he watched Visenya. Satisfaction bloomed within him; he’d never seen her so… passive.  

Rhaenyra yielded, her tone softening, “You must take an escort, sweet girl. I’ve little desire to strip you of your freedoms, so do not force me to do so.” Visenya looked up, her pale violet eyes meeting those of her mother, Rhaenyra placed a gentle hand upon her daughter’s head, stroking her silver hair.

Visenya gave a small and conceded, “Yes, mother…”

As the moment came to an end, Rhaneyra’s gaze came to the young green prince before her, Alicent’s son… her father’s son… her younger brother.

Aemond shuffled under his sister’s gaze, they had hardly ever spoken all he knew was that she bore bastards, that she was the King’s favoured child. Rhaenyra spoke again, clearing her throat. “Come, the both of you. I fear the Queen, has sent for your whereabouts, Aemond.”

With that, the three Targaryen's took to exit the Dragonpits, not another word was uttered.

○ii○

[recursiveimpulse]

[drift] for sender to let their hand trail from receiver's shoulder to their lower back. [Lark prolly asked if he could touch the weird purple skin and of course he gonna choose to toucha the back with his calloused hands.]

With his robe still secured at the waist, Viktor nodded his quiet assent for Lark to come closer, facing away from him. From his left shoulder, sloping diagonally to the opposite hip, the robe hung loose and left the strange skin bare. He was aware of Lark’s steady breathing behind him. Aware of the great bulk of him as he stepped closer, towering over Viktor and blocking out the light from the doorway.

It didn’t feel particularly intrusive. Perhaps because his body no longer felt like his body: it felt like a vessel, a machine. Something he’d been placed inside rather than something that had grown with him. In some ways that was what he had always wanted. Before, on nights where he lay coughing and shaking in a restless fit of agony, he would imagine himself rising out of his body into a vast expanse of starlight and darkness. Pure consciousness suspended in perfect pitch that did not feel cold or pain or exhaustion. This was not that. He didn’t miss his broken, pained body of before, but neither did he feel connected to the new one.

Nor to anything at all.

Lark’s palm touched his shoulder blade. Gingerly at first, like he wasn’t sure about it despite Viktor’s agreement, then steadier. It would have sent shivers down his spine if he’d still had true flesh: no one had ever touched him like this, not outside of a medical setting. It was strange to be touched without being tested and stranger still that there was no pain, no pleasure, just a sense of pressure and—something like static, maybe, building under what passed for his skin now. He could feel vaguely how rough Lark’s skin was. Years of hard living, maybe a whole lifetime. When he closed his eyes against the light and the small shack that surrounded them, he could almost imagine this happening in another life, where he could feel it properly instead of a poor approximation. His body as it was now processed sensory information differently. It was a poor translation.

Lark’s fingers trailed lower, like he was studying the strange grooves in Viktor’s skin, pressing harder to feel the resistance there: like lukewarm metal. Here and there, seemingly at random, sensation returned in flashes: Viktor felt more keenly the brush of Lark’s fingertips closer to his spine than anywhere else. It rose the same strange, staticky feeling all over him, like a charge waiting to unleash. Was Lark repulsed, he wondered, by how skeletal Viktor was now? There were parts of him that were little more than metallic bone. Sometimes he wondered if he could be cut open, and what would be there if he could.

At the dip of his back the sensation returned with a sensitive violence and Viktor twitched, turning slightly towards Lark but unable to meet his gaze.

Until now, he’d been fairly certain he couldn’t cry. The Hexcore had taken that from him, along with much of his emotional experience. But when a lump formed in what was left of his throat and he had to turn away from his companion again, he understood that wasn’t true. Whatever the Hexcore had done to him in his own world, it had little grasp over him now. And with that came frightening knowledge: that he could feel, at least emotionally, and that being around Lark was returning that ability to him in slow, small pieces.

“I, ah. I’m fine. It’s not you,” he said shakily, still facing away. But he couldn’t seem to say what was wrong.

[softmangoes]

13 moons | ivory wraith x pc

18+ only | for @velvetburnt

i. the first time that the wraith senses you is when you step into the lake, shivering at the cold nipping at your skin. even meters deep in the rubble and the ruin, he can feel the familiar shape of your soul separated from him by rock and water and far too much time. he places a palm against the weathered stone, longing.

ii. when the veil that separates your world from his thins, the night bathed in red, he roams the streets searching for you. in life, the both of you were inseparable. in this undeath, there is a faint line tethering your souls together woven by the hands of fate and weathered by time. just before the dawn sun rises, he finds you sleeping in your bed. his mouth curls into a gentle smile, relieved. he trails a pale finger along your face before he departs.

iii. each visit, he grows stronger, more corporeal. perhaps his longing for you has only emboldened the horrible gifts that have been bestowed upon him. perhaps he has endured far too long without you in his arms. or perhaps he is hungry and he must feed.

iv. when he successfully lures you into his lair, pulling on the tether connecting you to him like a fisher with their line, he cannot help but hold you in awe. "finally," he breathes, voice sonorous as it reverberates throughout the ruined temple. "we are together again."

v. there is fear in your eyes, but fear is a fleeting thing - a temporary inconvenience in the face of so much time. love is eternal, enduring. do you understand, droplet? he would never hurt you, but he is so very hungry. his tentacles kiss your skin, their bruising suckers coaxing moans from your sweet mouth. oh, how he's missed the taste of you. he slips inside you. oh, how he's missed your warmth.

vi. to his surprise, you come for him next. "i know you're here," you say, skin dripping from the dive. your voice echoes throughout the rubble and while he can see you, the veil is too thick for him to manifest. "i know that it wasn't a dream." there is hunger in your eyes, an ache as fathomless as his. ah. so you've been thinking about him, then. the blood moon is soon. he cannot answer you now, but he will then.

vii. you do not struggle. at least, not against him. when you enter his domain, your eyes clear for a moment. "i know you," you say, beholding him. for a moment, he feels self conscious. he has changed so much since your souls last embraced. do you find him monstrous in his undeath, he wonders, with his many limbs and endless tendrils? do you find him horrible, with his teeth and tongue aching for you? will you shy away?

viii. you do not. instead, you wrap your arms around his cold neck and tangle your fingers in his pale hair. his many hands caress you gently while his lips lock with yours. he can taste your desire, your ache, your fear, your confusion and he eats them whole. the waves chew and all will make sense in time.

ix. the tentacle inside you thickens, making the walls echo with your whine as your pleasure crests. in life, he had only ever dreamed of touching you like this. in this undeath, he can listen to the siren song of your need for him forever. the wraith lifts your body high in the air, tentacles wet and writhing around you, so that he can bring his mouth between your thighs. his tongue is long and cold and it does not take much effort to make you shiver.

x. "i will take care of you, droplet." his voice is sweet, echoing like a long-lost song within the confines of your mind. when you kiss him, you taste the coolness of the lake's water lapping at your skin. "we will never part." the specter holds your hips in his large hands and sinks inside you. you gasp at the pressure, the stretch, but his other hands rub tenderly at your nipples and his mouth is so gentle against yours. you let the tide take you.

xi. "i have dreamed of this," he says. so have you, ever since the first night he took you. at first, you were frightened, terrified of your limbs moving on their own accord, but somehow, it all made sense when they brought you to him. somehow, deep down, you knew that you were where you meant to be. you rock against him, his mouth swallowing your moans as he fills you with the need you've been longing for your entire life.

xii. "who are you?" a pair of glowing blue eyes flick to yours. "i am who i have always been," he says, trailing his fingers along your skin. his touch is cool, like the waters of the lake, but not cold. you are both lying together on a bed of dried reeds and his many tentacles. you roll over to straddle his massive form. his gaze roams the expanse of your body and his eyes darken with a hadopelagic hunger. you brace your hand against his torso as you rub against his length. his tentacles wrap around you and his lips part in ecstasy, giving you your answer. "i am yours."

xiii. the night has ended far too soon. in his undeath, time is all he has ever had, but the next moon cannot come quickly enough. he sets you back in your bed and already he misses you. can you feel it, he wonders. can you feel his tendrils wrapping around the edges of your soul to claim you as his in the lifetimes to come? they taste the need within you. they taste the hearts that have softened yours. but alas, dear droplet, he has nothing but time. others may hold your affection, but there is no love as unrelenting, as inevitable, as the tide for its shore.

[ghostssweetgirl]

So similar to what I last requested but with König? 👀

Ohhh mmyyyy 😍I'm sorry this took so long lol CW: P in V sex, Oral (m receiving), they're both kinda switches idk, and probably terribly translated German (let me know if I got any wrong), creampie, if I missed any let me know, not proofread

König x Fem Reader

3 months on a mission was too long, simply. He pulled into the driveway, sluggishly getting out of his vehicle with all of his gear still equipped. He dragged his feet to the front door where he was greeted with your beautiful smile.

"Oh, Meine Liebe," he muttered. "I missed you so much."

"I missed you, baby," you smiled, looking up at him and wrapping your arms around his torso in a tight hug. "Come on! Get inside!"

You basically dragged him into the house, slamming the door shut behind you. Here you were, pulling a man over twice your body size and weight to your bedroom, and he was happily following along. As you enter the bedroom, you cup his face through his mask, looking into his tired, blue eyes that always held such a loving gaze when he looked upon you.

You reached through the fabric and unbuckled his helmet first, taking it off of him. You kept smiling as you reached down to unclip his vest and holsters, which he ended up having to help you. He softly chuckled at your fingers fiddling with the straps until you finally freed his toned body of it. You took off his arm guards before he was left in his tac jacket. He sighed at the relief, snapping his neck to either side as you heard the bones crack.

"My tired baby," you cooed, standing on your tip-toes to undo the first few buttons of his jacket before finally pushing it off. He leans back, stretching his body before sitting down at the edge of the bed, kicking his boots off in the process.

"Come here, Schatz," he held his hands out across his lap, which you were quick to jump in. You sat for a moment with your arms wrapped around his shoulders, resting on his chest as he rubbed your back, engulfing you with his tight embrace.

You lift the veil, revealing him in his black balaclava underneath. His silver eyes looked into yours, heavy with desire. You lean down, kissing the bridge of his nose until you reach the lower tip. Your thumbs reach up, slowly lifting the mask off of his face. Revealing the handsome face he showed to only you. You kiss every inch of skin that was exposed to you playfully, but lovingly. Slow and teasing. He softly chuckles underneath you before he grasps you jaw with a gentle hand, pulling you into a very heated kiss.

Your hands return the same needy grasp, holding him tenderly as you melt into each dance of the lips. It wasn't long before you were pushing him on his back, taking over the kiss. You sighed into his mouth as he let out little whimpers becoming needy for you. No matter how tired he was, you always found a way to drive him crazy, even in the smallest things you do for him.

You kiss down his jaw, to his neck before sucking on his collarbone. His hips jolted at the sudden pleasure as you nipped lightly on his skin. Your hands snaked under his shirt, easing it upwards to remove it.

"Ah- shit, baby, I missed you so much, meine Süße," he muttered, softly hissing as your nails slightly raked against his abs. At this point, his arms gone slack, held out above his head. You carefully tore the shirt off of him, watching his toned chest heave as he breathed heavily. Your knee found its way between his legs, teasing a little bit of friction to his crotch, as your lips trailed down his Adonis body. You snuck a little nip at his puffed nipple, and the whimper he elicited from his mouth was beyond heavenly. "Bitte-oh, don't tease, baby..."

"Yeah?" you mocked him, a smirk creeping up your lips. "Okay baby..." You licked down his toned stomach, tracing the outlines of his abs before you got to his pelvis. You hurriedly undone his belt before unbuttoning his trousers, and letting his cock spring free, raging with a pearly bead of precum, which you greedily lapped up, reveling in the whiny moans he was making.

He begged for you to take him into your mouth, and you could never say no to those pretty little requests. You giggle as you lick underneath the thick tip of his cock, tracing along the veins underneath it before your supple lips wrapped around it, sucking harshly on it. Your movements were in tandem to his breathless moans, bobbing your head up and down as you gauged his reactions, doing what he liked best. Your hands wrapped around the base, the majority of what you couldn't fit in your mouth, sensually jerking him off in the same rhythm.

"Baby, I am so needy, more, need more of you, please~."

"Mmm," you hum approvingly of his neediness. You scoot back, standing up to rid yourself of your own pants and undergarments before straddling him. You sat on his thick cock, you rock yourself on his length while you spread your slickness along it. His hands grip your hips hard enough to leave bruises by tomorrow as he shoots his head up, brows furrowed as they silently begged for you to sit on it.

"You... you tease," he rasped as you prodded the tip at your entrance, sinking down just enough to barely rut into you before you sat back up, leaving yourself empty. "Mein Liebling, please don't make me go crazy... You know I need you, right now... Give it to me, Schatz, ahh~."

He clenched his teeth as you sank down halfway, having to slow down to give yourself time to adjust.

You gasp out at the stretch, holding onto his tense shoulders for leverage. "Fuck, König."

"Always so good for me, ja? Feels so fucking good, Maus," he chuckled as he soon held himself up with one hand, one large arm wrapping around your waist, gripping onto the fat of your ass before he started meeting your thrusts from underneath, pushing more of his cock into you making you see stars. You started losing your composure, eyes rolling into the back of your head as your moans soon overpowered his. "Oh? You're already close, huh? Mm.." He growled into your ear as he picked up the pace. Your body went limp, he soon held you up by your knee, stretching your leg out, furthering himself inside of you.

"König! I, oh my God!" you wailed as you felt such a warm wave of pleasure erupting through you like fire and ice, your nails sunk into his skin as you came undone, and he followed soon after, pumping every last drop into you, grunting as he was catching his breath.

"My, my," he chuckled, pulling you down to lay across his chest. Though it was sweaty, you just couldn't care right now. "I missed you, meine Liebe."

Meine Liebe - my love

Schatz - darling

meine Süße - my sweet

Bitte - please

Ja- yes

Maus - mouse

[satanwritesfanfiction]

Jacob Seed •°• Hazy moments △SMUT△

Title: Hazy moments

Rating: Explicit, smut, pwp

Category: F/M

Fandom: Far Cry 5

Relationship: Jacob seed x F!reader

Characters: Jacob seed, reader

Tags/ triggers: dubious consent, bliss, on the desk, p in v, knife kink only mentioned, praise, voice kink

Word count: 1560

a/n: not the best but still posting it

Adrenaline spiking in your veins, flashes of red, memories... Something akin to anger pulsing and a lifeline, the words worn down in your skin.

"Perfect, good, yes." Spoke with so much reverence and you would follow it anywhere. The light within the dark void, the saviour within the mist.

You felt static at the tips of your fingers, a dullness within your head, and a sudden soft pressure on your stomach as Jacob held you to his chest.

There was a different aspect to watching you come to in his arms, covered in blood and grime and muscles taut as you blinked through the motions, pliable under the circumstances but still rigid. His lips were at your neck as he waited, the image of patience as he waited for your mind to clear some before he would do any more.

Your eyes blinked down, his arm wrapped around your torso, pistol still held firmly in your hand and your fingers twitched, gun falling to the ground with a sudden sound that made your body jump slightly. You frowned at the object, blinking much more rapidly as you found that your eyes had a burn to them.

"Shh..." The voice pressed against you again, feeling his fingers slip into yours and held it firmly, kicking the weapon away in a quick motion. "You're safe now, you're home."

You felt your body relax against him some, leaning against a firm chest. Your head twisted to the side and took in the image, familiarity bloomed once he was in view, a calmness spreading as you turned.

"You did so well." He spoke, softly moving a strand of hair behind your ear as he watched for the haze within your eyes to show some clarity.

Something swirled within your stomach at the praise, pressing your fingers to his chest and feeling the rough fabric of his jacket underneath it, taking in more detail in be the second. Recognition. Familiarity. Repetition.

You blinked up at him, soft lines as he regarded you, blue eyes that could only belong to him and lips, oh his lips that could have you on your knees in a moment's notice, that can have you shaking just the same.

You lifted yourself slightly to meet him, lips pressed against his in a less than coordinated way, which he made up for in turn as his hands wrapped around your upper arms. The moment was intoxicating, addicting, jagged motions as you searched for more of him, your body following the path which your lips had set as you pressed closer to him.

His arms wrapped around you, pressing your body flush to his as his lips started getting more insistent, dragging more from you as the environment came to you, until he pressed you against the desk in the middle of the room. Papers be damned as they fell, his attention solely on you.

Hands struggled to make a decision as they pressed and prodded against the other's body, drinking in the moment under a veil of urgency. His fingers wrapped around the hem of the shirt you were wearing, now marred and discoloured compared to a few days ago, pulling it from your body with your help.

His hands smoothed over your skin, swallowing once he cupped your breasts. He admired the fill of them in his hands before curling his fingers around the flimsy material keeping most of them hidden and reaching for his knife. He slipped the metal between your breasts, knife edge faced towards him as he quickly sawed through the material and watched as they spilled freely.

He watched for your expression as he pressed the knife against your skin, running it across the curve of your breasts, no remnants of fear or worry in your skin as your nipples hardened. Something to explore another day when he hadn't been hard just from watching you run the trial.

He quickly dropped the knife to the desk and harshly fought with the button on your pants, needing to free you of all these layers and feel the clench of you.

Once he had your pants and underwear around your thighs, he took hold of your hips, flipping you onto your stomach as if you didn't weigh a thing. He was quick to press against your backside, hardness grinding into the flesh of your ass as he pressed a chaste kiss to your shoulder.

"Such an obedient little thing." He commented, fingers slipping under you to run through your slit and then slip into you. You closed your eyes at the feeling, a soft content sound slipping past your lips at the slow sensation of him touching you. "So good for me."

You whimpered softly when he retracted, stayed in place as you heard the zipper and shuffle of material. He quickly lined up to your cunt, hand pressed into your hip as he popped the head of his cock into you, fingers clenching at the feel of your cunt sucking him in. His hips jerked as he worked you open, jaw clenched at the tightness of you until he rested at the hilt, taking a breath as his hands slipped over your bare back, images and ideas swirling in his head until he found one he could settle on, fingers wrapping around the back of your neck to keep you in place before thrusting once, revelling in the sound that slipped past your lips at the sudden movement.

You always took it so well, sound slipping from your lips, that he always made a feeble attempt to silence at the start, perhaps just for the control of it all rather than the danger it posed when the sounds reached beyond the door. His fingers slipped from your neck and wrapped over your mouth before he pressed a kiss to your shoulder.

"Wouldn't want them to come see what the commotion is about." He started, like he had done before, a little less conviction behind it every time. He didn't mind either way, but he did like the way the words made you clench around him every time. "Wouldn't want them finding you like this, would you?"

He would wager there was a part of you that did want it if judging solely by your reactions, but it was a subject yet to be breached once you were coherent, still he made the effort to laud the option Over your head while he pressed into your heat.

Your eyes clenched as he pressed into you, sensation baked into your veins with every movement of his cock inside of you, body craving more from him with every moment that past, more reminders, more memories, more cries, more of him filling you to your skull. Your body rocked into the desk, bare as the day you were born with his hand muffling your cries, a feeble attempt that was more for show at this point when you think of all the times you had cried out to him, and he had egged you on.

You felt like you were floating, not yet fully awake within your limbs but feeling the motions through a slight haze as the sensation returned to your limbs, all you could be certain of was the pressure between your legs and the way your stomach was tensing.

Your fingers wrapped around the edge of the desk, wetness gathering on your cheek at the prospect, at the way you needed to fall. His hand slipped from your lips, resting firmly at your hips as his own snapped into you with renewed vigor, chasing the same high you were moments away from experiencing.

"Jacob… Please..." You cried into the air, a ragdoll as you shifted on the desk as his hips snapped.

"Come for me, (Y/n). " He grunted, fingers shifting towards your shoulders and used the leverage to push you back on him. "Be a good girl for me... Come on..."

You could imagine that he didn't know the power his words had on you, in and out of the trials, or he did with the way you always abided. Your cries had lost all coherence, babbling nonsense into the air as you stood on the precipice, feeling the sudden spike when you fell into the abyss.

Your body tensed, thighs shaking as you clenched around him, body running through the motions while you screamed into the room. A few moments before he could physically move again, fucking into you now as he chased his own release, finding that it wasn't a few ways off as he came pressed into you, twitching as his warmth spread within you.

It was a few moments, and he pulled his cock from your sensitive cunt, feeling the high leak down your thighs. It was a beautiful sight watching the scene before him, the perfection of you obediently pressed to his desk and his high on your skin. You were his, and he would find it extremely hard to consider an alternative.

He pulled your body upright, letting you sit on the desk, exhaustion within your eyes, and he took the time to make sure you were alright. A glass of water pressed to your lips, soft touches running down your back. He would look after you as you look after the project when you are under.

You can support me on Ko-fi.

Masterlist

[pedropascallme]

Your Toki writing is fantastic! You should write him more! Maybe a smut one shot where he's married and desperate to get his wife pregnant? 👀

Honeymooning

Pairing: Toki Wartooth x f!Reader

Summary: "Toki wanted kids. He wanted them bad."

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), p in v sex, dirty talk, breeding kink, slightly dom!Toki (you're welcome), creampie. If I missed anything please let me know!

AN: Eeeee thank you for the love <3 I love writing Toki content. This prompt had me...excited. To say the least. I thought I'd be able to make this a drabble but it is, in fact, almost 2K words. I'm not sorry!!

You had always pictured a small, intimate wedding ceremony; delicate floral arrangements and lace, a pianist to play you down the aisle, a handful of your closest friends to help you prepare for the event of a lifetime. It was your dream to get married, to find the person you were destined to be with and have a lavish but appropriate ceremony to honor the love you had found in each other.

Any semblance of traditionalist thought you had put into your dream wedding went out the window when Toki proposed to you. Immediately, the two of you decided to go all out. While there were some things at the wedding recognizable from your childhood fantasies—your loved ones there to support you, your dress lacy and with a long train, the flowers just the color you had wanted—it was something entirely new, and much more fitting for who you were now as an adult. There had been something kind of funny about seeing the rest of the band act so dapper; they promised to behave for a whole 24 hours to ensure that the wedding went off without a hitch. Nathan had even worn his glasses in order to watch the vows closely from his spot at Toki’s side, and Skwisgaar didn’t throw in any veiled insults in his best man speech. And the whole time, Toki was squeezing your hand, eyes glued to you in admiration and disbelief that he finally had everything he wanted.

Almost everything.

Having had a more than tumultuous childhood and a lack of parental support, Toki had often considered what he would’ve done had he been in his parents’ shoes. The answer was never one laced with vengeance, rather he dreamt of caring for someone small and providing for them in the way he had always dreamed to be looked after. Toki wanted kids. He wanted them bad.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t known this; there had been conversations between the two of you for God only knows how long about what you wanted your future together to be like, and it always included starting a family. You knew financially you would be fine, but both of you felt it would be best to wait until you were married to really start trying.

And your honeymoon did take place after you were married.

Toki all but threw you onto the sprawling mattress. Maybe after having traveled the world so much with the entirety of Dethklok, Italy wasn’t so much a destination vacation as it was a week away in a familiar location, but you couldn’t deny the beauty that surrounded you—especially the beauty that was your now-husband as you watched him lift up and discard his shirt, tossing it into a corner and revealing his toned torso. You picked yourself up from off your back, crawling forward on the mattress to splay your hands over his stomach.

“This what you were thinking about during our vows?” You kissed down past his belly button and over his thin happy trail.

“Maybes,” he sighed, “but only halfs as much as I thoughts abouts how much I loves you.” You stopped just above the button of his pants to give him a kiss before leaning back to undo his fly. He pulled your hands away and grappled with you until you both fell back on the mattress in a heap of giggles.

“I’m trying to be sexy!”

“You can’ts gives a blow jobs now! It ams our first times as a married couples!” He buried his face into your neck, giving you small kisses that slowly turned more sensual as he began to suck on your skin. His hand made its way past the waistband of your panties—the rest of your clothes long forgotten somewhere near the front door—and he toyed with your clit. “Wants to loves you like this,” he whispered into your neck between opened mouth kisses, “wants to makes you feels good. Puts a baby in you.” You gasped at the combination of his words and the way he felt rubbing against your needy, swollen bud.

“Mhm,” you moaned, arching your back to allow two of his fingers to enter you smoothly, “want—wanna see how pretty I lo-ok, full of your cum?” Your question came out breathy, not at all in the teasing tone you had intended, but you couldn’t care less as Toki’s fingers eased in and out of you.

“Yeah,” Toki moaned, and you moved your hand to squeeze the hard length growing in his jeans. He tilted his head back at the sudden attention he was receiving before his mouth dropped open at your ministrations. “Wants you dripping.” You gave him another squeeze before you felt your legs shaking, thighs clenching together around his hand as his fingers ruthlessly played with the spot inside you that had you seeing stars. Mouth open, you intended to thank him, but there was no time before he attached his lips to yours and started peeling off the remainder of your clothing. He looked at you, curled up on the bed below him as he stripped off his pants, freeing his painfully hard cock and moving to cover you in kisses once more.

“How do you wants it?” He teased, his cock brushing over you. “How do you wants me to fills you up?”

“However you want.” You were giddy in anticipation, opening your legs to him before he had even decided how he wanted to fuck you. He took it as an opportunity, settling himself between your legs and letting his cock rest just above where you needed him. You felt his precum staining your stomach and it made you feel a lightheaded rush of excitement and arousal.

“My wife,” he took himself in his hand, rubbing his tip against your dripping hole, “so prettys.” He pushed into you all the way, the entirety of his cock stretching you out delightfully and making you scream out for him. “Feels good?” It wasn’t really a question, more of a mocking observation at the way your face contorted with each long, hard thrust.

You gave a string of gibberish in response, moaning each time you felt him slip out just enough to feel close to empty before he rammed back into you. “Fuck, Toki, fu-ck!” You were on the precipice of another orgasm, but he pulled out of you and turned you over, giving your ass a sharp smack as you moaned in disappointment and need.

“Be patients,” he spanked you again, sliding his cock over the curve of your ass, “you’ll gets whats you wants.”

“Need it, Toki!” You felt pathetic, lifting your ass up and wiggling in an attempt to sway him to fill you up again. “Need it…” It was a good thing Toki liked seeing you pathetic; your begging was cut short by his hands spreading you open for him as he pushed himself back into you, drawing a moan from you both before he began an unrelenting pace. He pulled your hair into a messy, makeshift ponytail, pulling you up closer to him and making your back curve to give him more leverage to fill your greedy cunt. “There!” You were close to tears, the overwhelming pleasure your husband provided coursing through your veins, “R-ight there, Toki! Please!” You collapsed onto your arms and face as the force of his thrusts became almost too much to handle; you felt your body move forward with every snap of his hips and you swore you could feel him in your stomach.

“Rights there?” He teased, giving you a particularly deep thrust and keeping himself sheathed inside of you while you squirmed underneath him, helpless and loving it. You responded with a muffled “yes,” before he began to move again, slower now but just as deep. “Whats do you wants?” He was trying to ward off his own climax by slowing himself down and goading you into begging for more.

“Wan-want to…” You felt your eyes roll back when he began to rub your clit slowly in time with his thrusts.

“Whats?” He demanded.

“Wa-need you to-please Toki, I need it.” The tears you had been attempting to hold back now spilled over your eyes and onto the sheets below you.

“Speak clearlys.” If you hadn’t been so distracted, maybe you would’ve pointed out the irony of his sentence, but you were too far gone and did as instructed.

With all your focus, you mustered the proper words to get what you were so desperate for: “Please To-ki, want you to cum in me,” he pushed himself in further and you cried out, burying your face into the blanket you were clutching. “Please! Please, fill me up—fuck!—fill my pussy up so deep. Wanna have your—have your fucking kids.” You choked on your words as he sped up, throwing you back onto his cock as he brought you both toward your highs.

“Fills you up so goods.” You heard him groaning. He pulled you back by your hair and wrapped an arm around your waist. Now gripping you tightly against him, he used his other hand to grab your face, kissing you and whispering to you. “Gonna takes it? Gonna say thanks yous?”

“Yes! Please, yes!” You repeated the same two words over and over, and with a long, deep thrust into you, you felt yourself go limp in Toki’s arms. Had it not been for his grip around you, you surely would have fallen flat onto the mattress. Toki continued to fuck you through your orgasm as it tore through you; you felt heavy and light simultaneously, seeing black and white shine through both eyes while you chanted his name. At last, panting and sweaty, you uttered a weak, “please, Toki,” and he gave you what you both craved. You felt his hips stutter against your ass as he came, painting your insides with his cum. You felt warm and tired, but now with a regained pleasure coursing through you. Eyes closed, you felt yourself move and realized Toki had maneuvered you to lie down, still buried inside you. You could feel the stickiness leaking out around his cock and onto your thighs, and his chest heaving into your back.

Slowly, you eased him out of your now sensitive, sticky hole and turned to face him. He was smiling wide, tongue between his teeth. He kissed you passionately, deeply, before his hand wandered down to your pussy and began pushing what had leaked out of you back inside. You gasped, grabbing at his forearm while he playful nipped at you. Pulling his fingers out of you, he stuck them in his mouth to suck off any remnants and then curled up around you, kissing your shoulders, face, neck, and anywhere else he could reach in the position you found yourselves in.

“I loves you.” Toki whispered, kissing your forehead. “My wife, pretty ladys, I loves you. So perfects. Going to be a greats moms.” He kissed the top of your ear, then your cheek, and then finally he gave you a kiss on the lips.

“Do you think it worked?” You smiled, soaking in the adoration of his words.

“Maybes,” he pushed his hair out of his face, propping himself up next to you on his elbow, “but maybes we should try one more times. Or two.”

You pulled him back down again.

[wutheringmights]

CTB Side Story: Icarius Backstory Draft

I am chipping away (slowly and surely) on the next ctb chapter. I needed a bit of a creative break from figuring out this scene I've been stuck on, so I took some time today to write out what would be the opening scene for a ctb spin off story about the Icarius and Nephus backstory.

I don't know if I will ever finish this. If I do, it would not be for a long time. But please place your eyes upon this and give me validation or something.

Content warning: depictions of violence.

--

Only in his dreams did Icarius remember being branded. 

To be humane, the thrall must be branded when they are still very young. They were easier to hold down and placate, limiting potential injury. Young skin was faster to heal. A child could take the time to rest and heal the way an adult couldn’t. A child’s memory would fade with age, until the whole ordeal was nothing more than a footnote.  

It bred less resentment for the hands that held them down. The hands couldn’t feel horrified by what they did either-- it was more humane to brand a child who would forget than an adult who would remember. 

Nonetheless, Icarius knew some thralls who claimed to remember the day perfectly. They were lying, even if they didn’t realize it themselves. He supposed it made them feel rebellious, holding onto a memory they were ordered to forget. It was pathetic. 

As a thrall, you already were nothing. You were less than human. One of the cattle. The suffering of everyday was more tangible than the ever-fading echo of a memory. Why waste your time?

In waking hours, Icarius could barely remember his branding. He only knew the basics because his mother had described it to him. No matter how he worried the sigil seared onto his breast-- the octopus of the House of Nephus--nothing ever came to him. 

But in dream, he swore he could still feel the hands that held him down: one of a slave-driver, and the other of his own father. He writhed and screamed to be let go, only for more hands to clamp down on his ankles and legs. He screamed so loud that a rag had been stuffed into his mouth. 

In reality, he had been blindfolded. In dream, he saw the red-hot iron be lifted from the flames. From molten red to smoldering gold it was hefted high before being bore down onto his chest, right over his heart---no, no, please don’t hurt me. 

He screamed until his voice went hoarse. His words lost shape until his sobs were unintelligible croaks.

He didn’t faint. He cried and wailed, but he had been conscious through it all. His father would call it an impressive show of strength, but he always said it with a pin-point glint of pity. “Thank Opreun, you do not remember it,” he would say. 

After the branding iron was pulled away, his dream melted. The dark forge and the smell of burnt flesh slid away. The agony radiating across his heart would dull as dream was replaced by memory. 

It was his first time inside the main estate, his father’s hand on his back as he was ushered before the paterfamilias: a slight man who cut a more imposing figure than he should have been able to, with eyes that crinkled in good humor.  

A ceremony he did not quite understand played before him. Even at six years of age, he knew well enough to avert his eyes and wait patiently to be addressed, even as his uniform itched and the open V of his tunic invited a chill as much as it showed off his mark of the House of Nephus.

What he did understand was the little boy he was brought before. Two years his younger, he was still a baby shyly hiding his face in his nursemaid’s skirts. Both she and his mother had to peel his chubby fingers away to face Icarius. 

His freckles were the brightest Icarius had ever seen: beautiful white flecks adorning each cheek, bridging across his nose like a constellation map. 

“See this, Vas?” Heedless of her beautiful dress, the lady of the house knelt down to her youngest son’s height. A sheer veil conformed to the ridge of her nose as she held his shoulders straight and pressed her cheek into his. “This is Icarius. He’s the son of Papa’s valet. You like Papa’s valet, right? Well, his son is going to be by your side for now on. He’s going to take very good care of you.”

Bug-eyed, Vasileios turned and whispered something to his mother.

She sung a laugh. “Yes, Vas,” she said. “He’s yours, so you have to take care of him too.”

Vas accepted that with a solemn nod. When he looked at Icarius again, he flushed but managed to stretch his mouth into a smile so wide, Icarius could count each of his teeth. His cheeks were so chubby, his eyes disappeared into his brows. It was cute. 

His father nudged him. “Go on, Icarius.”

Icarius knew to bow his head and mutter his thanks to the paterfamilias for such a prestigious position. He knew he was still a thrall, but now he was something else as well, something that made him a step above the mud. He knew he was special, even with a common sigil branded into his flesh. 

He knew that if he had one thing in this world, it was Vas. 

He was Vas’s, but Vas was his. 

Then the dream would end, and he woke up.