#a complete loss of lust for life

[cult--of--hypnos]

Welp. Doctor put me at home for at least two weeks to rest and recover from what have been in essence a few hellish months in a row. The last 2 weeks really were the straw that broke the camels back, so to say.

Here is to hoping I will at least feel a little less shite at the end of this week

[bunnihearted]

🧸♡ ⋆｡˚

[bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky]

Desperate | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Hello hello hello! I’ve got some good, old-fashioned angst here for ya.

Word Count: 8.4k

Warnings: hella angst. Touch starved Bucky and reader. Some slight NSFW vibes, but nothing graphic.

Bucky didn’t seem to notice when you told him you had to step away for a moment. He remained focused on his clean up duties in the kitchen; he didn’t raise his head or look your way. In fact, he didn’t seem to be noticing you much at all, lately. But as you eyed your ensemble in the full-length mirror in your bedroom, you knew you’d win back his attention.

This was his absolute favorite lingerie of yours. The set that made him so feral, drove him so insane with lust, that he’d broken the headboard last time you wore it. After that, the two of you agreed you’d save it for special occasions only; otherwise, the apartment you shared would need to be entirely refurnished. And though tonight was just a normal, run of the mill Friday night, you needed to pull out the big guns.  

The black leather bustier- the one that made Bucky destroy furniture- hugged your figure perfectly. It’s plunging V-neck ended just above your navel. And the lacy details perfectly mirrored the cheeky black underwear Bucky gifted you last Valentine’s Day. A matching garter belt was the piece de resistance, and it held in place the thigh high stockings that drove Bucky wild. 

You gave yourself one final look before slipping on a pair of black stilettos and stalking out of the room. This was it- the perfect formula for recapturing Bucky’s gaze. 

He’d been distant lately. Almost cold. He hadn’t touched you- in even the most innocent sense- in nineteen days. It had been even longer since you were last able to steal a kiss. And the two of you hadn’t had sex in three weeks, which was unheard of.

Usually, Bucky gave his physical affections freely. He loved touching you, kissing you, holding you. He wanted to play with your hair, hold your hand, kiss your forehead- anything- as long as it meant he got to touch you. To feel you. When he had a rough day, your arms provided him with safety and comfort. And when a mission stole you from his side, your lips welcomed him home. He poured his love for you into every touch, leaving his fingerprints all over your soul.

To him, any moment spent without your skin pressed against his was a moment wasted. 

And your sex life was mind-blowing, to say the least. Bucky’s stamina and eagerness to please you left you breathless and seeing stars almost every night of the week. After a few rounds with him, you found yourself unable to speak, unable to think. The only thing that had the power to permeate your hazy, lust-filled mind was him. Your hunger, your need for him could never be sated, and fucking him only made you want him more. But he was more than happy to give himself over to you. He could pull two or seven orgasms from you before you even knew what hit you. And that was just his warmup. 

But the last three weeks had been completely void of any debauchery. Bucky didn’t slip into your shower or slide his hand up your skirt. He didn’t even grab your ass when you walked by wearing leggings. It was a startling difference that filled the apartment with a biting, bitter cold, chilling you to the bone. But Bucky said- he swore- he was fine. That he was just tired. Or stressed. Or busy with work. And while you knew his work-life was intense, it never before stopped him from jumping at the chance to make you scream. 

And it wasn’t just the lack of erotic touches that gnawed at you. It was the loss of all physical affections. He didn’t reach for your hand in the store. Didn’t pull you into his chest at night. Didn’t kiss you goodbye in the morning. It left you agonized. Miserable. Empty. 

Every day, you wondered what could’ve possibly caused Bucky to pull away. What could make him withdraw from you so suddenly. Worry ate away at you, slowly devouring you whole. He seemed to work late almost every night these past few weeks. And when he was home, your attempts to talk to him about the issue went nowhere. 

You thought he’d gotten past his urge to hide his troubles from you. It took time, but he learned to be honest. To communicate. And when you were finally confident that he’d stopped hiding his struggles, you learned to stop reading into his every mannerism. His every muscle twitch. His every vocal change. If he said he was okay, he was okay. And after working together- he trusted you to listen, and you trusted him to tell you the truth.

And over the last few weeks, he did, indeed, say that he was okay. That there was nothing lurking beneath his surface. And so, you did as he asked, and you believed him.

But after three weeks of nothing- no roaming hands, no bite marks, no early morning quickies- you were hungry for him. Aching for him. You feared that your bottled-up lust would actually drive you crazy. And so, you decided reach for your secret weapon. 

You found Bucky right where you’d left him: leaning over the kitchen sink, taking care of the dishes from dinner. 

You kept your tone light, innocent, casual. “Hey, Buck.”

“Hey, baby.” He didn’t look up. 

“Um, do you think you could help me with something real quick, Sergeant?” Sergeant. It was devious. Wicked, really. The sound of his title coming out of your mouth always got his heart racing, always made the blood drain from his brain and travel elsewhere.

But he didn’t fall for it.

“Yeah, sweetheart. Just give me one second, I’m-” Finally, he looked up.

His words died in throat, his mind went blank. The pan he’d been scrubbing fell into the sink with a loud crash. Want filled his eyes. He could’ve sworn his mouth started watering. 

“What do you think, Sarge? You wanna come over here and,” you ran a few fingers up your thigh, “help me out?” 

You braced yourself, knowing Bucky was about to pounce. You figured you had less than five seconds before he swept you off your feet and hoisted up over his shoulder. He’d fireman-carried you to bed that way more times than you could count, and you knew this would be one of those nights. 

But five seconds became ten. And then fifteen. And then twenty. And all he’d done was stare at you. 

“Buck?” you took a few steps in his direction. “I thought we could have some dessert.”

He struggled to form coherent thoughts or piece sentences together. “Um, well, I was-” he gestured to the mess in the sink, “I was gonna do the dishes.”

“I know, baby,” you placed a light hand on his shoulder. “But I think you can finish them after- I mean, later.”

Bucky should’ve jumped at the opportunity. He should’ve taken you apart right there on the kitchen counter. But he didn’t. He didn’t even touch you. 

He cleared his throat, “I’m- I’m just gonna do ‘em now.”

Without a word, you turned on your stiletto and retreated to the bedroom. 

Humiliation flared in your chest. Tears gathered in your eyes. And your heartbeat pounded in your ears, drowning out the rest of the world. Suddenly, you felt stupid. Foolish. Part of you wondered if it was possible to die from embarrassment. 

Bucky had every right to refuse your advances- that wasn’t the issue. It was his complete and utter lack of affection for you. If he didn’t want to have sex with you ever again, you’d (probably) survive. But the harsh and sudden halt of any and all physical affection was eating you alive.

You kicked off your heels the moment you entered the bedroom and found yourself stomping toward the bathroom. You needed to get away. To hide. To protect yourself from any further mortification. The bathroom door slammed shut behind you, and you leaned against the cool wood, hoping to find some peace. But the bathroom mirror only doubled your shame. And as you stared at yourself, clad in what you thought to be Bucky’s favorite lingerie, your breathing hitched in your chest. 

This whole venture was so idiotic. So thoroughly and excruciatingly mortifying. It felt like the final nail in the coffin. If Bucky didn’t want you in your best lingerie, he must not want you at all.

The hoodie you’d slipped out of only minutes ago sat crumpled in a pile on the counter, and eagerly you shimmied into it. Anything to cover up your failed attempt at seduction. 

What was wrong with Bucky? Was he not interested in you anymore? Did he find you unattractive? If he wasn’t seeking sex with you, he had to be getting it from someone else, didn’t he? Who was it? Who-

A gentle knock yanked you out of your spiral.

“Sweetheart…” Bucky called through the door. He tried the handle and found it locked. “Can you come out, baby? Please?”

No part of you wanted to leave the safety of the bathroom. Something deep within you feared that this would be it- the tipping point, the moment of truth. If you did as Bucky asked and ventured out of the bathroom, there was a chance that Bucky would drop some major, soul-crushing truth on you. 

Maybe he’d spent the last three weeks trying to figure out how to break up with you, and this was his perfect opportunity. Maybe he’d break your heart and ruin your life the second you opened the bathroom door. If you could just stay in here- forever- maybe he wouldn’t dump you. Maybe you could delay your heartbreak and extend whatever feelings he once had for you, just for a little while.

But if he didn’t want you anymore, what was the point of prolonging the inevitable? 

With a huff, you dabbed at your eyes with your sleeve and opened the door.

There stood Bucky, looking hopeless. Lost. Miserable. He was propped against the door frame with slumped shoulders and a downtrodden expression- but perked up a bit when you opened the door. A sad smile stretched across his face, and he stood up straight, but his frown returned as you brushed right past him. 

“Baby, can we please talk about this?” He almost begged. 

There was a heavy desperation in his voice. Panic blazed through his chest. Something told him he might be losing you.

“I’ve been trying to talk to you!” You removed your garter belt and slipped off one of your stockings. “I’ve been trying to talk to you about this for weeks! And you just keep saying you’re 'fine'. Or that you’re tired. Or that there’s 'nothing to talk about'- when there clearly is!”

Normally, Bucky could always make you feel better with a hug. Anytime the two of you got into a fight, a long, warm embrace helped ease both of you into open, honest communication. But Bucky didn't reach for you. He opted to keep his distance. To allow you some space.

But space was the last thing you wanted. 

“Look, if there’s something going on and you’re not interested in having sex, that’s fine,” you told him. “I get it. It happens sometimes. But the-” you yanked your other thigh high off and tossed it to the side. “The total embargo on physical touch is really fucking with my head.”

Your pulse pounded in your ears, your hands shook with wrath. “Buck, you’re never home anymore- you’re always ‘working late’.” You let out a sharp exhale, “and when you are home, it’s like you’re on another planet. You keep your distance from me- you won’t even sit next to me on the couch.”

All Bucky could do was nod. Everything you said was true; there wasn’t a point in arguing.

And as the weight of Bucky’s sudden frigidity finally hit you, your fury was snuffed out. Rage no longer pulsed through your veins with each beat of your heart. Grief took its place. It forced its way into your heart, into your bones. You could’ve sworn you felt fractures spider-webbing their way through your ribs. 

Tears trickled slowly down your cheeks at first, but a downpour followed soon after. “Are you- are you not attracted to me anymore?” You asked between heaving sobs. “Do you not want me? Did I do something?”

“Sweetheart, I-”

“Is there…” your voice cracked. Saying it was too much; part of you feared that vocalizing your fear would make it come true. As though another woman would materialize simply because you asked whether she existed. “Is there someone else?”

The question sucked all of the oxygen out of the room. Bucky stared at you with wide eyes, his mouth slightly agape. You did your best to get a handle on your shaky breaths and pained wails; if Bucky was about to reveal an affair, you didn’t want to seem so broken. So hopeless. So pathetic. You didn’t want to give him any ammo to take back to his side piece. Any dramatic tales that would make her howl with laughter.

But he didn’t admit to having a mistress. He, instead, let loose a few tears himself. Knowing that he’d made you question his loyalties, that you’d actually feared he’d been unfaithful, made him want to die.  

“Oh my god,” His voice wavered under the hefty weight of his pain,“Baby-” 

“Is there someone better?”

“No.” He couldn’t fathom the suggestion that there was someone- anyone- out there better than you. “There is no one better.”

He couldn’t take it anymore, he had to be near you. In three quick strides, he arrived in your vicinity. But he remained just out of your reach. Everything in him begged - screamed- to hold you close. To kiss you. To take your hand, at the very least. His fingers twitched with the need to touch you. But he refrained. 

 “There’s no one else- of course, there’s not. There will never be anyone else. I still want you, I will always want you. I love you.” 

The overwhelming urge to remove himself from your space barked at him. It screamed and hollered from the deep recesses of his mind. And he knew he should listen. But he couldn’t- not when you were falling apart in front of him. Not when he’d made you feel unwanted, unattractive, and unloved.

“You didn’t do anything, doll,” he hated himself for doing this to you. For making you doubt his love. For reducing you to a sobbing, heaving shell of yourself. “I’m still attracted to you- I’m so attracted to you. You’re the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen.”

His reassurances helped assuage some of the fear, some of the worry. But only a small portion. Because even though he’d refuted all of your hypotheses and accusations, he still hadn’t given you a reason. And he still hadn’t touched you. 

“Then what’s-” you forced yourself to take a moment to think. To breathe. To get your head on straight. “What’s the problem? What’s going on with you?”

Bucky didn’t answer. He didn’t make eye contact. He simply stared at the area rug, tracing its border with his eyes. And though he knew you needed his touch, needed his affection, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Couldn’t bring himself to slip his hand into yours or cradle your face in his hands. 

His silence sliced through you and tore you open. You could’ve sworn you were bleeding out. 

“Buck, I miss you-” It was needy. Ugly. But you didn’t care. “Please, just be honest with me. I’m worried about you. And this isn’t normal for us, so-”

His words came out so low, so hushed, that you struggled to hear him. “I just haven’t been able to shake what happened last time.”

He clenched his jaw and squeezed his eyes shut. He gave a small shake of his head. His hands balled into tight fists. He’d thought about what happened over and over and over again. He thought about it every day for the last three weeks. Relived the panic, the fear. And every night when he tried to fall asleep, the scene played out on an endless loop inside his mind. Horrifying nightmares plagued him each time he closed his eyes. He woke up shaking, covered in a cold sweat. There was no escaping it.

---Three weeks ago---

Things started around 8pm. It was all innocent enough, with Bucky spooning you as the two of you rewatched New Girl. But Bucky let his hands roam, as he so often did. And after only one episode, his hand had snaked up your shirt. His warm palm rested against your breast as his fingers swept over your skin. He teased your nipple once, twice. It was all the motivation you needed.

At his prompting, you pushed your body back against his, allowing your ass to grind against him. A low, animalistic moan vibrated deep within his chest. All bets were off after that. 

Before you could even blink, Bucky had you in his arms. He palmed your ass and positioned your legs around his waist as he set off down the hall toward the bedroom. His lips hungrily devoured yours. Your hands tangled in his hair, tugging on the strands every now and again. He let more depraved sounds loose and you happily swallowed them all. 

Time lost all meaning after Bucky laid you out on the bed. The world outside of your bedroom ceased to exist- only Bucky remained. The two of you were a frantic, needy tangle of pounding hearts and sweat-slick skin. Teeth marks adorned his chest. Scratches adorned his back and shoulders. And Bucky devoted all of his time, all of his energy, all of him to pleasing you.

He took his time, slowly working you over as though it were his job. He loved teasing you, love watching you squirm. And when he had you absolutely begging, he gave you exactly what you wanted. In fact, he kept giving it to you- and had no intention to stop. 

He’d lost track of time. Lost count of how many times he made you come. All he knew was that double digits had been reached- and that was a long time ago. Was it an hour ago? Or three? He wasn’t sure. All he knew was that he had his best girl falling apart at the seams. Over and over and over again. 

He made sure to check in with you after every bout of world-shattering ecstasy, and you always gave him the green light. As time passed, your sentences turned into solitary words, which devolved into incoherent, needy sounds. But you always gave him a fervent nod, ensuring that you absolutely wanted- needed- him to continue. 

Even as sweat dampened the hair around your face, even as your lips grew swollen- you wanted more. More Bucky- there was never enough of him. It didn’t matter that he’d carried you to bed hours ago, you were insatiable. If he fucked you for a full twenty-four hours, it still wouldn’t have been enough.

At one point, you ended up in his lap, riding him like your life depended on it. He was seated upright on the edge of the bed, his chest pressed to yours. And by the depraved sounds and shaky breaths that fell from your lips, he knew you were close to yet another heart-stopping moment of bliss. His right arm snaked around your back, holding you firmly in place. He forced his vibranium fist down into the mattress; it gave him the extra leverage he needed to fuck into you even deeper. To push you over the edge. 

With a strangled scream, your orgasm crested over you. Your eyes squeezed shut. Sharp inhales filled your chest. Your mouth hung open. Every muscle in your body went rigid. Tense. Slight tremors rocked you every few moments- it was exactly what Bucky wanted. 

“Oh, that’s my girl,” praises dripped from his lips like honey.  A debauched moan vibrated out of his chest. “So good for me, always so good for me, baby.”

He watched as your eyes rolled back in your head. And with a final exhale, your limp body slumped forward, your face landing against Bucky’s chest. He put his movements on pause and allowed you to recover. To catch your breath. To rest.

He smoothed his cold, metallic hand up and down your spine. “You doing okay, sweetheart? You tired?” He dotted a kiss to your hair, “We can call it a night.”

You didn’t say a word.

“Baby,” he scratched gently at your shoulder blade. “Can you answer me?” 

But you remained silent.

Concern coursed through his veins. He feared he’d gone too far. That he’d pushed you past your limits. And if you were upset, he needed to do whatever he could to help you through. As gently as he could, he used both of his hands to lift your head from his chest. 

What he found sent a wave of chills rushing over his skin. 

You were out cold. Completely unconscious. 

Bucky found himself operating on autopilot. He removed you from his lap and laid you flat on the bed. His fingers searched your neck for a pulse. Your name fell from his lips in a horrified, desperate prayer. 

A breakdown loomed on the horizon, darkening everything around him. His hands shook, his chest tightened. The copper-penny taste of blood exploded across his tongue as he sunk his teeth into his cheek. But he couldn’t fall apart- not when your life depended on it. 

And massive sigh of relief left his chest when he felt your strong, steady pulse beating beneath his fingertips. 

And once he knew that you were, indeed, alive, he allowed himself to fall apart- but only for a moment. Tears dripped down his face and splashed against your chest as he loomed over you. He breathlessly told you he was sorry. That he loved you. That he didn’t mean to hurt you. 

But that was all he permitted. You still needed him, even if you weren’t in dire straits. And so, he forced his emotion behind a wall and pressed on. 

No part of him wanted to leave your side, but it was a necessary evil. He sped through the apartment and into the kitchen, digging in the freezer for ice packs. And when he found the two you required, he snagged a couple dish towels from the drawer by the sink and raced back to the bedroom. 

“Hey, I’m- I’m back, baby,” he said to your unconscious body. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I just had to get-” he held up the icepacks. Even if you couldn’t hear him, he wanted you to know that he’d never- under any circumstances- abandon you when you needed him. 

He wrapped each ice pack in a towel and tucked one behind your neck while the other rested on your chest. And then, all he could do was wait. 

He hovered over you, watching for any signs of waking, any signs of distress. His hands smoothed over your hair and drifted across your cheek. His fingers monitored your pulse every few seconds. His lips left kisses against your forehead. And though he knew that your life wasn’t in danger, it didn’t quell the shaking in his hands. Didn’t stop the waves of nausea cresting over him. 

And he didn’t take a full inhale until your eyelids finally began to flutter open. 

He watched closely as you finally blinked your way back into consciousness. Everything was kind of fuzzy, a bit hazy around the edges. A quiet ringing filled your ears. A slight tremor rendered your hands unsteady. And the world around you seemed to tilt and twist without warning.

But Bucky was right there, anchoring you to the earth. He let a gentle hand rest against your cheek. 

“Hi, baby,” his voice was soft, sweet, comforting.

But you couldn’t respond even if you wanted to, as your synapses refused to get their shit together. Words collided and melted together, dripping into amorphous puddles inside your mind. You swore someone had stuffed your head full of cotton. Everything felt far away; the entire world was muffled somehow, as though you were trapped behind fifty feet of glass.

Concern bled into Bucky’s words, “Sweetheart, are you alright?” 

And it wasn’t easy, but you finally remembered how to think. How to speak. You chipped away at the thick pane of glass separating you from Bucky, and finally answered. 

“’m okay…” You reached for Bucky’s face and allowed your fingers to gently trace down his jawline. His stubble pricked at your skin. His warm breath fanned your face. 

And without warning, tears slipped from your eyes. Rivulets coursed down the sides of your face and dripped into your hair. It was a sudden, jarring shift that sent Bucky’s heart leaping into his throat. 

“Oh, no- oh, sweetheart,” he gently cradled your face in his hands. “Baby, you’re okay- everything’s okay. You’re fine. You’re safe.” 

He did everything in his power to bring you some sense of peace, but the tears refused to stop. And he found himself desperately, hopelessly, trying to comfort you. He tripped over himself again and again, apologizing endlessly. And when that didn’t work, he changed tactics. He spelled out what happened for you in clear, easy to understand terms, ridding you of the dreaded unknown. He promised that you were only out for a minute or two. That you were perfectly safe.  

He left gentle touches against your skin and dotted kisses to your cheeks and hairline- just like you always did for him when he fell to pieces. And if it worked for him, he hoped it might work for you.

He wasn’t sure what brought an end to your waterworks- his reassurances or his touch- but he didn’t care. All that mattered was that you’d finally stopped crying. That your breathing was returning to normal. The sharp pain radiating through his chest dulled a little bit as he dried your last few tears. Finally, your hands stopped trembling. And your heartrate slowly regressed to its mean. He thanked a startling number of deities that you were alive and seemed to be improving.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, “How do you feel, baby? Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Um…” you dried your damp lashes on the backs of your hands. “I’m cold.”

“Shit- sorry,” Bucky snatched your icepacks from their respective positions and threw them to the floor. 

Guilt bloomed in his chest; he should’ve removed the ice the second you woke up. Should’ve covered you with a blanket. Should’ve used his body to keep yours warm. Should’ve- 

He didn’t have time to spiral into guilt and shame and ‘should haves’. 

He leaned over the side of the bed and located his discarded hoodie, the one you’d yanked over his head only a few hours ago in your insatiable pursuit of his body.

“Hey, here you go, doll,” he gently helped you wriggle into the soft fabric and covered you with the bedspread. And once he was confident that you were comfortable, he slid under the blanket with you and vowed to give you all of his body heat. 

The second he laid down next to you, you rolled onto your side and buried your face in his chest. He curled his body protectively around yours; he wasn’t going to let anything else happen to you tonight. Or ever. His hand swept up and down the length of your spine on a seemingly endless loop. He whispered ‘I love yous’ and “I’m sorrys” until he thought he might go hoarse.

And when your world fell properly into place and you finally felt like yourself again, you plucked your head from his chest.

“Hi,” you reached upward and let your fingers slowly drift across his cheek bones. The slope of his nose. His lips.

“Hi, baby.” He couldn’t fight the smile that pulled at his features. This was the version of you he knew. The version that, only a few minutes ago, hungrily egged him on in his pursuit of your pleasure. “You doing okay?”

You gave him a confident nod, “Yeah, I’m okay now.” Your lips drifted across his, “Sorry, it kinda took me a minute to come back to myself, you know?”

“That’s okay, doll,” he let he tips of his fingers ghost over your spine. “Don’t apologize.”

“And I really didn’t mean for there to be any,” you gave Bucky some unenthusiastic jazz hands, “any theatrics tonight. Sorry about the drama.”

Bucky gave a shake of his head, “No, baby, it’s okay. I’m…” he traced your features with his cold, gentle fingers. “I’m glad you’re alright.”

“Yeah, I’m totally fine,” you shrugged. “It was weird though, right? This has never happened to me before- I’ve never passed out during sex.” You gazed at him with a spark of lust in your eyes, “You know, I’m actually impressed. You made me come so many times that I actually blacked out. None of my ex-boyfriends can say that.”

You let out a quiet laugh that Bucky didn’t return. He didn’t find it funny- he didn’t find any of this funny. But he put on a smile for your benefit.

“Oh, and sorry about all the crying,” you sighed. “I don’t know what that was about.”

“That’s alright- it happens,” he shrugged. “You went from really high highs and then fell to some pretty low lows. It’s just got to do with the chemicals in your brain, nothing to apologize for.” He trailed kisses across your forehead and down your nose, “Plus, you were probably scared. Or freaked out, at least.”

The guilt sunk its teeth into every fiber of Bucky’s being. And as you nestled closer to him, a tidal wave of revulsion nearly dragged him from the bed. He should’ve known better. Should’ve exercised better judgment. You weren’t like him; you didn’t have the enhanced energy and stamina to match his. He shouldn’t have pushed you to the edge like that. Shouldn’t have carried you past your limits. 

Normally, he’d do anything to be near you. He wanted- needed- to touch you as much as possible. And if he couldn’t touch you, he at least had to be close to you. But the voice in his head screamed at him, telling him to vacate your vicinity. And the overwhelming, urgent need to put some space between his body and yours yanked him out of bed. 

“Baby, I’m gonna go get you some water, okay? And a snack,” he headed for the door, “you stay there, I’ll be right back.”

It was the perfect excuse. He really did need to provide you with sustenance and hydration after your black out- but a trip to the kitchen also provided him with a reason to remove himself from your side. He counted it as a win-win.

And from that moment on, he did his best- his very best- to keep his hands off of you. To stay as far away as possible. To ensure that you would be safe. 

He couldn’t risk your well-being, not again.

------

It wasn’t quite what you expected him to say. And though it was a far better reason than the affair you concocted for him during your downward spiral, it still didn’t make much sense. 

“Last time?” 

What exactly happened last time? You wracked your brain, searching your memories for some terrible event- but you came up empty. And just as you were about to call bullshit on Bucky’s reasoning, you stumbled upon the memory of your innocuous, minute-long black out. 

“Oh, the thing with me passing out?”  

Bucky gave a solemn nod. At the thought of it, his face lost all color, all warmth. A sickly shade of gray tainted his skin.

“Buck, I know that was kind of weird and not at all ideal, but it was fine,” you shrugged, “It wasn’t a big deal.”

You took a cautious step toward him, and much to your dismay, he countered with a step back. 

“If anything, it was a fluke.” Again, you took a step in his direction. And again, he backed away. 

Bucky feared what might happen when you backed him into a corner, when his spine hit the wall. He knew he’d have to slip from your grasp and vacate the room. That he’d have to find an escape. But he knew it would hurt you. After weeks of no warmth, no touching, no physical intimacy, you were barely hanging on by a thread. And if he ran from the room, it would surely cause that thread to snap. But wasn’t that better than the snapping of your neck? Or your spine? Wasn’t it better for you to hurt emotionally, rather than physically?

“Buck, it’s never happened before, and I highly doubt it will ever happen again,” you said. “I didn’t sleep well the night before, and I had a long day leading up to that. I didn’t eat breakfast or lunch, I was dehydrated, and I’d been sick the week prior. It was a perfect storm of circumstances that made me pass out. Not you.” 

You intertwined your fingers, locking them together in search of any kind of touch. Any physical reassurance. “Seriously, Buck, that will never happen again. I promise.”

Bucky knew of one surefire way to ensure it would never, ever happen again. All he had to do was keep his distance. If he could refrain from touching you, if he could keep his hands to himself, you’d be safe.

But you’d be miserable- he knew you would. And as he gave you a long once-over, a sharp pain shot through him like lightning. Tear tracks trailed down your cheeks. Your eyes were red and puffy. Dark circles stained your under eyes- you hadn’t been sleeping, had you? No, you’d been staying up all night, worrying about Bucky. About the state of your relationship. 

And when he noticed the way you’d tangled your hands together, the way your right thumb stroked against the back of your left hand, he could’ve sworn he’d been stabbed through the chest. You were so desperate for affection, so robbed of touch, that you were trying- and failing- to self-soothe. 

“I know it was scary for you,” he finally said. “And I know you’re the one who passed out, so I’m not trying to make this about me- I swear. But it was…” He, too, found himself absentmindedly searching for physical comforts. He slowly raked a hand through his hair a few times, but it didn’t have the same effect; only your hands could bring him peace. “It was scary for me, too.”

A pang of anxiety rocketed through you. How could you have been so selfish? So heartless toward Bucky’s plight? Of course, he’d been scared. Of course, the events of that night affected him, too. And you knew that if the situation were reversed, you would’ve been paralyzed with fear. With worry. 

You’d just gotten so swept up, so overwhelmed by the loss of his hands. His lips. His arms. It darkened your periphery and gave you tunnel-vision. All you could see- all you could feel- was the cold. The emptiness. The fear of losing him.

“Shit, baby, I’m-” you reached for Bucky but recoiled. “I’m so sorry. You just- you said you were fine. Every time I asked, you swore everything was okay. So I thought-”

“I know…” Bucky chewed on the inside of his cheek. He let his head droop, allowed his gaze to drop to the floor. And he stayed that way. For a while.

His hands dug deep into his pockets and his shoulders fell forward ever so slightly. He found himself awash in regret. Longing. Loneliness. He knew it was his fault; he’d done this to himself. He’d chosen to isolate, to pull away. But it was the safest option for you, wasn’t it? And your safety came before anything and everything else- full stop. 

“It took me a long time,” he finally said, “it took me a long time to be able to touch you. I couldn’t bring myself to do it for…” He silently thought back on that time, adding up the days where he kept his hands to himself- but they were far too numerous. “For a while. Do you remember that?”

You nodded. “Yeah, but I- I guess I always figured it was just some old-fashioned, chivalrous, nineteen-forties type of thing…”

“Well, that was,” a small smile flickered across his face, “that was part of it. But the real reason is that I was too scared. To touch you, I mean.” His smile disappeared. His features suddenly fell. His eyes darkened. “Sometimes, I don’t know my own strength, you know? And I was too- I was so afraid that I’d hurt you, baby.” 

“Oh…” You hadn’t thought of it that way. 

“I had to kind of overcome that fear, and it took time. I think it took me over a month just to hold your hand- and even then, it was only for a second.”

Bucky’s words had an endless darkness to them- a darkness you were well acquainted with by now. When he was really down, when he was going through a particularly miserable time, his voice took on the pitch-black tone of the abyss. And when he found himself drowning in the obsidian sea, it was your hands that guided him out. You’d hold him close to your body, wrapping him in the safety of your embrace- and slowly, he’d wade out of his agony. 

But this time was different. 

No matter desperately you longed to touch him, to comfort him, to save him- you couldn’t. He didn’t want your hands, your body anywhere near him. Of course, he did want you close- he just wouldn’t allow it. 

“But you know I’ve never been afraid of you, right?” Your arm twitched with want. Almost on autopilot, your hand tried to reach out and touch him, but you forbade it. “I’ve never thought that you’d hurt me-”

“I know.” He couldn’t stop himself from smiling. You never saw him as a monster or a threat- you never saw him the way he saw himself. “But when we first started dating, I was having these nightmares. I actually had them for the first year of our relationship- at the least…”

Your heart sank. He had enough nightmares as it was; and to know that you’d somehow delivered him a fresh crop of terror made you nauseous.

“Every night when I went to sleep, I’d have these awful dreams…” His eyes took on a hollow quality as he hurdled backward and fell into his memories. “They always started out okay- they seemed like normal dreams. In some of them, we were hugging. In others, we were having sex. And everything was fine. But then, you’d start-” He dragged a few fingers across his bottom lip and down his chin, “you’d start bleeding out of your mouth. Your eyes would roll back in your head. And you’d collapse. You’d die in my arms. Every time.”

A small gasp filled your lungs, “Buck…” It was your most basic, most intrinsic instinct to comfort Bucky with soft, gentle touches. Your hands were his homing signal, and when he got lost in the dark labyrinth of his past, you automatically guided him to safety. You couldn’t remember a time when you’d ever caged that reflex- until now. He stood in front of you, completely despondent, and you couldn’t do a damn thing to help him.

“And the other night- it was exactly like one of my nightmares. You went completely limp, baby, and your eyes rolled back in your head. You were unresponsive. I was so scared, I…” He almost didn’t want to say the words. Didn’t want to tempt the universe by voicing his greatest fear. “I thought I killed you. I thought I’d held you too tight and crushed your spine, or something. I had to-” He cleared his throat, forcing the oncoming emotion away, “I actually had to feel for a pulse to make sure you were still alive.”

“Baby, I- I didn’t know that.” He’d conveniently left that out when he walked you through what happened. He’d sidestepped his horror and his trauma and put you first, as he always did. “But you’d never hurt me- you couldn’t.”

He shrugged. “Maybe not on purpose. But I thought I’d gone too far in the heat of the moment, and…” He couldn’t finish his sentence. “Even though you didn’t pass out because of me, I’m still- I can’t get over it. I can’t stop thinking about it. It was like one of my nightmares had come to life- it hit way too close to home.” He pressed his palms to his eyes for a moment and forced himself to catch his breath. Only when he felt his heartrate return to normal did he speak again. “So, I’ve been scared- too scared to touch you.”

It shattered you. All Bucky did- all he’d ever wanted to do- was protect you. And though he’d spent the last three weeks aching for his best girl, he didn’t dare lay a finger on you- all in the name of your safety. Sure, his execution wasn’t the best, but his intentions were pure and kind, as they always were. 

“But I know I didn’t… I didn’t handle this the right way. And I’m sorry- I’m so sorry I pulled away,” he tripped over himself again and again, desperately begging for your understanding. For your forgiveness. “I know you’re not happy- believe me, I’m not happy either. I’ve been miserable this whole time- I miss you so much, sweetheart. And I never wanted to hurt you like this. I just didn’t…” He gave a small shake of his head, “I didn’t want to hurt you physically, either. And I didn’t know what to do. So, I figured that keeping my hands off of you was safest. But I didn’t mean to upset you.”

All the work he’d done, all the effort he’d put into fixing his self-image had crumbled in one fell swoop- all because you didn’t have the wherewithal to eat breakfast and stay hydrated three weeks ago. Bucky’s normally upright posture was sloped, his shoulders curved forward. He had the same hollow look in his eye that he had when you’d first met him. And now that he’d spent more than five minutes with you, you noticed all of the fingernails on his right hand were bitten down to the quick.

“Shit. Buck, I’m- I’m so sorry, baby.” You dried your cheeks on the sleeve of your hoodie. “I fucked up…”

“No, no. This is all on me- I fucked up. I basically abandoned you.” His voice took on a harsh, sharp edge he only ever reserved for use against himself. You knew the inside of his head was a horror scene, full of admonishing comments and self-flagellation. You wished you could rescue him from his own mind. 

But his tone softened when he spoke about you, “You didn’t do anything wrong, sweetheart-”

“Buck, I accused you of cheating,” you nearly scoffed. It was ridiculous. Completely absurd. That you believed for even a moment that Bucky could actually have a mistress proved just how out of your mind you were. But grief, you figured, was capable of making people believe crazy things. “That was absolutely wrong of me. And I didn’t even-” you shook your head. “I didn’t even think that the other night might have affected you-”

“You were upset, and rightfully so.” He absolved you of any blame, any guilt. “Plus, you were the one who blacked out, not me. My feelings on the subject aren’t nearly as important as yours.”

“But you witnessed it. And it scared you. A lot.” You hated knowing that he’d been too horrified, too paralyzed with fear to even hold your hand. And the fact that he’d dealt with all of it alone was enough to force you to your knees. “I should’ve known better- I should’ve known you were upset. I’m so sorry, Buck. This was so unfair to you, I-”

He held up a hand, halting your words. “You can’t read my mind, sweetheart. And I could’ve communicated better.” He flashed you a sad smile, “That’s something I said I’d work on- communication. And I’m getting better at it, but I’m not perfect yet.”

“I’m not either, so… I guess we both have some stuff to work on. I probably shouldn’t go around alleging that you had an affair out of the blue.” You crossed your arms over your chest, hugging them tight to your body. Even if Bucky wasn’t sleeping with someone else, he still hadn’t allowed himself to touch you. And you were no match for the bone-chilling cold that had settled into the apartment.

“Um, okay, you know what? We can actually- let’s completely forget I said anything about this. Just put it out of your mind, alright?” This time, it was you who retreated. You who stepped away. 

“Sweetheart, wait-” Bucky adopted your role as the pursuer. He took a few strides in your direction, anxious to close the gap between you. He felt you slipping through his fingers, like he may never regain what the two of you used to have. 

“No, Buck, it’s okay. We’re okay. I just want you to do whatever works for you. I don’t want you to be hurting all the time, I don’t want you to be scared.” Again and again, you stroked your thumbs over your upper arms, but it didn’t bring you a hint of comfort. “And if that- if that means you can never touch me again, I’ll understand-”

“That’s not what I want- that’s absolutely not what I want,” Bucky’s eyes were wide. Almost crazed. It was as though the thought of never touching you again threatened to push him to the brink of madness. “I just need to… I need to take it slow. I have to start back at square one, like I did when I first met you. Is that okay? Can you- ”

“Whatever you need, I’m on board.” It was an automatic, instinctual response. Your voice was steady and even, free from any breaks or signs of uncertainty. You’d do anything for him, anything to ease his mind. “We can move as slowly as you need- there’s no rush.”

“But are you… are you sure?” His words dripped with anxiety, with fear. “Cause I can- I can try to get over it. I don’t want you to be miserable, doll. I can-”

“Buck, it’s okay.”

“Baby, I feel like I might…” He nearly doubled over, “I’m afraid I’m gonna lose you over this.”

“You won’t- I promise, you won’t.” Another surge of need coursed through you, begging you to wrap Bucky in an embrace, but you kept your hands to yourself. You’d never push him, would never dream of making him uncomfortable. “You will never lose me. I’m here for you, I’m not going anywhere. I don’t care how long it takes.”

And you meant it. Now that Bucky let you in on his secret, you understood that there had to be some distance. Some space. Of course, you’d still miss the physical intimacy. The sleepy mornings spent with your body draped across his chest. The late nights full of depravity and lust. But with the looming darkness of a possible affair banished, you could wait.

Though, you didn’t have to wait long at all.

Because Bucky vanquished space remaining between your body and his. He strode eagerly, anxiously across the room and raised his right hand, desperate to feel you again. But just as his palm grew close to your cheek, he faltered. His brain struggled to reign him in, to put a pause on his possibly dangerous plan. Only millimeters remained between his skin and yours, but he couldn’t find it in him to close the final gap. 

“It’s okay,” you said. “Take your time.”

It was the final push he needed. And finally, he touched you again. His palm lightly ghosted over your cheek, and tears instantly crested over your lash line. The feeling of relief, of home, was almost intoxicating. It was the lightest, softest touch- almost imperceptible. But to you- to Bucky- it was like a fireworks show. 

And after testing the waters with his feather-light touch, he found himself nearly begging for more. 

He allowed his palm to actually rest against your face, to cup your cheek the way he always did. And it acted like an instant pain reliever. The excruciating ache in your chest relented, and your muscles slackened as they released their knots. An all-encompassing warmth wrapped around your entire body, finally ridding you of the vicious cold you’d suffered through all these weeks. This was the warmth you knew you couldn’t live without, the warmth only Bucky could provide. 

His knees almost buckled beneath him, but he wouldn’t allow it. He wouldn’t allow anything to take this moment from either of you. All this time, he’d felt unmoored, adrift, lost in a dark, endless sea. And no matter how hard he fought, he couldn’t seem to find his way back to shore. But with his skin pressed against yours, he finally felt steady. Stable. You provided him with a guiding light. An anchor. He felt more like himself than he had in the last three weeks, all because of you.

Your tears dampened Bucky’s skin, but he didn’t mind. He brushed them gently away with a light sweep of his thumb. 

“Can I?” you motioned to the tears trailing down his cheek.

And after a moment of thought, he gave you a nod. Your hand drifted lightly over his skin to mop up his tears, but your touch only brought on more waterworks. He was so starved of your affection that even the lightest touch made him whimper. He let out a soft, grateful sound that knocked the breath from your chest. 

The two of you remained there a while, soaking in the sensation of the other. Bucky didn’t dare to hug you, and kissing you was still off limits. But his palm remained flush with your cheek for as long as you allowed- and you had no urge to ever remove it.  

You knew there was a long road ahead for him, but you didn’t mind. Starting back at square one with him was something you could handle. Something the two of you could handle together.

“It’s kind of a bummer that I didn’t get to make good use of your…” Bucky gestured to your discarded garter belt and thigh-highs, “outfit.”

You let loose a laugh that vibrated under his palm- the sensation sent a wave of warmth cresting over him.

“It’s alright, Buck. I’ll wear it again, I promise.” You leaned into his touch, greedily searching for more of him. “You can take as much time as you need, okay? I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

———————————

@beefybuckrrito @shadytalementality @everything-burns-down @rainbow-unicorn-pony @mandersshow @breakablebarnes @psychoticmason @glxwingrxse @lonewolf471 @purpleshallot @seitmai @itvy5601 @dailyreverie @navs-bhat @eviesaurusrex @themorningsunshine @buckys-metal-arm @broadwaybabe18 @the-kestrels-feather @avocadotoastwithegg @goldylions @lokisasgardianvampirequeen @vrittivsanghavi @idkitsem @avengetheunnatural @rassvetsky @hereforbuckyandsteve @juvellian @samanthacookieone @frombkjar @blackbirdsinatrenchcoat @anything-more-than-human

[ieirism]

intertwined. | preview

pairing: gojo satoru x f!reader

setting: omegaverse!au, university!au

genre: angst, smut, some fluff

contains: yandere, estranged childhood friends to enemies to lovers, mentions of self-identity issues, dubious consent, obsessive behavior, loss of virginity, mutual(ish) pining, gojo is bad at expressing his feelings so he’s kinda a jerk, lovesick!gojo

summary: you just want to lose your virginity, no strings attached. how could you have known that gojo satoru is in love with you?

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

release date: tbd | ask for taglist if interested

-

“I want you to take my virginity.”

Satoru’s cocky grin wipes clean off his face. His stare goes blank and his jaw drops open comically wide. For the first time in the twenty-one years you’ve known him, Gojo Satoru is at a loss for words.

“We never have to talk again afterwards,” you add quickly, your cheeks starting to heat up in embarrassment. “This is just gonna be a one-time thing.”

Satoru is silent, expression tense as he observes you carefully. His crystal blue eyes seem to darken a few shades as he takes your hand in his. His thumb strokes once, slowly over the back of your knuckles.

“Just a one-time thing,” he repeats languidly, lips stretching into a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Perhaps if you weren’t so focused on the rapid, frantic beating of your own heart, you would’ve noticed Satoru’s gaze wander—only to lock right on the clear patch stubbornly covering your neck’s scent gland. You would’ve seen the way his pupils dilate and his tongue swipes over his lips, with hunger written all over his face.

“Well then,” he all but rasps out, voice thick with desire. Without warning, he pulls your body against his with ease, trapping you in the warmth of his arms. Satoru rests his forehead against yours, letting out a groan that is too soft, too vulnerable, too intimate.

He’s so big, you realize. You can hardly believe that you once stood a whole head taller than him. Satoru towers over you, his lean frame completely dwarfing you. His large hands squeeze at your waist as he presses a barely-there, tender peck to your forehead.

You feel like you can’t breathe.

“I hope you know what you’ve gotten yourself into, sweetheart.”

You’ve heard stories about what he’s like in bed; it’s inevitable that as the most desired alpha on campus, he’s gotten around. You don’t expect tenderness or care; if you did, Gojo Satoru is the dead last person to approach. You’re waiting for him to start man-handling you, tearing your clothes off, chasing after the carnal pleasure that only sex can bring. You’ve prepared yourself for that.

Instead, Satoru cups your pretty face between his large hands, running his thumb along your cheekbone. His blue eyes are a swirling pool of emotions, burning with not only lust but something deeper. “Been waitin’ so long for this.” His hushed whisper falls on deaf ears as he leans in to kiss you.

You let out a surprised squeak as his lips press against yours; this isn’t how things are supposed to go. You’re not here to play romance with Satoru—yet, the slow gentle kisses he’s giving you and the gentleness with which he’s holding you are cutting it too close.

“W-Wait,” you gasp out, pulling away to catch your breath. Satoru is panting too, cheeks flushed pink as he stares at you like a man dying of thirst discovering an oasis. His hand trails down your side to rest on your waist, pulling himself forward so he can drop his head against your shoulder. “What are y—“ your words die in your throat as you feel his nose nudge against the most vulnerable part of you.

“You smell so fuckin’ good…” His groan against your neck reverberates through your entire body, shaking you to your very core. Your internal alarm flares to life, blaring loudly in warning. You can’t even pay much attention to that, though, not when—

“Y-You do, too…” The words leave you before you can even process them. You knees feel like jelly as his scent washes over you, deep, musky and addicting. Satoru stiffens against you, huffing out a short breath of frustration.

“You’re gonna kill me.” You feel it. You feel his teeth scrape against the spot your mating bond would be. Satoru knows just as well as you do that you don’t have one, and that if you had things your way, that would never change. He teases the edge of the bandage covering your scent gland, rolling it between his teeth. Your fingers curl into his shirt, tugging nervously.

“N-Not there,” you protest, stumbling over your words in panic. Satoru pauses, and for three very long seconds, neither of you move. The only thing you can hear the is the pounding of your own heartbeat, his shallow pants against your neck, and the hum of the air conditioning.

He’s close, too close—you’re terrified of what he’s capable of, only because you don’t know if you can count on your own willpower to stop him. You’re slowly going limp in his arms, becoming nothing but putty in between his fingers—you’ve never felt so weak.

You hate how he makes you feel. You’ve always hated how he makes you feel. Weak. The world has always told you that you are. You’re nothing but a little omega whose only fate is to be a strong alpha’s obedient mate. You’ve fought back, resisted, protested—yet, Gojo Satoru has always managed to put you right back in your place.

This time is no different. Once again, you find yourself at his mercy. Your stomach boils with bitterness, with anger, with hatred… with longing.

Too slowly, he pulls away from your neck, only to lock eyes with you. “Right.” Satoru’s lips quirk into a crooked grin. “This is just a one-time thing, huh?”

You recognize that smile.

It’s the one that Satoru gave when he broke his mama’s favorite vase and blamed the cat. It’s the one that Satoru gave when he stole a candy bar from the store and got caught by the cashier. It’s the one that Satoru gave when he claimed you were no more than a stranger and left you to fend for yourself through high school.

He’s lying.

Far too late, you realize you’d made a big mistake.

-

author’s note: i can’t even lie this little word vomit was just a way to get some gojo thirst off my chest. i’m not even sure if i’ll ever get around to writing a full fic because i’ve been planning this in my head for weeks and there’s so much i want to include. yet i have too little time because of uni :(

if you are interested in being part of a taglist just in case i ever actually get around to writing the full fic, just let me know in the replies.

thank you for reading this far :)

[cosycafune]

ENGRAVED VIRGIN!

usually, king sukuna treats you with dearest respect, but after you plotted against him, a barely restrained thread of his snaps. who are you to recklessly defy him, especially after he’s given you everything? therefore, he has to teach your virgin self a lesson.

synopsis of acts: breasts slapping, wounding, creampie, virginity loss, degrading, size different, sadism, clit slapping, humiliation, getting caught, breeding kink, threats of pregnancy, mouth being stuffed with panties, light bondage, crying, sensitivity, rough sex, bleeding after sex, and angst. not proofread.

— ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ ᡣ𐭩 —

“Repeat what you said, brat,” Lord Sukuna orders with an impenetrable amount of revulsion.

“‘K-Kuna! I didn’t mean it—”

Smack.

Incapable of stopping your lulling head, tears brim within your glassy eyes at Sukuna spanking your tingly breasts. Even while the thickness of his angry cock kisses your clit, Lord Sukuna casts his insatiable crimson eyes upon your weeping frame.

If you had sealed your lips, while he planned the death of a so-called traitor, you wouldn’t have discovered yourself so degraded. Degraded, tied, loosely gagged with your balled up underwear, littered with scratch marks and welled up pain within your aching limbs.

Everything within you was terrified, unsure of whether you were going to be able to handle Sukuna’s fullness. After all, you had never bedded a man before — simply remaining oblivious until Lord Sukuna captured you within this given moment.

“You brought this on yourself, you ungrateful girl,” Sukuna lowly spits out, applying an ample slap upon your cunt. Your cunt before your nimble body recoils, your eyes jittering whilst your throbbing worsens.

“N-No!” Whining with insubordination, you carefully writhe around — attempting to push your supple thighs together.

“You’d think I’d let you and your pure self go? I want to ruin you,” Enthralled, Sukuna’s cunning eyes twist with his impatient, reckless and womanising preaching.

“Y-You’ll break me, Ryo,” Muttering for dear life, you observe Lord Sukuna’s lustful yet pensive gaze.

“You’re not a mere weakling, my cock will not break you,” Cockily, Sukuna informs you.

Gasping, your body’s decency collapses the moment Sukuna’s swiftly pushes his needy cock tip against your barely visible cunt. The unfathomable tension completely ripped at your resolve, especially as just Sukuna’s tip left you feeling incredibly nauseous — plunged with the unfamiliar sensation.

Sukuna’s bound to mark you, reform you and restructure you. You knew this the moment you were swayed into serving beneath him, by another legendary jujutsu sorcerer — and you reluctantly agreed. Inevitably, drawn by complex fate, you ponder on the concept of being sexually dominated by a man who’s defined as a murderer.

“I-It hurts!” Wailing, your breaths shorten as Lord Sukuna burrows himself painfully further within you. Within you as your eyes swell with tears, your soppy cunt incapable of handling his log of a cock.

His cock is monstrous, inhumane and far from tedious.

“You’ll take it!” Lord Sukuna’s sharp fingers burrow within your nimble thighs, subconsciously drawing blood as you writhe around, “How dare you be ungrateful, after everything I did for you.”

“Ryo—”

“This is the least you could do for me, letting me engrave you,” Sukuna unleashes his cunning proposal, his sculpted hips forcing more of his monstrous cock in your overwhelmed cunt.

“N-Never had cock before, Ryo,” Sobbing, completely light-headed and vaginally moulded, your pleading eyes greet the stoic dominance within his reigning own.

“You have now, so you can learn to handle the pain,” In disbelief, your lips widen as your moan of aching rips through the distorted ambience.

“H-How can you be so heartless?” Hiccuping with worded grief, subtle softness overtakes Lord Sukuna — pushing him into pinning a squirming you down.

“Did you not tell my maid that you wanted to leave?” Sukuna questions with ample grunts, experimentally bucking his carved hips within you.

Pulverised, you’re left breathless — your lung capacity dimmed at Sukuna’s extreme deepness within you. Everything within you feared this extent of his consensual cruelty, particularly with his threatening stomach bulge fitted so closely besides your ready-to-be-breed womb.

“Because you’re cruel!” Loathing Lord Sukuna’s lack of empathy and selflessness, you spew your words as Sukuna gifts you a gentle kiss.

Your first kiss, and a kiss that contrasts his harsh demeanour and being.

“You knew that, but you still stayed,” Attentive, Sukuna counters your point. Counters your point while he silently questions if you’re ready to move, only to take notice of your obsolete yes.

“Look at you now—” Cock-stuffed, your mind blanks the moment Sukuna performs his inhuman thrusts. Thrusts that kiss upon your brutalised walls, leaving you to choke out moans with a cursing Lord Sukuna.

“H-Hurts s-so good! Ah! Yes!” Reciting mewls of incomprehensible pleasure, your eyes roll back harder at Sukuna smacking his hips against the base of your overwhelmed cunt.

“If I ruin you like this, you’re going to always come back to me,” Sukuna hums through his lewd whimpers and groans, yearning for you to hear his passively whimper.

“It isn’t care if you want to ruin me for you,” Yelling in pain, you struggle to breathe with Sukuna further burrowing the pattern of his nails into your roughened up hips.

“I’ll impregnate you, just so your ex-virgin self can have something more worthy than your stupid escape plan,” Sukuna plants himself into exclaiming, roughly slapping your clammed nipple — in hopes of crushing your inexperienced self.

“You’re not making it out of these bondage ropes,” Angrily speaking, Sukuna shoves your underwear further into your mouth — gleefully slapping your ample, jiggly boobs.

“Mhm! Ah!” Moaning against your will, exhaustion tints you as Lord Sukuna wraps his hands around your throat — pounding into your adjusting cunt with an inhumane nature.

“I don’t care if you’re a good jujutsu sorcerer, you’re never leaving this place,” Harshening his thrusts, Sukuna maniacally glances down at your disheartened eyes.

“Whatever I want, I get it,” Sukuna motions to you, glancing down at your soppy cunt creaming against his thick cock.

Just the way the fatness of it made you look puny imposed happiness over him. In this moment, he rules you with his massive cock — it’s largeness barely contained in your cunt. But even so, Sukuna looking down at your cunt, watching you take him in so good made him know that you’re engraved by him.

“Dwfm!” Unplugging your succulent lips, Sukuna grants you the will to speak, “D-Did I just—”

“You came even though you know you can’t do anything before me, therefore I have to cum in you and teach you a lesson,” Sukuna grunts out with an animalistic nature, pounding into you as if his reign upon his kingdom is reliant on your warm, pulsating cunt being submissive by letting him fill your womb with his royal seed.

“S-So fast!” At your scarcely phrased pleasure and cries of virgin discomfort, your fingers itch for Sukuna to at least come to a somewhat stop. However, your gentle fingers are weakened by his extremely powerful thrusts that consistently form a dangerous bulge in your toned stomach.

“You won’t be a soldier anymore, I’ll use you till the point I get you so pregnant and swole, you’ll be too busy caring for our young kin to ever leave.” Warm and conflicted at Sukuna’s truthful plan, you feel him eradicate your cunt and structure it so it obeyed him in the way your mouth wouldn’t.

“S-So…selfish!” Turned on by your tears of sadness, betrayal, Sukuna’s sadistic persona displays itself. Sukuna continues to demolish your Mac and cheese imitating cunt, listening to the extremely loud squelching that your male colleagues could hear.

“All your stupid colleagues are out there, listening to their grand knight getting fucked by the merciless king that they all complain about!” Sukuna chuckles at embarrassment consumes a breathless, squelching and a freely mewling you.

“This pussy’s to die for!” Bellowing, Sukuna heightens your mortification. Overwhelmed with pleasure, moaning and grunting with unrelenting noise, with you, Sukuna slams thick cock against your cunt, his pace so superhuman pieces of the bed begin to cave in.

“Yes! Yes! Ah! Mhm! Hot!” Pleading through mindless moans, your breathing and lightheadedness exceed you with Sukuna thrusting to the point his thick, heavy balls beat against the bottom of your soppy cunt.

“I’m going to cum all inside of you and call the grand knights in here to see how you’re engraved,” Sukuna excitingly says, pressing on your neck while he burrows his deepest — a faint, dirty moan flees your parted lips.

“Ryo’, mhm! Ahhh!” Clouded, your bratty voice completely floods the room — contorting the duality of your usual self.

“I’m going to mould you into what I want,” Pussy-whipped, Sukuna’s groggy statement is contrasted by his energetic cock straining before filling your unused womb with the thick portion of his cum.

The king’s load.

“N-No,” Unwilling to serve as nothing but Sukuna’s cock reliever, you gasp with him pulling out of you. Pulling out of you before an accidental load of his lands upon your rising abdomen, in between your perky breasts and face.

“Defiled, you’re better,” Sukuna speaks in a stern voice, using a small fraction of his cursed technique to open the door — revealing a singular knight of your own.

“N-No way!” The knight mutters and faints, leaving you to shift your head to the side with the embarrassment Lord Sukuna’s putting you through.

You were known as a virgin, so being taken by someone so evil struck something within them.

“You’re bleeding, but it’s better that I got to you first instead of another man,” Sukuna retorts, basking in the chaos of you hyperventilating at the blood that entwines with his cum trickling out of your cunt.

“I’m sore, and it hurts,” Unable to move, feeling your lower region throbbing and weirdly swollen, Sukuna’s eyes simply darken at the whiny innocence of you.

“That’s your punishment, so say fairwell to your grand knight position soon,” Degrading you, Sukuna chuckles — gleeful with the intimate art he had structured.

“I’ll end everything before I have your child out of spite, Ryomen Sukuna,” Spitting it out, you roll your eyes at the lack of empathy he holds towards you once being a virgin at just nineteen.

More by more, Lord Sukuna knew he was going to break you and engrave you with nothing more than him and his cum.

Engraved.

do not copy, translate or repost my work on any other platform. everything here is written by me, so all rights are reserved. cosycafune, 2024.

[vorestarr]

ascended astarion and vampire spouses

so I've been reading the dnd 2e manual "Van Richten's Guide to Vampires" for fic/game inspiration, and there's this really interesting chapter on vampire brides and grooms. after reading it, it's very clear to me that Astarion didn't turn Tav into a typical spawn, but into a vampire spouse, which are two very different rituals with very different outcomes.

the typical vampire spawn creation process is exactly what Astarion describes happening to him: a painful death, a painful rebirth into undeath, fighting his way out of his own coffin, and Cazador's complete control over him. this is described pretty clearly in the guide to vampires:

According to most related tales, a vampire can create another simply by killing a mortal either with its life-energy draining power (draining all the character's experience leveIs) or by exhausting the mortal of his or her blood supply. If the victim's body is not properly destroyed, it arises as a vampire, under the control of the creature who killed it, on the second night following the burial. [...] Most vampires remember the instant of their death and the nature of their killer, and understand immediately their new nature. Certainly their new hunger gives them a good idea of what they have become. They must immediately free themselves from their grave. either by breaking it open from within or by assuming gaseous form and diffusing out.

so that's definitely what happened to Astarion, but that's not what happens to Tav. after ascended Astarion turns Tav into a vampire, they can ask him what happened, and he describes the following:

Astarion: You are so beautiful... And you will be beautiful forever. Thank you for trusting me. Player: What exactly happened? Astarion: You were drained dry, and at the height of your delirium, I granted you one drop of my own blood. Things will be a touch different for you than they were for me when I was a spawn. I'm imbibed with unfathomable new talents. I am fairly certain I can extend Mephistopheles' blessings unto you. Player: Does that mean I need not fear the sun? Astarion: You need not fear anything. You will be stronger, swifter, sharper, but you won't be different. You were already perfect before. It's hard to improve.

for reference, this is how the guide to vampires describes the ritual for vampire spouses:

To actually create the bride, the vampire bestows what is known as the "Dark Kiss". lt samples the blood of its mortal paramour—once, twice, thrice—draining her almost to the point of death. This process causes the subject no pain; in fact, it has been described as the most euphoric, ecstatic experience, in comparison to which all ether pleasures fade into insignificance. Just as the subject is about to slip into the terminal coma from which there is no awakening, the vampire opens a gash in its own flesh—often in its throat—and holds the subject's mouth to the wound, As the burning draught that is the vampire’s blood gushes into the subject's mouth, the primitive feeding instinct is triggered, and she sucks hungrily at the wound, enraptured. With the first taste of the blood, the subject is possessed of great and frenzied strength (Str 18, if the character’s Str isn't already higher), and will use it to prevent the vampire from separating her from the fountain of wonder that is its bleeding wound. lt is at this point that the creator-vampire's strength is most sorely tested. He is weakened by his own blood loss, and also by his own rapture as the "victim" of a dark kiss. Overcoming the sudden loss of strength and the inclinations of lust, the vampire must pull her away from its own throat, hopefully without harming her, before she has overfed. Should the subject be allowed to feed for too long (more than 2 rounds), she is driven totally and incurably insane, and will die in agony within 24 hours. Once the subject has stopped feeding, she falls into a coma that lasts minutes or hours (2dl2 turns), at the end of which time she dies. Several (1 d3) hours later, she arises as a Fledgling vampire—and her creator's bride.

this to me sounds like what Astarion describes. he drains Tav almost dry, and at the very last moment, gives them a single drop of his blood. (also interesting reading this guide, the single drop avoids the problem of the vampire spouse being driven ravenous with hunger for the vampire creator's blood and attacking them. did Astarion know this and give them one drop on purpose to avoid that and Tav potentially being driven mad by it? or was he being selfish and this is just a nice but unanticipated outcome?)

i kept reading and there's a lot more interesting information about vampire spouses, but the most interesting thing I found related to the game was this:

Although there are some folk tales that describe the bride of a vampire as its slave, in much the same way that offspring are slaves, a bride is free-willed from the moment of her creation. The creator vampire does have great influence over the bride. however although this control is totally nonmagical. When a vampire is created in the traditional manner—that is, when a victim's life energy is completely drained away—the new fledgling instinctively understands much about the vampiric way of unlife, and about its own strengths, weaknesses* and needs. Not so the bride.

so basically, the vampire spouse is not tied to the vampire creator in the same way as a spawn (i.e., not able to be fully controlled) but is still extremely reliant on the vampire creator to teach them how to live as a vampire. the guide goes on to describe that some vampire creators may lie to their vampire spouse about the control or powers they have, in order to exert more control over them.

interestingly, if you ask Astarion if he can compel you the way Cazador compelled him, he doesn't give a straight answer, he just says this:

Player: Cazador could compel you - can you compel me? Astarion: Why would I need to? You're going to be wonderfully obedient.

to me, all of this says that Astarion was telling the truth when he told Tav that they would be different from him as a spawn, and also in emphasizing that they are not a spawn but a consort. he didn't create a spawn, he created a vampire spouse. he married Tav, and because of this Tav also retains their free will.

of course, Astarion doesn't say this. if he knows, he withholds this information in much the way that this guide describes, as a way for the creator to maintain more control over their spouse. but still, extremely interesting implications for the ascended Astarion romance, imo.

other interesting facts about vampire spouses from the guide to vampires:

the married couple has telepathic communication that can span miles -- so Tav and Astarion can potentially have a telepathic bond even after the tadpoles are gone. (another note, this communication has to be consensual both ways for it to work, so you can't just dig around someone's mind if they don't want it.)

the vampire creator is extremely jealous and possessive. (yeah lol)

their life forces are linked, so one suffering a great deal is felt by the other.

the bond can be broken, but the ritual to do so has to be initiated by the creator. to break it, they both spill their blood on the ground and allow it to mix. this dissolves all aspects of the bond (i.e., telepathy and linked life forces), but the spouse stays a vampire.

[eloves-writes]

🤍 with Max verstappen. 🌶🌶 pretty pretty please

i really really enjoyed writing this one🫡🫡

song lyric prompt: “oh i’ve never done it, let’s make it cinematic” naked in manhattan ~ chappell roan 🤍

warnings: loss of virginity, sex, fingering, swearing

minors dni

——————————————————

“you are serious? you haven’t done it before?”

you shook your head.

max looked at you incredulously. he was supposed to be helping you practice different circuits on the racing sim since you were new to the team, but as it had gotten later at the redbull factory, you’d ended up sat on the floor next to the sim talking to max endlessly about your careers as he demonstrated his best laps for you. conversation was easy with him; as intimidating he seemed on track, he was actually very talkative once he got started, and you’d be lying if you said you couldn’t listen to him talk for hours. whilst having a crush on your teammate wasn’t technically against the rules, it felt like a slight misstep, even thought it was practically impossible when max was so fucking hot. after a particularly impressive lap time, he’d remarked that that feeling was ‘better than sex’, and you replied jokingly saying you wouldn’t know, which had lead you here.

“you don’t have the time? you don’t want to?” he probed, apparently more interested in your lack of a sex life than finishing the mock practice session he’d started.

“um, i just haven’t, i guess,” you laughed awkwardly.

“wow,” he replied, raising his eyebrows. “you’re very beautiful, you know y/n. not to mention how talented you are on the track.”

“are you trying to tell me something, verstappen?” you joked, completely unserious and not expecting his reply at all.

“no. i’m … offering.”

your face dropped. “what?”

“there’s no one here. if you want to do it, why not do it with me?”

your brain short circuited. 3 time world champion max verstappen had just casually offered to take your virginity. he had an inarguable point; why not do it with him?

“ok,” you said simply, feeling like a complete rookie once again. you looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to tell you what to do.

he was still in the driver’s seat of the sim, a wanting lust in his eyes. he had found you hot since the first time you got into the redbull car and overtook him on a flying lap, finishing the practice session just 2 tenths ahead of him; he had wanted to fuck you since you got out of the car afterwards and teased him about it.

“come here, schat,” he encouraged, motioning to his lap. you carefully stood up and straddled his lap.

“don’t look so nervous. i’m not gonna hurt you. unless you want me to,” he added with a smirk.

“i don’t think i’m there yet,” you laughed, easing into his lap more. “what do i do?”

“well have you kissed someone before?”

you embarrassingly shook your head; you didn’t think any of your teenage ‘kisses’ really counted towards anything.

“ok,” he said nonchalantly, tucking you hair behind your ear. “let’s start there then.”

he pressed his lips against yours, letting you get used to the feeling before you kissed him back, the movement coming to you instinctively. his hands remained firmly on your waist as he deepened the kiss, with his fingertips gripping you tightly as if he needed to hold you there. it felt like a movie scene, kissing him with such passion as the sunset cast golden streams of light through the large window at the other end of the room.

once you seemed equal parts comfortable and needy, max pulled away. “can i take your shirt off?”

“okay,” you replied. he lifted the redbull shirt over your head, revealing a plain but cute blue bra. you were glad you’d at least worn matching underwear, even if they weren’t particularly sexy. max ran a finger under one of the straps.

“can i take this off too?”

you nodded again. nobody had ever seen this much of you before. he expertly unfastened your bra, slowly taking it off you before throwing it to the floor with your shirt. his eyes darkened at the sight of your bare boobs.

“so perfect,” he commented, mostly to himself, before palming one side with his large hand. he gently pinched your nipple, watching it harden beneath his fingers and enjoying the soft gasp it elicited from you.

“take yours off,” you whispered as he continued to play with your nipples. you tugged at the bottom of his matching redbull shirt so he knew what you meant. he smiled at you before obliging, adding it to the growing pile of clothing. his chest was beautiful, toned to perfection but not too muscled, unlike his biceps that were thick from years of vigorous training. you knew he was bigger than you, but this visual confirmation made you involuntarily grind yourself against him.

he took this as a signal that you were ready to go further, helping you out of your jeans and underwear. you felt completely exposed, but it somehow turned you on even more knowing it was max you were exposed to. you sat back onto his lap, starting to worry about getting his jeans damp from your growing wetness. he placed a hand at the top of your thigh.

“i’m going to touch you, ok?” he said, making careful note of your body language and facial expressions in case you were uncomfortable. that was not the read he was getting; you wanted him, badly, and it was obvious.

“ok,” you breathed, his finger tracing the length of your wet cunt.

“all this for me, y/n? pretty girl.”

you murmured in agreement, completely lost in the moment. his fingers moved smoothly against your clit, making you moan out and place your hands on each of his shoulders to stable yourself as he begun to tease your hole, starting by inserting just one finger and pumping it gently in and out of you.

“feels good, max,” you confirmed, whimpering a little.

“going to put another in, ok? get you ready for me.”

he inserted another finger, your pleasure increasing, especially as he angled his hand so the heel of it bumped your clit as he fingered you. you’d touched yourself before, but having max do it was a completely different feeling and you found yourself releasing onto his hand sooner than you thought.

he coaxed you through your orgasm, telling you how good you were and encouraging you to cum until you were so overwhelmed with pleasure you came with a loud moan.

“you like that, schat? huh?,” he said as you came down, brushing your hair back behind your ears.

“yeah,” you managed. you felt unashamed of how needy you were for him.

he took your hand and placed it over his crotch. even restrained against his jeans, you could feel how big his hard cock was.

“that’s what you do to me,” he said, staring intensely into your eyes. “unzip my jeans, schat.”

you followed his order, unbuttoning the top and sliding down the zipper. he nodded, encouraging you to keep going. he moved his hips up so you could slide the jeans along with his boxer shorts down past his ass and push them down his legs just past where you sat. his cock hit his stomach, leaking a little precum from watching you orgasm minutes earlier. he ran a hand over himself, jerking it to show you that it wasn’t scary.

“can i?” you asked, nervous again. max nodded and you copied his movements, your hands much smaller than his.

“ok, baby,” he moaned, moving your hand away. “gonna make me finish before i even fuck you.”

“what do i do?” you asked again, eager to have him inside you.

he instructed you to place your knees either side of him on the race seat so you could hold yourself up, and lined himself up with your entrance. you sank down onto him, gasping at the way he filled you up.

“ok?” he asked, hands finding your waist again.

“yeah,” you replied. “feels weird. good weird.”

max laughed. “you want to start moving?”

you nodded and brought your hips up and back down again, sliding along his cock. “like that?”

“yeah like that. that’s good, baby.”

you did it again, feeling butterflies in your stomach and pleasure building up. max guided you up and down with his strong hands, never looking away from your perfect face and the expressions of pleasure that were gracing it. as he sensed you getting closer, he decided to help you and thrust his hips upward to match the pace you’d set for yourself, which slammed the tip of his dick into your g-spot and you really realised what sex was all about. it felt insanely good, bordering on too much but not crossing the line. max was getting close too; having his beautiful young teammate bouncing on his dick was really working for him, as he continued his praise of you.

“taking it so well, schat. so pretty, you feel so good,” he moaned.

his words pushed you over the edge, another orgasm washing over you and the fluttering of your walls as you came was enough to push max too, and he spilled out inside of you.

you both went still as you came down from your highs, panting and sweaty, yet each of you thought the other had never looked better.

“that was good, yeah?” max asked as you both re-dressed.

“really fucking good,” you laughed. “i see what i was missing out on now.”

he chuckled as he checked the size of the redbull shirt in his hand to determine which was yours and which was his. he threw the smaller one to you and you put it back on.

“you know, if you wanted to make this a regular thing, i would be happy to do that.”

you looked at him and smiled. “sure. thanks, by the way.”

he smiled back. “the pleasure’s mine, really.”

[mwahmimi]

You are mine, I’ve been drowning in you. ⛓️

Hotch chuckles, smiling at your struggling. He runs a finger along your vulnerable underbelly, being meticulous not to spoil you with touch. You’re completely nude on display for him, but he, he’s still wearing his work clothes. His tie loosened and jacket tossed aside.

“All chained to the wall, how badly do you want out of these cuffs huh?”

He places his hands on your stomach, gently ghosting his fingers over your belly and sneaking his fingers across your curves.

“I asked you a question, princess.How badly do you want out of the cuffs?”

Your body betrays you as you buck your hips, desperate to feel his calloused fingertips between your thighs. You’re sure he can feel the heat radiating from you from where he’s standing. He smirks and continues gently running his fingers over your stomach, enjoying all the writhing you’re doing that your bondage allows.

“Don’t wanna talk? That’s okay. You know your safety signals, click your fingers and I’ll release you. Until then, you’re mine.”

Aaron runs his pointer and middle fingers through your folds, stopping to let his thumb massage over your clit.He looks surprised for a second, before starting to smirk.

“You… seriously? That simple little thing does it for you? Oh you are so delightfully sensitive.”

He dips his middle finger inside you, collecting your wetness and spreading it over your sensitive bud.

“All this for me? You shouldn’t have.”

He smiles once more, letting out a soft chuckle at his own words.

Aaron moves closer until his body is pressed against yours, gently circling your clit with his fingers.

“Oh, it’s torture, isn’t it? Feeling my hands gently rubbing your needy little clit, just enough to make you struggle to hold still. But it’s okay, these cuffs can hold you, they’ve held down many a criminal. You’re no match for them. Silly little girl, so weak and fragile.”

Still gently tracing your body, enjoying watching you get more and more worked up from such a light touch. He leans closer to your ear and whispers again.

“Ooh, so you like a bit of degrade you like this, princess?”

He laughs, rubbing his facial hair roughly against your neck.

“Teasing you so helplessly, not giving you any real relief… just getting you more and more worked up, huh?”

Aaron laughs with an evil smirk, nuzzling against your neck again. You rut your hips into his fingers, searching for a rhythm that he won’t allow you.

“Aww, such a needy little princess. Trying so hard to seek more pleasure, but you just can’t get any, can you? You’re all trapped up, at my mercy, all struggling and squirming while I tease you.”

Knowing you’re desperate for more, he pulls his fingers out of you, sliding them into your mouth and forcing you to lick your lust from them.

“Oh princess, it’s so cute how you keep begging me to give you what you need, you’re so greedy and desperate for it, aren’t you? You want Daddy to give you more, to tease and degrade you even more, right?”

“Oh I bet it aches doesn’t it? Is it beginning to hurt? You get so worked up over nothing don’t you sweet girl? I bet you are just internally begging for me to untie you, bend you over my desk and fuck you like the dirty little whore you are. Look at this pussy, she’s just crying out for me, weeping at the loss of my fingers.”

You whine, softly sobbing in your bindings. Every word he said was right, even in his sex life he could profile someone to perfection. Hotchner laughs again but gently shushes you, clamping his firm hand over your mouth to silence you.

“Shhh princess, you’re starting to get louder. Calm down a bit, princess, Daddy’s going to take good care of you.”

He notices your hip bucking and gently moves one of his hands to your lower back to hold you in place. Pounding his fingers deep inside of you, he hits the spongy area you need him in the most. Every hit feels deep into your g-spot.

“Do you feel yourself getting close already, princess? Are you getting all sensitive and needy? Does it feel more intense the more Daddy touches you?”

With a straight, deadpan face he bites into your neck, leaving a mark that is sure to stay on your skin for days. He whispers.

“Oh princess, you’re so close already, aren’t you? You’re such a sensitive little thing, I can tell how desperate and needy you are… it’s pathetic.”

Aaron glances down at you, noticing how close you are. Your pussy leaking out onto his fingers.

“You’re on the edge of release, and you can’t hold on any longer, can you? Go on. Cum on my fingers. Come undone all over me.”

With his demand, you do as you’re told. Riding out your orgasm on his fingers. Pulling harder on the cuffs that hold you, you crave your nails scratching down his back, wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him in deeper.

Coming down off your high, you open your eyes again to the bright light surrounding Aaron that made him look like an angel.

“I love when you torture me like that.”

You finally speak, your words flowing out of you like a drug through your veins. He releases you from the cuffs, realising the metal has cut into your skin. He kisses over your marked wrists, each press of his lips softer than the last. Aaron rests his chin on the top of your head.

“You did so well for me, as always. Now, tea?”

[tacticalprincess]

ima need more pornstar!könig or a continuation of the last one u wrote 🧘🏻

a spin on pornstar!könig ..

pornstar!könig who’s weirder than you expected. almost skittish around you at first, unnervingly quiet when the cameras aren’t rolling. tension hangs heavy in the air with the mystery of what he’s going to do to you, his lack of conversational skills doing nothing to put your nerves at ease. he’s still so unused to being around people as pretty as you, you’ll have to forgive his lack of manners.

pornstar!könig who gets off on the fact that someone like you gets off to his poorly produced, half-assed masturbation videos. his ego made him unable to resist having you after you dm him claiming to be his #1 fan, clearly not expecting it to be seen, let alone responded to. he asks you in broken english to demonstrate how you touch yourself to him when you’re all alone in your bedroom, making you strip completely and spread your pretty thighs on his couch while he stands fully clothed a few feet away. unzipping his pants just enough to tug on his big cock while he watches you rub your cute little clit, back arching alluringly off of his stiff furniture, overwhelming him with the need to ruin you.

pornstar!könig who notices the way your eyes go wide, starting to second guess yourself when you see just how big he actually is in person, pride swelling in his chest at the fear in your eyes. don’t worry, he’ll make it fit!!

pornstar!könig who doesn’t make eye contact with you unless it’s through the grainy lens of his dated phone camera, gruffly and shakily instructing you to look at it while you suck him off, swirling your warm tongue along his swollen tip. dick twitching and leaking precum at the sight of your half lidded eyes dilated with lust. he slaps his thick shaft against your cheeks and tongue when you get a little too eager, relishing in the way you whine at the loss. he feeds off your adorable desperation, high off the feeling of being worshipped.

pornstar!könig who’s too engrossed in watching the way your weeping pussy stretches to accommodate his size to worry about getting you off, but still pins your dainty hands above your head to stop you from pleasuring yourself. if you can’t cum from the feeling of his thick cock splitting you open alone, you don’t deserve to cum at all. you’ve wanted this for so long, it should be enough for you, no?

pornstar!könig who takes advantage of the control you give him, fucking into you until he physically can’t anymore, using you in the same way you’ve orgasmed to watching him use his fleshlight countless times.

pornstar!könig who pauses inside you, confused when you ask for a kiss. he’s even more confused by how badly he wants to give it to you. it’s far too intimate for the relationship, or lack thereof, that you have, but he obliges anyway, reaching down and lifting his mask just enough to capture you soft, plump lips in his chapped ones, whining into your mouth.

pornstar!könig who leaves you twitching and crying, pretty makeup running from tears, cunt sore from abuse. he promises to blur your face out before he posts the footage, but he hopes you don’t mind if he keeps the unedited version for himself.

pornstar!könig who titles your video ‘fan-service’ but remembers you as the best fuck of his life. he doesn’t usually see the same person twice, but once jerking off to your soft body under his through his screen isn’t enough to satisfy him anymore, he might have to make an exception.

[ladythornofrivia]

🍒 The Devil’s Tongue 🍒

Michael Gavey x Reader (PART ONE)

summary: you transferred into Oxford after moving out from your country for a better change, and unexpectedly meeting Michael Gavey in a quiet library, leads to something more.

warnings: creepy vibes from michael gavey, reader being oblivious, stalking, michael being horny, p in v sex, loss of virginity, jealousy, misunderstandings, obsession, belt kink, panty kink, scent kink, voice kink, breeding kink, michael gavey being a smartass, michael gavey is horny for math, michael gavey is a smartass, clueless reader, nerdy yet hot michael, lust at first sight, sex in the library, sex on the table, kitchen sex, oral sex, cam girl, fingering, sex during tutoring session, reader teasing, reader being a dominatrix in bed, food porn.

a/n: i forgot to review the movie saltburn last year, so I’ll give it a short review. Saltburn is a weird movie, but i watched it because of Ewan Mitchell. While ewan mitchell is 10/10, saltburn is 7/10, because of the bathtub scene and the grave scene. the only thing that’s good is the cinematography, music and ewan mitchell. i wish there’s more scenes from him. yes, i keep saying his name! he’s so fucking hot as a nerd. this one shot will be long.

You like cherries.

There’s something mysterious and tempting about the roundish and reddish fruits. Cherries are sweet, and it’s dark-reddish color brought an appeal to your appetite and. Appeal that also changes your view in fashion.

And as hot as the Devil’s tongue.

Red symbolized lust.

Sinful, they proclaimed.

So does your pussy, when you splayed across the bed, watched as Michael entered and his face bewildered when you splayed naked in bed with thick whip cream smothered on your tits, waist, and your pussy decorated in whip cream swirled with cherry on top.

"Hi, baby. I've been waiting for you," you said as your legs spread, thick of whip cream and candied cherry cascaded slowly.

***

A Year Ago…

Your parents and your attention seeking relatives are no good. Red is as sin as lust—the devil’s skin, the devil’s horn.

Other than black and pink, you like the dark-cherry color. All your aesthetics are cherry red—well, the undertones to match your little room at your small house belongs to your parents.

Them and their sinless views of the world has sickened to your stomach. You don’t want to be like your hypocritical, martyr parents for the rest of your life, so you applied for the university at Oxford and Northamptonshire. You got accepted to the university. Despite being a young woman, you managed to prove them wrong.

And sever ties with them to go at the University of Oxford, where you encounter numerous people. You’ve done research to get things right—not to be frigid or superficially pretentious; you didn’t want to embarrass yourself on the spot if you chose to be ignorant.

One thing that no one else knows of you, is that you moonlight as a dominatrix on a live stream. Every night, you broadcast online to pleasure yourself—that’s how you got money to bail from a strict and hypocritical religious household.

Few of the students looked at your direction, giving a side-eye. You overheard them calling you a prostitute, but you couldn’t care less. Dress to impress for yourself. You mostly wore bike leather jacket, a tank top, mini skirt and a chunky dark-cherry red boots with light make up, but the lipstick is glossy dark red—and not the irritable, sticky kind.

Your long locks tossed at the side, already at your assigned room, but you shut the windows completely. You don’t want to reveal the private side of your internet sensation. After closing the curtains, you’re off to the hall, where people gathered and talk, mainly about drama and parties.

You hadn’t known one. But you had party to yourself of gaining source of income from self-pleasure.

There you sat down, and overheard someone at your left. Afar, you saw a young man named Oliver Quick and another guy with nerdy glasses.

Michael Gavey.

“Fuckin’ ask me a sum then!” The chatter dimmed when a young man shouted about math.

No one really likes as the guy with the nerdy glasses does. But he does look cute when he’s fuming.

Maybe he’s sexually frustrated. All it needs is I need to work on a poor guy. Poor guy is so frustrated—a no man island himself, like Oliver Quick.

You could tell. So you chimed in.

“What’s the square root of 69”

Both boys turned to look at you.

“I’m sorry, who are you?” Oliver inquired, perplexed.

“Oh, just a curious person asking him a question,” you said, jerking your head towards the blond and cutely frustrated boy.

“8.30662386292,” is all the blond uttered.

Your lips tugged into a smirk, and left.

Interesting, now I have a new kink to look forward to for my next kinky session.

***

It’s quite luxurious for a library—grand yet old like wines in the cellar. You studied Political Science and Art, and while you studied and sometimes drawing, but a certain snack bar caught your eye; it was placed above your drawing.

“I got you a crunchie,” a voice said. You turned and saw Michael Gavey.

“Oh, um, thanks?”

“I have never seen you before,” he noted.

“Really? So do I.”

“As a matter of fact, you have disrupted us during our friendly conversation.”

Oliver Quick was anything but friendly and comfortable.

“Okay and?”

He quirked a brow. “Your attitude is unusual.”

“Well, where I came from, it’s not really an issue. I’m a straight forward kind of gal,” you explained.

Michael hummed, staring at you.

“Pardon my rudeness. I’m Michael Gavey.” His hand stretched out. “I never get your name.

“I’m (Y/N) (L/N).” You offered a handshake in return.

“Where are you from?”

“I’m from America.”

“Ah, yes. The land of freedom,” he commented, trying to make you laugh.

You laughed awkwardly. You have never smiled or laughed before—in a non-superficial way. You laughed and smiled during as a cam girl, but other than that, you never smile genuinely.

Somehow it caught his eye. His glasses beamed that you could see the color of his hues.

“An awkward foreign girl.”

“Yeah, so? I’m not really a people-person.”

“Why did you come here, then? For a good fuck?”

Ghastly, you turned around to see if anyone catches his words, but nobody pays attention.

“Are you going to the party?”

“What party?”

“The party Felix and his friends are heading tonight.”

“Who the hell is Felix?”

Michael darted his eyes behind you, and followed the sign; Felix and Farleigh sat at the back between the shelves.

“Apparently, he’s hosting a party tonight. NFI, me and you. Not Fucking Invited.”

“Well, I don’t a fuck about parties that much.”

Michael tsked. “That’s a very strong language.”

“Says the guy who says NFI. Besides, I don’t like parties,” you said, and it wasn’t a half lie. You have an upcoming camgirl session tonight.

“A shame,” Michael said, then reaching for the crunchie.

You have never tried snacks from another culture.

“Is it good?” you asked him.

He ripped the snack bar open, and gave you a piece. “Try it and see for yourself.”

And you did.

It was worth it.

Nevermind how Michael watched you in fascination.

***

The roofs and walls of University has been but a sham; it was real quiet.

Too quiet.

You hated quiet rooms.

In your next session, your fingers swirled your swollen clit, thinking of Michael Gavey’s rosy lips and tongue licking and nibbling your wet cunt and a tight hole.

You never fucked anybody, but you wanted your first time to be special. You rode on a dildo, trying not to moan so loud, but you come down high. The faster you moved, the more erotic images of a nerdy Michael seeping into you.

This is my kind of party.

***

Somewhere, in a darkened room, Michael Gavey’s hand filled with cum, and his other hand pressed the send button on his computer screen.

It was sensational to see.

You.

Who would’ve thought he met you—a famous camgirl.

He couldn’t stop thinking about how your eyes twinkled when you ate crunchie for the first time—far from the horniness and snobbish act you put up in public. It was a delight to see . With your outstanding getup and attitude, he knew that he’s in a right place.

Taglist: @toodlesxcuddles @kittendoll05 @omgsuperstarg @xcharlottemikaelsonx @paninisstuff @danika1994 @angeljcca @marvelescvpe @kukulyarva @namelesslosers @heavenly1927 @snh96 @fandom-maniac-anime @httpsmenace @velunis @nananeptune @domithebomi @moonseye @faesspace @tm-starr @xinthia19 @popsycles @halsteadstyles @lothiriel9 @liannafae @ammo23 @blackswxnn @buccini555 @watercolorskyy @taangie @qardasngan @justyelena @jolixtreesunn @runekisses @thought--bubble @remuslupinwife1 @evergreen9083 @foggypeacestarlight @dixie-elocin @galactict3a @momowhoo @saturnssrings @dani5216 @kimsubin05 @blackgaladriel @valeskafics @theboleyngirlx @elaratyrell @mylosz0

[fallstaticexit]

Prev / Next / Beginning / Pillowfort

AN: Source for tarot reading

Transcript under the cut

Morgan: Ever done this before?

Nancy: Can’t say that I have.

Morgan: Are you as put off about this as that other bible thumper?

Nancy: [rolls eyes] We’re not all the same. I’m more than my faith.

Morgan: I don’t doubt that. I’m sure there’s many layers to you. Where are you from?

Nancy: Brindleton Bay.

Morgan: Really, I’m from Portridge, a small town south of the Bay. Originally.

Nancy: Yeah? So, how did you end up a Fyres?

Morgan: Great question. My mom was his secretary. Super scandalous shit, which would explain while the Royal Barbie hates my guts. He’s not a bad step dad though. Hell of lot better than my actual dad. So, your parents-

Nancy: Isn’t the probing developing a bias or something?

Morgan: Just a little small talk. So, is there a question you want answered? Perhaps, a question about your past, your present or your future?

Nancy: I-

Nancy Narrates: [I want to get forget my past. I want to survive my present. I want to escape my future. Could there really be an answer for all that in those cards]

Nancy: I don’t know...

Morgan: That’s ok. You intention will guide us.

Morgan: Pick three cards that call to you. Based on the three, we will see what the cards have to say about your past, present and future.

Nancy: And you believe in this?

Morgan: We believe what we believe in, right? You have your three?

Nancy: I think so..

Morgan: Let’s take a look.

Morgan: Your past—the Upright Fool. Innocence. Curorsity. Something new and exciting—perhaps a first love in your youth that swept you off your feet?

Nancy Narrates: [Already I hated this...]

Morgan: Your present- the Reversed Star. Insecurity. Self doubt. A loss of faith. Interesting. Perhaps a struggle with one’s own faith? Are you having any doubts, Nancy? About yourself? About your God?

Morgan: Your future- the Upright Devil. Lust. Obsession. Temptation. Could be for the material things of life, or maybe a desire of the flesh.

Nancy: [clears throat] That all seems incredibly vague.

Morgan: [grins] Does it? Your poker face could use some work. Let me ask you something. Who exactly did I remind you of? Someone from your past?

Morgan: Your silence is very telling. I have a real gift for reading people.

Nancy: I’m sure you believe you do.

Morgan: [laughs] I really do!

Morgan: Tightly wound, fidgeter. You bite the hell out of your nails, right at the skin on the tips of your fingers, unconsciously. You pick at it until it bleeds. It’s the only thing that’s keeping you tethered to your own body. The pain, that is.

Morgan: Right?

Geoffrey: You made it! And making friends! Sorry, am I interrupting girl talk?

Morgan: It’s cool, boy wonder. Want me to do your reading?

Geoffrey: Are you kidding? Of course I do!

Nancy: Actually, I think I want to g-

Geoffrey: Really quick, Nance, then I’ll walk you to your dorm!

Geoffrey: Upright Death for my future sounds kind of scary when you think about it, huh? She said it could mean profound change. Sounds promising.

Nancy: [tsks] That could mean literally anything. That whole practice strives on vagueness. You can never be wrong if you’re bound to be right.

Geoffrey: Yeah, but it’s about how you perceive it, right? It’s unique. She did yours, didn’t she? What did yours say?

Nancy: Yeah, I um, don’t remember.

Geoffrey: Maybe you can ask her again. You two seem to hit it off.

Nancy: [huffs] Please. I am not going back to that shabby bar. She’s a sham. Those cards mean nothing. It’s stupid.

Geoffrey: [sighs]

Nancy: What?

Geoffrey: [blows raspberries]

Nancy Narrates: [Truth was, I was more curious than anything]

Nancy: So. Those cards. Could they...I don’t know- tell me something that could happen in a week? Like if I asked if I’ll pass my Statistics exam?

Nancy Narrates: [I was completely captivated by this otherworldly experience, whether I’d admit it outloud or not]

Nancy Narrates: [and Morgan was always happy to indulge me]

Nancy: [whispers] So I past my exam. How does this even work? I mean, how could they know? The cards. Could you do another reading after the debate?

Nancy Narrates: [But of all the questions I did ask, there was one that burned inside me more]

[heavy metal spills into the hallway]

Morgan: [startled] Nancy?

Nancy: Is this a bad time? I know it’s late...I can come back another time. I just have so much on my mind and I can’t sleep.

Morgan: You want another reading?

Nancy: Is that ok?

Morgan: Of course it is, Nancy. Come in.

Morgan: Sorry for all the smoke. I can open a window.

Knox: Babe, who’s this? It’s not my birthday.

Morgan: [smirks] Want me to get rid of him? I can.

Knox: Hey! I’ll be quiet! Won’t even know I’m here.

Nancy: I don’t mind. I just had a question.

Nancy: Could you do a reading for someone else, even if they’re not here?

Morgan: [hums] Not really...not without their permission or their intention. Who is this person to you?

Nancy: [looks away] Someone from my past. Someone I need to forget but- I can’t.

Morgan: Did this person hurt you?

Nancy: [shakes head] If anything, I hurt them. I ruined them with my... [lowly] um, perversions. I just need to know if they’re ok. If they hate me for it.

Morgan: [softly] I see... Here’s what we’ll do. Just like before, I’ll do a three card spread.

Morgan: Set your intention. Clear your mind. Ask your question. The first card is ‘you’. The middle card is ‘them’. The third card is the relationship.

Nancy Narrates: [‘Vanessa, do you hate me?’ ‘Do you blame me?’ ‘Do you regret loving me?’ ‘Do you know that I never stopped loving you?’]

Nancy Narrates: [‘Do you know that I’m sorry?’ ‘Do you know that I miss you?’ ‘Do you know that I need you?’]

Morgan: [exhales] It says... that you are a filled with love, Nancy, even though the world around you wants to drain you of it. There’s just too much of it inside of you and your friend-

Nancy: [weakly] Vanessa.

Morgan: [smiles] Vanessa. She loves you all the same. She may be experiencing her own hurt in this world, but having loved you keeps her strong. You two brought something bright and beautiful into each other’s lives.

Morgan: You can’t rid her from your life, because she’s apart of you, and...I- I think that’s a love worth fighting for, Nancy.

Nancy: [between gulps] Right. Right, thank you. Thanks, Morgan.

Morgan: Wait, Nancy, you don’t have to leave. It’s ok-

Nancy: It’s fine. I uh- I should go.

[door clicks shut]

Knox: Uhh, did you just make all that up?

Morgan: [weakly] I don’t know why I did that..

[silverzoomies]

Oooh, some good ol' Peter Maximoff with number 1? That'd be either godly or comedic gold, I feel...

Peter Maximoff/Reader drabble: ⚡"So, how do you want me to fuck you?"⚡ warnings: light hints of cunnilingus and smut. peter being peter. sorry !!

Peter is…blunt. Majorly blunt. Quick to the point, but somehow always wasting time.

You were both going at it like insatiable animals. Peter’s skilled lips and buzzing tongue brought you to nirvana. Gifting you not one, not two, but three wickedly intense orgasms.

In post-nut bliss, you’re buck ass naked on his basement sofa. Your limbs droop loosely. Sweaty in summertime heat. Cool air wafts within the basement, but it does nothing to nullify steamy warmth on your skin.

Wordlessly, he comes up to kiss you. Conquering hungry smooches with his swollen lips, Peter brings the taste of your own arousal on his tongue. His torturous fingers toy with your sore pussy a little more. Peter plunges his digits in your soaking wet slit. He explores your plush channel, testing the tight space for a future visit.

“Tell me how you want it, babe.” He breathes into your ear, nuzzling your cheek, moving to murmur into your lips, “You want it fast? Or...nah? You want me to hold back? Take it slow? Cuz, fuck. You feel so good, I dunno if I can…”

You answer with an unintelligible squeal that makes him chuckle. As you moan and writhe under Peter, you help him peel off everything he wears. Peter kicks off his worn sneakers.

“Don’t need these where I’m goin’.” He quips humorously, moving in for another messy kiss.

His Buffalo Springfield shirt comes next. And just as you run your trembling hands down the athletic shape of his torso, Peter parts from your urgent kisses. His muscles are hard as steel under your fingertips. But you don’t get a moment to appreciate them before they’re gone. Peter sits up all the way, his black jeans and belt undone. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and stalls for a beat.

“Uhm...what's up? Are you o-” You start to ask.

Peter interrupts, “I'm great. But can you hold on just a sec? Thanks.”

The silver haired speedster disappears in a flash, leaving your poor pussy abandoned and aching. Your brows curl inward as you sit up on the sofa. You relax your tense shoulders. Completely nude, so spent, and longing for more all at the same time; you await his return. Sex-ridden pulsations of scorching heat stir in your core. It’s such a strong sensation, it physically pains you.

Your body needs to feel the pressure and warmth of his hands again. Peter must’ve imbued you with his own heightened impatience. Because you’ve never wanted dick this badly in all your life. He takes such a long time getting back. You almost tear up at the agonizing loss of his presence.

He reappears in a blurry, silver gust of wind. Standing idly in the basement - barefoot, shirtless, with his pants undone and his belt hanging loose - Peter shovels pink frosted sprinkled donuts in his mouth. One by one. It’s a nauseating sight, watching him shamelessly devour the sugary delights.

Your lustful frustration boils to a breaking point, and you scoff. Any other time, you might've laughed 'til you passed out.

“You cannot be serious right now.”

“Whuhhuhhh?” Peter mumbles with his mouth stuffed full. Pushing the last donut past his stained, pinkish lips, he swallows in less than a second. He speaks in a clearer, albeit wise-ass tone, “Sorry not sorry. What? You never got, like, a wild craving outta nowhere?”

He moves to the sofa faster than your brain can process. Digging a single knee into the cushions, Peter guzzles an entire soda in one swig. You don’t remember him grabbing one. And while you don't care to think about it, it's gone in an instant.

"C'mere, you." He sluggishly smirks.

Another half-second, and he smashes his sickly sweet lips into yours. Sporting a proud hard-on in his open jeans, Peter ruts his clothed bulge into your bare heat. Even in spite of how maddening his tendencies are, he makes you melt under him so easily.

The two of you find your rhythm again. Reviving the erotic mood simmering between you both, you speak your own hushed, coquettish words.

"Peter, please? Give it to me fast? So fast. I want you to keep going, and never stop. Can you do that, baby?" You breathe a bashful whisper into his lips.

There's another pause. Peter halts for a tormentous moment. He narrows his eyes in pensive thought, shaking his head.

“Wait. So, how do you want me to fuck you? I totally spaced out.”

[bunnihearted]

🌙

[imaniwriting]

Can you write an imagine where jj is seeking refuge in his girlfriend’s home and she cleans his wounds and comforts him?

(This is so cute)

𝐁𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐤𝐧𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬

Warnings : Luke, abuse, mentions of blood, angst, swearing (let me know if i missed any)

Summary : after jj encounters his dad he has nowhere to go and chooses to pay his girlfriend a visit who is more than willing to take him in for a few days

Genre : Angst, Fluff

“You are a piece of shit!” Yelled Luke while taking another hit at his so called son. JJ was hunched up against the wall not having the energy to fight back.

He took one last hit at JJ’s face before spitting on him making JJ flinch. “You’re the goddamn reason why your mother left.” Luke gritted out while picking up a beer from the floor. JJ stood up and stormed into his room profusely crying.

He pulled his hair in anger feeling like he was a pet that his father could control whenever he wanted. He picked up his phone staring at the popped up message that was sent 20 minutes ago.

“Hey JJ, John B told me you were going home and i just wanted to make sure you’re okay”

He read the message over and over again shocked that someone really cared about him. Meanwhile you were sitting anxiously at home biting your lips staring at the message you sent 20 minutes ago. Usually JJ was a fast replier never did he leave anyone on read for more than 10 minutes especially you.

You sat up on your bed when you saw that he had opened the message waiting for ‘typing’ to pop up on your screen. But it never did. Not after 5 minutes not after 10.

You were about to leave your house to check on him when there was a knocking on your door. “Coming!” You yelled skipping down the stairs to answer your door.

And there he was, the love of your life standing with bloodied cuts on his face and hands. You placed down your keys and quickly embraced him in a tight hug.

JJ wrapped his arms around your waist and gently moved you so he could step into the house and escape the coldness of the night. “God, JJ what happened?” You asked while closing the door and turning to him.

“Nothing that hasn’t happened before” he chuckled but there wasn’t any humor to it, it was a cold chuckle. You frowned and quickly took his hand in yours to guide him into the bathroom.

“Sit down” you ordered in an instant taking out the first aid kit he followed your command and sat down at the edge of the bathtub that was standing in the back of the bathroom.

You walked up to him and took out a cotton ball and alcohol to clean his wounds. “This may sting” you informed him but he just kept on staring at you nodding absently.

He hissed when you made contact with his wound making you look into his eyes apologizing quietly “sorry”. You went to kiss his cheek softly before turning to the cut on his lip.

JJ kept staring at you completely lost in love. He often found himself staring at you loving every aspect of your body. You quickly finished with all the cuts he had and discarded the now dirty cotton ball.

“Thank you, baby” he said softly while gently grabbing your face to kiss you. The kiss was a loving one not lustful or harsh. You kissed him back careful not to hurt or open the cut on his upper lip.

You slowly pulled away making him whine at the loss of contact. “JJ don’t go back there” you said staring into his ocean blue eyes. “I won’t” he replied making you smile lightly.

You went in for another comforting kiss and another one before deciding to go to sleep.

JJ had his hands comfortably wrapped around you in bed while you were sound asleep he hummed a tune happy to be in the presence of the only person who he knew would always stand behind his back.

[sentientgolfball]

for the requests maybe a slice of life (but smutty) for the aftermath of Phantom having his ass pounded for the first time by Mountain? Anal virginity stolen by Mountain who showers him in aftercare afterwards and Swiss who walks in and teases him about his cute little gape? yeah… yeah

This ended up more sweet than smutty but ough I love it when that happens

No further tags the ask has it all :3

My requests are open !

Their ears are ringing, breath coming in short pants. They can feel their hair sticking to their forehead with sweat. They stare up at the ceiling, head completely devoid of thoughts as they slowly come back down. They barely even register Mountain’s large hands rubbing up and down their thighs. 

“You with me love bug?” He asks in between his own shallow breaths. 

They nod, eyes still glazed over as they slowly come back into their body. 

Mountain chuckles, “Good. How are you feeling?” 

Phantom has no idea how to answer that question. They hurt, but deliciously so. They feel like they’re floating, like they’re watching the scene play out in third person. Part of them wants to beg for another round and the other says they’re already spent. They also feel like they were just split in fucking two. Phantom truly did not understand why Mountain was so hesitant when they came to him asking him to be their first Topside. They get it now. Fuck do they get it. 

“M feeling…full.” It’s the only word that comes to mind. 

Mountain smiles and kisses in between their horns “I didn’t hurt you did I?” 

Phantom shakes their head and a deep purr rumbles through Mountain’s chest. He was surprised when they asked him of all ghouls to be the one to break them in. He honestly figured Swiss had already gotten to the little bug with how often they show up at breakfast together. Oh but when those lavender eyes looked up at him with blown out pupils and a desperate little plea fell from their lips Mountain couldn’t resist. He couldn’t lie, the knowledge that he was the first one to get his hands on their little bug only sweetened the deal. 

Mountain looks down at them, really taking in their appearance for the first time since the haze of lust has subsided. Their eyes are closed, little chest rising and falling steadily. Not asleep, but probably inching closer and closer to it. Their neck and chest are littered with deep purple marks. Mountain almost feels bad for how prominent some of his fang indents are. He bends to press kisses to the worst of them, a silent apology. Phantom squirms and giggles, chuffing with each soft press of Mountain’s lips. 

“Mounty stop, stop. It tickles.” They try to faux shove him away. 

He smiles against their skin, kissing them one more time before sitting up. He shifts forward, pressing a kiss to the tip of their nose before tilting his head to press their lips together. It’s nice for about five seconds before Mountain furrows his brow and pulls away. He looks down between them and grimaces at the mess that got smeared around. Phantom’s cum now coats both of their stomachs and it has gotten unpleasantly cold. 

“Okay bug let’s get you cleaned up.” Mountain carefully pulls out of them, soothing a hand down their thigh. 

Phantom whines at the loss, “I don’t wanna move ever again.” 

“You can lay in cum all you want but I’m not cuddling you if you’re sticky.” 

Their head shoots up to look at him. They look at him like a kicked puppy and Mountain’s heart throbs. He lifts one of their hands, pressing a kiss to the knuckles. 

“Stay here. I'll be right back.” He stands from the bed. 

Phantom watches him go into the bathroom, ears twitching with each click from his hooves against the floor. They shift around while they wait for him to come back, fixing the pillows to be able to lay more comfortably. There’s a pleasant ache that radiates through their whole body. Their limbs still don’t quite feel like their own, heavy and full of static. All they can think about is how good they’ll sleep tonight as they idly trace over the teeth marks on their collarbone. 

Mountain returns from the bathroom with a washcloth in hand. Phantom chirps when he sits on the side of the bed, tail thumping happily against the mattress. Mountain huffs a laugh before gently wiping their skin off. He goes slow, running the warm cloth in gentle little circles. Phantom chuffs the entire time, happy as long as Mountain keeps touching them. When he’s satisfied that Phantom is no longer a sticky mess he tosses the cloth into his laundry basket before sliding back into bed. Phantom immediately clings to him, burying their nose into his neck to inhale his herbaceous scent. Mountain chuckles, wrapping his arms around the little bug and pulling them onto his chest. He runs his hands up and back their back, fingers tracing the raised lines of their lichtenberg figure scars. 

He can feel Phantom growing heavier by the second, muscles relaxing as they get closer and closer to sleep. He grabs his phone off the nightstand, scrolling through his messages until he finds the one he’s looking for. He sends a quick text before placing it face down once more. A moment later he gets a reply, the ping making his ear twitch. He doesn’t check it though, he’s content to close his eyes and breathe in Phantom’s frozen apple scent. 

He tries not to, but his mind ends up wandering. He can’t help but think about how Phantom looked just a few months ago when they were first pulled from the Pits. Skinny and gaunt, ribs and vertebrae clearly visible under their skin. They hadn’t spoken more than a few words for the first week, too anxious to be caught making a sound. They had hid away in their room, only letting Aurora in until rehearsals finally began. Even when they did start to come around they were still wary around Mountain. He understood, a ghoul his size is something to be afraid of. 

Mountain never would have guessed he’d be here now, Phantom half asleep and drooling into his fur. He was sure the little bug wouldn’t be comfortable with him until well into the tour. He was pleasantly surprised the day they found him in the greenhouse, curious about the brightly colored flowers. Who knew that was the spark that was needed to turn the mumbly little quintessence ghoul into someone as boisterous as Swiss? 

He’s pulled from his thoughts with a knock to his door. 

“Haven’t heard a noise in like twenty minutes, is my bug still alive?” Swiss calls as he steps into the room. 

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. 

Mountain smiles, motioning for him to keep it down. It’s too late though, Phantom is sitting up and rubbing at their eyes. They smack their lips a few times after they yawn. 

“Swiss? What are you doing here?” They mumble sleepily.  

“We’re throwing a party bug. Gotta celebrate, it's not everyday your cherry gets popped by the big green giant.” Swiss laughs, walking over to set the plates of food in his hands onto the nightstand. 

Phantom furrows their brow and looks at Mountain, “Sarcasm?” 

“Sarcasm.” Mountain nods. 

Swiss grins and bends to kiss in between their horns, “I was instructed to bring dinner. Something about someone never wanting to move again.” 

Phantom suddenly perks up at the mention of food. Their nose twitches as they finally notice the two plates. They make grabby hands at Swiss, tail wagging hard enough to smack Mountain in the leg. 

“You’re lucky you’re adorable.” Swiss hands them the plate, ruffing their hair once his hands are free. 

They crawl off of Mountain, sitting with their back against the pillows as they dig in. They pop the dumplings into their mouth at an almost alarming rate, devouring it like they’ve never eaten. Mountain pats them hard on the back when they inevitably choke. 

“Please remember to breathe,” Mountain says in between his own bites. 

While they eat Swiss digs through Mountain’s closet, mumbling his disapproval of each item he touches. When he finally finds what he’s looking for he turns around, fully intending to throw the hoodie at Phantom. Instead he stops in his tracks, completely frozen by the sight before him. Phantom is leaning over Mountain, reaching to place his empty plate back on the nightstand. The position gives Swiss a full view of their ass and he gets light headed with how quickly the blood rushes to his dick. 

He stalks over to the bed, gripping Phantom’s tail when he’s close enough. He yanks it upwards pulling a surprised gasp from them. 

“Swiss? What—“ 

“Phantom. Baby. You’re fucking gaping.” He can’t take his eyes off of the way their hole is still wide open despite being completely empty. 

“Could probably fit inside you right now.” Swiss reaches forward. 

He’s stopped by a low growl coming from Mountain. He looks up, meeting his emerald eyes. He can see the warning in the way they darken. Swiss grins, fangs flashing in the dim light of the setting sun. He’s never been one to back down from a challenge. 

[alavestineneas]

Heaven

pairing: Aegon II Targaryen x fem!reader summary: Gluttony, lust, sloth, envy, greed—the sins were placed on his head instead of a crown worth his status, a crown that would've, undoubtedly, made some meaning of his life. Without it, the matted, silver hair atop his head served more as a laughing matter. Even the father, taken with the idea of a male babe, has cast him aside. The apple of the rotten tree fell far from the branches, left to rot and decay in the shadows of his own undoing. warning: canon-typical violence, blood&cheese, hurt little comfort, loss of limbs, implied/referenced cheating, drinking, court, RELIGIOUS GUILT, sex lol word count: 8.2k

author's notes: hi lovely people! today, i present you my new creation - an Aegon fic! yay! PLEASE note that: a)YN has children in this imagine and they are important to the story. If you don't feel comfortable reading all that - do not engage with this fic. b) The Blood&Cheese does happen in this univese, so be mindful!

If all is good, am I so excited to have you here - please don't shy away from sharing your opinion, either good or bad, in the comments. Love you!

He was not used to hearing no.

It is a simple truth: of all of the words in the world, one of the most common ones escaped his mind completely, going over his head and never leaving an impact strong enough to attach meaning to it. Since he was a babe in the golden cradle, lavishing in the rich purples of the crown, the Realm opened in front of him, smiling and cooing in his regal plump face. The best teachers, toys, and golden coins were thrown his way—the firstborn son, the long-awaited boy of House Targaryen. Soon, the endless teachers changed into endless rivers of the best wines, and wooden horses grew pairs of tits big enough to bury the temper he had grown to hold. Only gold in his pockets as he turned to yet another brothel door never changed its shape—money travelled from his hands into cups, dresses, and undergarments silently, the countless replicas of his father’s profile sparkling with the judgement of yet another of his poor choices.

Sometimes Aegon wondered what would be the breaking point for his righteous Lady Mother—when would her head finally turn to look him in the eye and mutter a swift ‘’no’’ instead of lowering her gaze and pursing her lips together at his new whim? He foolishly thought it would be the wine. Nevertheless, each time Alicent found him covered in his own dinner, dragged to the castle by some unfortunate knight, she raged and cried, but never forbade him from drinking again. Yet, the more he ate, the more he wanted.

He thought his heart a hole—the darkest, most blackest place of his soul, rotten from the day his violet eyes opened and took in the world around them. Like a tooth, white as snow upon its birth, growing spoiled from the sweet nectars the Realm had to offer. The small spot, not bigger than a needle's ear, appears first, going unnoticed. Then, it fattens and spreads its disease through the mouth until there are no teeth to chew with, leaving only a gaping void where once there was a smile. Gluttony, lust, sloth, envy, greed—the sins were placed on his head instead of a crown worth his status, a crown that would've, undoubtedly, made some meaning of his life. Without it, the matted, silver hair atop his head served more as a laughing matter. Even the father, taken with the idea of a male babe, has cast him aside. The apple of the rotten tree fell far from the branches, left to rot and decay in the shadows of his own undoing.

In the name of traditions he had no reason to engage in, the only place where he had hoped to be something or become something—his chambers—were occupied by the stark reminder of his worthlessness. Heleana, his sister, his wife—the almost always silent figure, a shadow of their childhood. It pained him to watch her close her eyes every time he entered the chambers to install the needed heir into his sister's womb. Aegon remembers her as a girl, often strange but never unkind—the image he forced himself to forget every time she undressed in front of him . The violet eyes they both shared, the silver braids covering her girlish figure—everything about House Targaryen made him ache with guilt and shame. He could not stand to look at the similar braids on his own shoulders, so he cut them off in a drunken rage, burning them in the flames of the fire. Oh, how he wished he could burn himself there instead.

None of his whores had any trace of Old Valyria. None of his whores had a trace of her, either. The one his famished, bloodied heart set the pinnacle of his desire. He could have any woman in the world, from the slaves to the highborn maidens, begging for him to spare one glance, one night, one favour from the night-made king. But it was her, the secret so shameful that even his spoiled mind could not admit it. Aegon studies the patterns in the ceiling, his body almost in pain from the aching feeling in his abdomen. The water around him moves, caressing his skin like a lover's touch. It's burning, he notes, despite being nearly wintry.

''Does your brother know you are here?''

He almost does not recognise his voice as he speaks, the words barely a whisper in the echoing chamber. It's low and darkened, leaving his mouth with a tingle of bitterness. The question comes out twisted, ridicule thrown into another naked body in his bath—it earns only a low chuckle from the woman in front of him.

''Yes, my king, I believe he does.'' Lady YN looked more entertained than embarrassed; all of the pleasantries the etiquette demanded they follow were out of the question anyway. The water hid most of her body, leaving only the head and neck for display. She was bare, the ends of her hair steaming down the ends of a bath as she lounged comfortably, completely at ease. ''The twins often share a piece of soul, my king. You must have known from your own children."

Aegon hms, his eyes leaving their place and setting on the woman instead. Coloured with wetness, her hair stuck to her forehead in the heat of the bath , starting small streams of water down her face. Striking, almost glistening eyes stared back at him. Something unreadable lay there, something not meant for him to see. Her body is one of the woman, not a girl; the marks of not one but two babes nurtured by her womb and breasts are simple in their beauty; this, Aegon thinks, ought to be the image of Mother on the walls of Sept. Lady YN, a widow to some highborn Lord he wished not to know the name of, and mother to his two children. Lady YN, a twin sister to Ser Leon Estermont. Lady YN, the mistress of the king.

''Are you just going to stare?'' The woman chuckled softly, bringing Aegon out of his reverie. "Or are you going to fuck me?''

Aegon barked a short laugh, adjusting himself to hold the weight of the woman climbing on top of him, his arms catching her hips with ease. ''Holy Seven! Where have you learned such profanities, woman? Not fuck,'' he playfully scolded, trapping her lips in a teasing kiss. ''making love, that is,'' he mumbled against her jaw.

Aegon moved slower than usual, taking his time to savour each moment. Something was enchanting in the way droplets of sparkling water clung to her skin, glistening like diamonds in the sunlight—it was as if the water itself had moulded her, leaving an indelible mark on her very being. Even now, with his headlight from wine and limbs burning for a rest, the hunger pools in his stomach, demanding more of her. YN's voice is sickening; it wraps around Aegon's dried throat and lands on his chest like a weighty stone. The hushed moans, mixed with whispers, send shivers down his spine as he rocks into her body, caught in the intoxicating web she weaves with her words. It almost pained him to pull away from her, knowing that he would never be able to resist her siren call for long.

''What are you doing?'' YN asks, her voice laced with a hint of amusement, as she places her hands on his chest, the pace of her hips never faltering.

Aegon struggles to find the words to respond, lost in the dizzying whirlwind of sensations she evokes within him. He can only manage a breathless, ''There is something I want to give you,'' before succumbing once again to her spellbinding presence. It's not an inquiry; the words leave Aegon's mouth without much thought behind them . His hand blindly travels to the small table somewhere behind his back, knocking down two goblets and a burned candle in his haste. ''Here,'' he says, pushing the cascade of hair aside to place a small golden pendant on her neck. "Oh, Gods,'' he murmurs, his eyes fixed on the pendant as it rests against her skin. "Had it made for you.''

He tried to focus on the pendant, but the sight of breasts moving before him was too much to bear. The pace she set, undeniably to torment him further, was excruciating. A few more moments, and he might finish right then and there. But he couldn't bring himself to stop her or put an end to this torturous game. Aegon closed his eyes, surrendering to the overwhelming sensations that consumed him.

''Please, don't stop," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of his own racing heartbeat. Aegon wanted to cease existing, to turn around, and to never be seen here again. Instead, he just sat in the small bath, a little too small for two people, feeling redness creep up his neck onto his cheeks. To his surprise, the heat pooling inside of him only grew as his courage slipped away with each moment. A completely pleasurable sensation took over him, spreading heat between his legs and causing his breath to quicken. Aegon's hips instinctively arched forward, craving more of her touch. The waves around him mixed with the ones of pleasure as he came, the hands roaming his body, leaving him feeling more alive than ever before.

Numb, he watched the water swirl around the YN's breasts and knees as she reached her high a few moments later, a smile playing on her lips as she looked down at him. She rinsed her body, washing away the sweat and salt, before stepping out of the water with a satisfied sigh. Aegon followed her body with hungry eyes as she stepped out of the bath and reached out for the cloth to dry herself. First, her hair, then her neck and arms; she meticulously dried every inch of her body before slipping into a blue gown, one of her hands catching and bringing to light his gift. A sun-shaped gold pendant dangled from her fingers, glinting in the fire. She traced the intricate design with her thumb, a fond smile on her face as she remembered the moment he had given it to her.

Aegon's eyes softened as he watched her. ''I intend to have you join me for the early meal on the morrow. ''

''I would be pleased to, my king.'' She pauses, a sly smile playing on her lips. ''May the night be kind to you.''

He chuckled, his own smile mirroring hers. ''And may your dreams be filled with nothing but joy.''

With a gentle nod, she excused herself from his presence, the gold pendant still clasped in her hand. Aegon sighed, not bothering to sit straight, leaning on the bath walls instead. He prayed to Seven for even a chance to close his lids this sombre night; his usual sleep was turned into a nightmare and a fever dream at once—the one that left him covered in sweat and desperate for sweet oblivion. No matter how much he pleaded, the laughing eyes of Lady YN wouldn't leave her alone. He would lay in bed until sunrise, staring into the faintly pink sky, until dawn came and the cycle of never-ending torment began again.

There were a lot of sinners in all the corners of the world; they kept on with their small affairs, akin to flies, wasting each of their numbered days on the things that carried no meaning in the great map of history. Slaves of foreign lands, smallfolk of fields and seas, servants scurrying in the shadows of their masters or draped with precious cloth figures of noblemen—life and later death—showed no interest in their whereabouts. Their existence was fleeting; their legacy was forgotten with the passing of the seasons.

YN grew tired of never-changing identities quickly; the same faces of mediocrity surrounded her, stealing the much-needed fresh air with the talk of trivial matters. Noon and night mixed in one globe in her throat, tasting of nothing but bitterness—the same flute, feast, and court affairs sun after sun. The small girl near her screeches and laughs, her little hands occupied with the dolls, as she attempts to flee from the grasp of her older brother. They seemed to be in their own world, running down one of the stone halls of the Red Keep with a speed the best stallions of the kingdoms could only dream of.

''You are cheating! I saw it; you did!''

Peter was her firstborn, a boy who is now nearing the age of a man—two and ten summers have passed since she first heard his cry echo in the cold halls of the family castle. Slender, even sickly skinny—as her late lord husband declared upon his birth, he fell sick often—she has spent countless nights near his cradle, wishing to see the day he becomes a healthy, strong young lad. To the delight of everybody, and YN as well , her prayers did not go unanswered. Peter was now skilled with a blade, his fragile figure resulting in swifter, much softer moves that left his teacher's prowess a remarkable honour of knighthood.

''I am not! I'm just faster than you!''

A smile spreads across YN's face as she looks at the little girl in her yellow dress, who now hides behind a collum. Meg was a keen, healthy babe of four summers, with a mischievous glint in her eyes that mirrored YN's own. Other than that, she looked nothing like her—all her father, the Lord husband, lost to illness. What a blessing it was to look at her daughter's face and see him. What a curse.

''Please, be civil. Remember, no hitting, no biting, and absolutely no spitting are worthy of a knight or a lady."

No talking, either, if she could convince them to listen for longer than two minutes. Having her children play with the royal heirs was Aegon’s idea; like that, she had more time on her hands, and twins could enjoy the company of someone closer to ''normal'' folk, as he had worded it. It was not something she could refuse, although she wished nothing more than to do so. The royals were a serious matter; one wrong word and your head ornates the castle walls instead of the golden banners. She did not doubt her children; they were kind-hearted, lovely people, but the notable ‘incidents’ of house Targaryen kept her awake at night, wishing her children would be brought to her with all their eyes and limbs. Leon, her brother, assured her nothing would happen— it was he who took her children to and from the Queen's chambers. He told her of great opportunities for his niece and nephew that came with being closer to the court, but it did not ease YN’s mind fully. All of her family, in one way or another, entertained the royal and noble house of the dragons—the fate most minor houses considered a blessing. Most, but not all.

Before the death of her husband and long before either of her children came into this globe, it was just two of them in their small little world—the twins of House Estermont, the heirs to the misfortunes of the Greenstone's lush greenery and endless tides of sea. She would've stayed there, on a small island enveloped by mountains and castle walls. It was Leon who wanted to make something of himself, with dreams as high as the seagulls up in the sapphire sky above their childhood bedchambers. There was not thought more ridiculous than her dear brother in the walls of the capital , and yet he left the Estermont as soon as the banners were called for young swords in the court of then-prince Aegon. Then she married, and the rest was drowned in the endless nights of tears. Sometimes, only when no one was around, YN wondered if she could've stayed forever there, in her home, without having to see the world that was often so cruel—had her brother not left her so early; had he been the lord instead of their father when she came of age?

''Mother, are you going?''

The loud voice has startled YN out of her thoughts. She smiled at her son, adjusting the skirts of her gown before nodding. ''Yes, my sweet. Let us come in; we do not want to keep the Queen waiting, do we now?''

The Queen. YN has heard many rumours in court concerning the sanity of young Queen Helaena, her preference for silence, and modest foods, but she has never seen her closer than a few yards. Standing before the large wooden door to her chambers seemed foolish—had she been any other woman, perhaps she had nothing to fear—to present her children to the royal maids and escape to the comfort of the halls once more. But she was no ordinary woman—she was a mistress to the King the Queen called brother, the one whose bed he warmed instead of hers. YN cursed her brother in her head for having ''a business'' to attend to today, of all days; even though he assured her of Queen's kind heart, she couldn't shake the feeling of unease as she pushed the door.

The chambers were quiet, with only the slow crackling of wood in the chimney disturbing the peace. ''My Queen, I have brought the children as you requested,'' YN announced, her voice echoing in the vast rooms. She waited for a response, but none came—only the flickering shadows dancing on the walls.

On the small cushion before the fireplace, a figure dressed in regal robes sat with her eyes on the embroidery hoop in her hands. YN takes her time studying the woman as her own children join the pair of royal heirs on the woven carpet. She sits straight, her face somewhere else. The queen has beautiful hair, YN notes to herself ; her silver locks escaped the carefully laid braids, landing right onto her cool, fair face. The woman is younger than her, perhaps by a few summers. The maids around her worked almost in silence—only sometimes it dared to be broken with a small polite exchange concerning the seams or the ornaments on their wooden hoops. There was a distance between her and them—a distance that YN could sense even from where she stood. Despite the quiet camaraderie of the ladies, the queen remained in her own world, a world that YN couldn't quite grasp.

''Lady YN,'' the Queen finally said, never moving her eyes from the dark fabric. ''Would you like to see what I have done so far?''

Something familiar sparkled inside YN's mind like an old tune long forgotten. There was a certain childish quality to her words, reminding her of the way her daughter spoke—something about the innocence and vulnerability that still lingered beneath the regal facade. The Queen spoke to her like they had been great friends like she had seen her before—perhaps in a dream or in another lifetime.

''Of course, Your Majesty.''

She moved closer, careful not to step on the countless toys and pillows scattered around on the floor. Someone, Jaehaerys or Jaehaera, whom she could not tell, squeaked and ran past her, chased by her own daughter, almost knocking YN over in their game. The Queen smiled warmly at the chaos, her eyes sparkling with amusement at them as YN sat before her on the padded chair, intended for legs. She turned the hoop of her embroidery , her delicate fingers working quickly and skillfully.

''I did it for him. A golden dragon, you see? I do not like green; it does not suit him,'' she half-whispered, her almost translucent violet eyes studying each expression on YN's face but never lingering too long.

Him. YN nods, her heart aching with understanding. She knows. Suddenly, the world feels like it is burning—or, perhaps, it is just the growing fire—and an acquainted feeling of guilt and shame travels to her throat. She swallows hard, trying to drown the discomfort in her saliva—a whore, a liar, a thief. Here, in the presence of something so fleeting, so beautiful, and so delicate, she feels the weight of her sins pressing down on her chest, threatening to consume her whole.

The colourful eyes of the Queen seemed to understand her thoughts; she smiled. ''You have a beautiful necklace.''

YN's involuntary hand reaches for the necklace hanging around her neck, feeling the weight of it in her palm. The gold sun sits there proudly, having escaped the comfort of her dress in a moment she has missed. It feels like a cruel joke and, if she will, a reminder of the audacity she possessed to steal from a queen. She felt bare for the first time in years, like a child caught by his mother in some small affair. ''Thank you, your Grace," she whispers, her voice barely audible over the crackling of the flames.

''He likes you, my brother. He has a very strange way of showing it; you are the first person he's allowed to get this close to. The first to keep for so long, too.'' Queen Helaena pauses, her eyes softening slightly as she looks at the children before her. "They love having someone to play, you know? Always waiting for a new friend to join them in their games.'' As the firelight dances across her face, Queen Helaena's smile is bittersweet. "I am afraid I do not know what to do with them. ''

YN nods in understanding, her head turning to watch the flock of laughing children too. ''I was thirteen when I had my first. From the moment he left my womb, he screamed and cried, never finding solace in my arms. I was his mother, the person who was supposed to provide comfort, yet I could just cry with him. I did not feel the mystical tenderness the ladies told me about—I felt lost. Hollow. I thought I was missing some piece of myself that would make me love him the way I was supposed to. But he grew, and I did with him—then I realised that I had a lot of people to care for me, but he only had me. There is no ''right'' love—only the love we are capable of giving , and that was enough for him.''

The woman kept quiet, her eyes moving on the stone floor. YN wondered if her silence was a hint of disapproval or if she was simply lost in her thoughts once again. After a moment, Queen Heleana finally spoke, her voice lingering through the chambers. "Would you like to join us in the garden on the morrow? It would be a great change of scenery."

YN smiled. The relief washed over her—it didn't feel real. The same eyes, hair, and face she saw hundreds of times are once again in front of her, only changing slightly to more feminine features. The Queen does look like her brother-husband, and now YN can't help but feel a sense of comfort in her appearance. ''I would be honoured to, Your Majesty."

The days changed each other quickly; her children grew, and the court lived, growing and changing before her eyes. There was something in the air; she could feel it—an alter after Prince Aemond brought news of the passing of a Valaryon bastard. YN remembers the night—the king has drunk himself half-dead, pacing and muttering about war—the weight of the crown seemed heavier on his head that night. She knows he wishes she did not hear it, laughing at all of her worried questions on the next eve. Still, the war worried her; it brought the worst upon its coming—famine, illness, and terror. She did not fear death—the Stranger was a familiar presence in her life—but the thought of her children suffering haunted her dreams.

YN looks at the girl in her wooden bed, sleeping as peacefully as a child should. Peter sits near, on the stool beside her, his eyes shining with excitement more than fear as he listens to the reading—no matter how smart her son is, he is still too young to fully grasp the doom that warfare will bring to their doorstep; for him, the tales of glorious battles are still alive and true. As YN finishes yet another story about the conquest of three dragon warriors, the comforting silence settles in their bedchamber. Soon, the sun will fully hide behind the darkened clouds of the horizon, and the night will cast its shadows over the land.

''Are you the king's mistress?'' Peter asks, his voice barely above a whisper. The words that leave his lips are not his own. YN's heart shrinks at the sound of them—the whispering faces of the court's gossip swirling in her mind.

There it was—the question she hoped would resolve itself on its own but knew would come anyhow. It's hard, YN realises, to admit such a simple truth to the pair of wide-open eyes looking up at her as she closes the book. Did she not tell it herself after each time she spent the night in the king's chambers? '' I and King Aegon are,'' she takes a breath in. What were they? Lovers? Such a foolish, shameful thought. ''dear friends. We converse and dine together, and he takes great pleasure in hearing me play.''

She does not want to lie to her sweet boy; she knows he is perceptive and will see through any falsehood. But the weight is heavy; she will not let it crush his still boyish shoulders. Deep down, YN fears the day her son will realise the truth. Will he still wish to know her name then? He looks like a small sparrow bird, YN thinks to herself, in his brown vest and ruffled collar of the shirt —so small yet so curious. He tilts his head just like the finch would as if trying to grasp her words and find something between them. ''Do you love him?''

A sigh escapes her lips before she can think of a better answer. ''Well, let's see,'' she pauses. ''I love you, and I love little Meg, and I love your uncle Leon. I also love our beautiful rooms, my dresses, and the nice pies we get to have for supper. And all of that we have because King Aegon is good and just and values our house as one of his loyal subjects. So, in a way, yes, I do love him for that.''

Lies. Disgraceful, unworthy of a lady, a mother she is. Does she truly feel nothing when his lips caress every inch of her very being, his hands touching her soul akin to a ghost? Does she not wish the warmth of his body never had to part from her heart, staying on her neck instead, trapped in the warm, gold sun on her skin? Did she not offer him what was left of her time and time again ? Did she not think of him all the time? Was she not terrified of loving him, and did she not love him?

''I do not want you to marry him.'' Peter is determined. His hands grow fists, the slight childish jealousy painting his face. He could not know, and yet he felt it; he was her son, her blood, after all.

''Then I shall not. I will be here, helping you as you grow into a strong, handsome Lord, and then I will eat only cake and wear pretty dresses for the rest of my days. You will protect me and your sister, just like your father did before he passed, and I will be your scorny lady-mother for the time being . ''

She would. YN wished he would see it, but he was still too young, too naive, to understand the sacrifices she dedicates for him and his sister only, the chains she traps in her heart every day just for them to have a happier life. The sacrifices he did not ask for, YN reminds herself . Sacrifices she chose willingly.

Peter nods, his eyes changing back into childish, sparkling innocence, leaving the stone-cold stare and anger hanging only in his mother's memory. "That sounds perfect, my lady-mother," he says with a grin. "I will protect you and my sister with all my might, just like my father did."

''Good,'' YN smiles, planting a kiss on her son's forehead. "Your father would be proud of the man you are becoming.''

He would not, but Peter does not need to know it. Maybe he will grow up to be nothing like him, and maybe the gods will be kind enough to let her see it.

The Queen's chambers are loud as the night approaches; children, royal or not, never seemed to tyre and instead wished to play all into the night. Even the tireless maid, exhausted of their incessant energy, now quietly sat in the corner, undoubtedly anxious not to be discovered for at least a handful of moments. Tragically for her, YN did not possess this kind of power; her head seemed to soon crack into a few pieces from the noise and shuffles, her limbs burning for rest and quiet. She was tired of reading; the book, long forgotten, was shyly lying at the edge of the wooden table, covered in rich gold ornaments.

''Do you feel unwell?'' The soft voice of Queen Helaena is heard nearby. The fair face turns into a concerned expression—the Targaryen queen had always been perceptive .

YN shakes her head in a weak attempt to wave any worries away. ''Just a little tired from the long day,'' she murmurs, forcing a small smile.

''Perhaps you should rest. I will send a maid to draw you a bath and prepare your chambers for the night.'' The woman's graceful hand reaches out to gently touch YN's shoulder. ''The children can stay; they will be in good hands with the nursemaid, and then they shall return to your chambers in the morning.''

YN feels something creep in her stomach but shakes it off. Perhaps she should not have eaten that pie after all. ''Thank you, your grace,'' she says, mustering a grateful smile. She stands up to leave, feeling the weight of the day's events finally catch up to her before the Queen's voice is heard again.

''The cooter, a mother to three kings,'' she mumbles, her words causing YN to pause and turn back.

''Your grace?" It was not the first time The Queen lost herself in her thoughts; sometimes, she would whisper nonsense as they conversed—it was worrying, sure, but YN had learned to ignore it. Queen Helaena was a sweet, kind woman, but her mind was often clouded by the burdens of her crown. YN wished that one day the Queen would find peace and clarity in her own thoughts; she prayed for it, too.

''The cooter,'' the Queen gazed in her direction, directing attention to the embroidery on YN's dress.

''Yes, it is a cooter; it is a sigil of my house, your Grace, house Estermont.'' YN smiled gently, hoping to distract the Queen from her confusion. The woman's eyes lit up with recognition as she nodded in understanding, and YN breathed a sigh of relief. She can now rest.

It was not long before the screams in her dreams startled her awake—the dark, obsidian night in the window chilling her feet as she quickly sat up, her heart pounding in her chest. Although the screams never seethed; they became louder, more concerned voices of people in the halls outside her room, calling out curses and cries. YN quickly climbed out of the warm bed and rushed to the door, the cobble floors cooling beneath her bare feet as she opened it to see what was happening.

People running in and out of the long halls—maids and knights, even some noblemen in their sleepwear—seemed not to notice the strange figure of a woman in her nightgown standing in the doorway. ''What has happened?'' she asked the maid nearby before recoiling - the dirty sheets in her hands were coloured crimson.

The boy is dead, a voice told her . The boy in the royal chambers.

''Let me through,'' she demanded, pushing past the maid and rushing towards the rooms of Queen Helaena. The rooms she left her children in. She did not care; if the murderer was still in those walls, she would strangle him herself; her children, young, innocent children she left in the care of their nurse, were still there. Were still alive in her head.

The walk from her chambers to the royal ones wasn't too long; she would've walked a thousand more stairs if it was needed. The door to the chambers is wide open; splashes of blood lead inside, pooling before the opening, resembling a twisted, sick lake of horror. ''Meg? Peter?'' No response came, only eerie silence. Panic began to rise in her chest as she stepped over the threshold, her heart pounding in her ears. The screaming rings in her ears suddenly; she does not recognise her own voice as it echoes off the stone walls.

Small, lifeless limbs stare at her almost in accusation, the redness of his open neck wound stark against the pale skin —the body of young Prince Jaehaerys lays in his cradle like it often would, lacking only the silver crown of his head. The room was a scene of unfathomable horror, with blood splattered across the walls and the once innocent nursery now a monstrous sight. The scent of death surrounded her like a bloodied blanket, choking the breath in her throat and sending her head spinning.

She did not feel the male hands clutching her shoulders, pulling her away. The blue and green cloth under her feet quickly moved, the voice of her brother whispering something in her deaf shocked ears.

''Leon, children, my children,'' she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper as tears streamed down her face. The realisation of what had happened in that room hit her right in the stomach, leaving a wretched kno of guts and despair. She tries to fight back, to shout over the chaos, or to push him away; she always does. It makes him just angrier, and harsher, and he tightens the grip, pushing her right into the open door of what appears to be his chambers.

''Everyone stays in their rooms until stated otherwise by the king's orders,'' he hisses, finally letting go of her.

The action is so sudden that she falls forward, hitting her nose as she slides down the stone wall. There's blood everywhere; it's mixed with tears, soaking into her hair and dripping down from her dress. Her brothers's plan worked; YN had no energy to shout anymore. Her anger is now swallowing down her dried throat. She opens and closes it like a fish out of the sea, trying to get air into her lungs—all that is left for her to watch as the wooden door snaps against its frame and the lock clicks, chaining her to the cold, dark room.

YN does not know how much time has passed or if it has passed at all ; the dark, obsidian night sky is now coloured in pinks, oranges, and purples, resembling her usual gowns more than the bright blue of the day. The silence is deafening, broken only by the distant chirping of birds and the rustling of leaves in the gentle breeze; she does not care for it. The only sound in her mind is a constant prayer, although, in her previous life, not many could accuse her of being devout. Now, YN finds herself clinging to any semblance of hope, no matter how faint, no matter where it comes from.

It's all her fault, she thinks. It is as clear as a day—the sins on her shoulders were so heavy that even Gods could not bear them anymore. She should've stayed there, in the northern castle of her lord husband, weeping over his grave like any proper widow would. Instead, she has indulged in a life of sin with violet eyes and silver locks, finding solace in the arms of another man. She let her body decide, choosing a life of bodily pleasure over honour and duty. The husband, no matter how hard it was for her to love him, was the only man who had a right to touch her soul. Touch her at all.

The door opened with a loud bang, revealing her lord husband in all his might. He was wearing those weird clothes again—something torn and dirty. It looked like he robbed some beggars near the castle before coming in, and he smelled the same.

''Come on!'' he exclaims, opening his arms as if for a hug. ''Don't be shy; we are married, remember?''

There is not much she can say; the easiest way out is to let him do what he wants. So, YN bites her cheek when his sloppy kisses travel down her neck and keeps her mouth shut when he takes off her nightgown. It's awful, almost humiliating, to hear his breath quicken. To feel him inside. She smiles when it's finally over, and he plants the last, tired kiss on her head before getting under the covers. She knows better than to disturb her husband's sleep; instead, she cries silently, mindful of staining his pillow with tears.

YN's knees are aching even through the fabric of her gown, but it does not matter. Through pain, she could feel her remorse. Feel like she was being punished for her own desires. Feel like she was clean again.

A soft knocking is heard, and YN has to snap out of her trance, gathering the tears building in her eyes with a cloth. It's a servant, one of the many she sees running down the halls this morning. ''You are awaited before the Council, milady.''

''Thank you,'' YN replies, her voice barely above a whisper. She will see to the punishment the gods have chosen for her, no matter how harsh it is. Her only wish is for her children, who are innocent in all of this, to be spared from any consequences of her actions. She straightens her posture and nods. ''Let us go then.''

The loud arguing in the rooms of Small Council seemed to fade as she appeared in the doorway, all eyes turning to her as she entered. The sun was already up, she noticed, as the soft streaks of warmth hit the room through the open windows, casting a golden hue over the polished table where the council members sat. She caught strange looks from a few, and frankly, she thought they were right. YN looked like a mad woman, her hair quickly plated and her dress hurriedly laced, rushing around a castle that seemed to freeze at the news of a child's passing.

''Mother,'' the loud cry of her son's voice echoed, snapping YN back to reality. He came running to her, his face streaked with tears and his eyes red from crying, his hands clutching her waist as he buried his face in her stomach. YN stood there, wrapping her arms around him tightly, feeling the empty space where his right hand should have been. ''I am so sorry; I tried to save him, but the knife, they did; they cut it off, Mother, '' he sobbed.

YN's heart shattered into a million pieces as she held her son close. Her darling, brave boy lost a part of himself, but he was alive. Better a sparrow, living or dead, than no birdsong at all. Here, in her arms. ''It is okay; all is well; you did so well. Where is your sister?''

''She is safe; I hid her in the closet. She was so scared,'' he whispered, his voice trembling.

''Your daughter is with maids now, Lady YN.'' The voice of Sir Criston Cole echoed through the room.

YN's eyes quickly found the green dress she put on her daughter herself; she sat on the hip of some scared maid, silent. She thanked the gods; she thanked anyone and everyone, in the sky or beneath the ground, who had decided to let her children live. Occupied with her thoughts, YN does not hear the questions flying at her right away; yet, the male voice of the swordsman still cuts through the cloudiness of her mind, reaching her ears.

''We would like to ask you a few questions about what happened that night. Can you tell us why you were not in the Queen's chambers with your children?''

There is something seething inside her as her son wails and clutches her waist with his now one hand and her daughter's frozen eyes as she stares through her mother. YN stood there, before the able knights of the castle, in nothing but her nightgown, covered in her son's blood and her own tears, feeling the weight of their accusatory gazes upon her. The gods forgave her and proved her innocent, but the whispers of suspicion still lingered in the air, staining her with their accusations. Anger—that was what boiled inside her—a fiery rage that threatened to consume her from within. ''What are you implying?''

''It is suspicious, don't you think, Lady YN, for you to be the only one absent when the tragedy occurred?''

YN laughed. It did not sound like a laugh of joy but rather a bitter, cynical sound that echoed through the great hall. Perhaps that was the mark of nerves she has wasted today, perhaps the showing of her despair—the maddening, heavy feeling of despair clawing at her insides. The child was dead; others were harmed—the cold, the almost translucent figure of the young prince covered in unfathomable amounts of his own blood lingered in her mind. "How dare you, the Head of the King's Guard, be the one telling me of doubts when it was my son, my blood, that protected Prince Jaehaerys? Tell me, Ser Criston, where were you when my boy lost his hand defending the royal family?''

Ser Criston's expression darkened at the accusation; his jaw clenched tightly. "I was carrying out my duty elsewhere, as I always have," he replied evenly, his gaze wavering in the face of her anger. ''And for those who question my loyalty, there is a place in the dungeons reserved for traitors and cowards. Guards, seize Lady YN and bring her to the cells for questioning immediately."

As his words echoed through the hall, the even louder cries of her son were drowned out by the commotion as the guards moved to apprehend her. Although she feels nothing now, the contrast of cold poisoning her body where the boiling anger was just a moment before terrifying and overwhelming. YN felt numb and drained of any emotion as her son hugged her closer, despite the best efforts of the man around them. There will be bruises, she thought in a haze. When did he get so strong?

''Leave her be.'' A voice boomed from the back of the room.

King Aegon sat there on the designated stool, adorned with heads of dragons. Now, he did not look regal; he seemed sick, his violet eyes bloodshot and silver locks hanging limply around his face. The sea-sick green coloured his face as he struggled to maintain his composure. Just for a second, their eyes met, a silent understanding slipping between them. There was something wrong with him. There was something wrong with him that was also wrong with her.

''Thank you, my king,'' she whispered, her voice barely audible. The man's expression softened slightly, with a flicker of recognition in his eyes, before he turned away, dismissing the guards. They were free to go; she was free to go, with her alive and well children, who still could scream and cry. He will stay; he had to stay with his now-forever boy.

The water hit the pier with gentle splashes, and the droplets of salt jumped on the stone legs of the dock before rejoining the vast sea. The warm shadows of the setting sun coloured the liquids in pricey gemstones: sapphire and rubies, quarts, and turquoise glistened before her eyes. There was something magical in the way the light danced, ethereal and airy, as it circled the pier—no one disturbed the peace of the tranquil sea; nobody knew the secrets it had stored since its birth.

The water was warm enough—just a little more, and the beach would embrace many swimmers in its warm hug. But, for now, she only watched as the waves gently lapped against her feet, the soothing rhythm of the sea reminding her she was still here, in her body. YN closes her eyes. It would be an easy fix— to just jump , to let the water envelop her completely, to become one with the sea. No one would know how she went, not until the same waves returned her body to the shore somewhere far from this castle. Or would the water leave her for itself, storing the secrets of her death deep beneath the sand as her soul left this world behind? YN had no chance of knowing, but the thought of disappearing into the ocean's embrace was strangely comforting. Just her and the place she called home.

The sound of crashing waves enveloped her head; the wind was getting stronger, ruffling the hem of her ivory gown as she sat at the edge of the cliff, the last rays of sun hitting her face like a gentle caress. The salty air inside her lungs reminded her of Estermont . The small island, isolated and insignificant on the grand map. Perhaps, if she were lucky, her remains would be buried there, under some nameless mountain range, with only a small stone marker to indicate her existence.

There are slow, almost silent steps approaching her from behind; she does not turn around. If it was death, whoever the Stranger took the form of, it was welcome here. With her children asleep in her brother's chambers, a dozen guards watching over them, she was at peace. The gush of wind through her hair felt like a final embrace, reeking of salt and blood. What an unusual scent—almost like the sea at low tide mixed with the metallic tang of iron. Almost too real to be just in her head.

''I killed him,'' the hoarse voice announced behind her, the black cloak brushing against her arm. The cloak she knew belonged elsewhere. She turned slowly, her hand plating itself on the warm deck, feeling the small stones beneath her fingers.

The light illuminated his face; the usually calm violet eyes now clouded with a darkness she had never seen before. The golden dragon head sitting at his chest glinted beneath the rays just as the waves did a moment before, the still-hot blood dripping from his hands onto the wooden planks. Strangely, the black fabric now was almost green from the crimson stains—Helaena was right. It did not suit him.

''I smashed his skull open with a single blow,'' he said, his voice chillingly calm. ''I felt nothing as he lay there, dying at my feet. I thought it would feel good to finally have revenge . It didn't.''

The sunset painted over the walls of Red Keep, the oranges and reds of dying stars reflecting in the short hair of the man in front of her. He looked like he was burning, set on fire right where the crown should have been, burning down his neck and slumping shoulders. His castle, his kingdom, was all slowly on fire, despite the cool evening breeze that swept from the sea behind her. She can't get him to leave, she realises. The flames fluttered around him, everywhere except his eyes—it was his home, and it combusted. YN still had time to jump into the safety of the water, drown her sorrows, and escape the unavoidable ruin that awaited them both. The saltiness from the waves travelled onto her cheeks, the shallow streams hitting her lips. She can't leave without him.

''Sit with me,'' she muttered, reaching out her hand towards him. It was empty of any rings or jewellery; it was bare, like a virgin sheet on a freshly made bed. She was free—free from the weight of ties and obligations that had bound her for so long. Just her, without anything that would remind her of the past.

''I will stain your hand with blood,'' Aegon mused, his eyes dark with the weight of his own burdens. I will stain you with my sins, he wanted to say, but the words caught in his throat.

''Stain them. I do not care.''

So the veined hand reached out, the warmth of his touch sending shivers down her spine. She did not realise how cold she was until he enveloped her in his embrace, his warmth seeping into her bones. She felt clean for the first time in years, despite the stains on her dress, as the man collapsed in her embrace, his tears mixing with her own. ''Do you think we can ever truly be free from our sins?'' she whispered, feeling a sense of peace wash over her.

The man's embrace tightened, his voice steady despite the tremble in his breath as he replied. ''This love was never a sin; it could not be. Not when I love you with all that I am."

Aegon looks back at her, and it is not a tragedy.

This is the closest to heaven they will ever be.