#sub!harrow

[nathandepp]

Praise Ammit... for now

18+- no one listens to ts

Pairing: Harrow x fem reader

Contains: Betrayal, maybe angst, smut specifically p in v, oral (M receiving) sub harrow, moonknight stuff

~ Trust vs Lust~

The next morning you were awakened by an overly bright sun beaming across your face. You stretched your arms and legs out, mimicking a starfish position. You sat up in the bed still tangled in the white silky sheets and blanket and to your surprise, you were met with a semi-clean floor. Of course you were still on the brink of going back to sleep so it most definitely could've been a hallucination. But as you forced yourself out of the bed and onto the small rug Arthur kept by his bed, you felt a small pain in most of you're lower body. You walked into the bathroom and got yourself freshened up. After about a solid 15 minutes, you walked out and began cleaning up from last nights rendezvous.

As you were cleaning your mind kept drifting back to last night. Remembering how he looked and the things he said made you blush. Your mind kept drifting as you were cleaning. By the time you actually blinked and came back to reality, you were done. Well then, guess I can relax until he comes back. Due to his authoritative role as the villages leader, he had a lot of duties. You know he always couldn't put himself first.

Hence why you did. But then typical Arthur, always giving back. It's one of the things you've admired most about him since you both have met. While the time has been short, it's been a time neither of you will ever forget. As you say down on the bed crossing your legs, you looked in front of you to the chair in front of the mirror. You replayed last night's events in your head remembering everything you'd done. From the beautiful sounds he made to the way he obediently obeyed you like a mere pet.

You even remember his beautiful face when he realized Ammits Ushabti was in a direct line of sight. You looked back at the spot where it was only to be met with an empty space. Your smile immediately dissipated and you shot up from the bed and rushed to the dresser. You began panicking and looking everywhere under the bed, on the dresser, in the bathroom, and on the bed. It was nowhere to be found. The last place you looked was in the bag you brought here. What was in there surprised you.

What filled the bag wasn't the Ushabti of Ammit, but instead a note. You picked up the note and was a little surprised when Arthur's name was on it. As you read it, your emotions began to well up and your heart sank into your stomach. To summarize, the note said, " Thank you for being so willing to give up yourself for our reigning goddess Ammit. You practically placed it in my grasp. And for that, I am eternally grateful. However, Ammit must be revived to stop the wrongdoers in this cruel world." Sincerely, Arthur. And there were two other names that you didn't recognize but to be honest, you didn't really care about them.

You sank down onto your knees, the note clasped in your hand. Tears threatened to fall down your face. However, no matter how hard this hurt, there was a mission at hand and you didn't have time to jeopardize it even more. With that, you ripped up the note and arose back to your feet. You went to the bathroom and got dressed, retrieved your bag and left the room.

You found some fabric and wrapped it around your head to "disguise" yourself. You decided to sneak out of the village and go to a store to retrieve weapons. Because obviously, Ammit wasn't going to defeat itself.

After going to the store, you gathered as many weapons you could hold and carry. You walked back through the village using the fabric to conceal your face. As you're walking through the village you got to yourself about the previous night. You wondered had he always wanted to steal the Ushabti from you? Was that his plan all along? Am I not good enough?

Lost in all these thoughts running in your mind, you didn't even realize that you had made it in front of the main part of the village. The place where you and he officially met. Memories started to flood your mind and it was getting hard to not focus on your emotions. However, you needed to complete this not for anyone else's sake but for yours. If you didn't carry through with this "mission" that you set for yourself, you'd feel like a failure. And everything you read in that note would be true. And with that you rid your mind of all the memories.

Then you walked inside.

[natade-art]

you know what. i’ll try embedding a video straight from youtube this time. happy stone ocean u guys i made an amv instead of finishing the work i’d planned to do for finals today

[jellys-compendium]

Spoiled & Stuffed

Rating: Explicit (🔞, Minors DNI)

Pairing: Nanami Kento x F!Reader Summary: In which you are the playfully disobedient partner of Nanami Kento. Your favorite hobby? Driving him crazy. wc: 3.6K cw: pwp, smut, dom!nanami, bratty sub!reader, oral (m!receiving), deepthroating, vaginal fingering, pussy slapping, p in v sex, married sex, creampie, lots of teasing and some humor, sort of a twist ending a/n: I very much enjoy writing sex scenes with partners that demonstrate impeccable communication. I also enjoy laughter during sex. It's sexy af. Now enjoy a reader who likes pushing Nanami's buttons.

“I told you not to distract me. This qualifies as distracting.” 

Nanami Kento turns, giving you an irritated glance from over his shoulder. You smile in response, all syrupy sweet and facetiously innocent. You’re finally starting to see the cracks in his resolve. About time, given that you’ve been wrapped around him like a koala for the last 20 minutes.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, baby.” 

Your husband rolls his eyes, shaking his head at the audacity of you before returning his attention to the laptop resting on the coffee table.

“Wearing nothing but my dress shirt, squeezing yourself in between me and the couch, and then rubbing up against me like a cat in heat? Very subtle.”

“You like it.” You goad, leaning forward and purposefully pressing your breasts against his back. Nanami, unsurprisingly, doesn’t let on that he’s affected by your advances, appearing instead to be laser focused on the work before him. However, the faint pink glow on your husband’s cheeks provides a clue that perhaps all of your teasing was secretly eating him alive.

Good. 

“I’d like it more if my impatient wife would let me finish sending this email.”

You heave a sigh. Fine. If that’s the way he wants it, you’ll wait. But, you’ll be sure to make the wait just as harrowing an experience for him as it is for you. 

Snuggling closer, you bury your face against your husband’s sturdy back, the pleasant scent of the aftershave he’d put on in the morning now a faint tickle in your nose. The beginnings of your devious plan are inconspicuous, resting your hands on Nanami’s shoulders, massaging him with a focus on the places where he tends to complain of soreness. You grin when you notice the rapid taps on his keyboard increasing in pace.

Eventually, your fingers make their way down to his waist, stroking his sides languidly up and down as you arch more boldly against him, making sure he feels the burning heat of your bare cunt rubbing through his clothes. Classy? No. Effective? Based on the way Nanami’s jaw clenches, yes.

“Ken…please.” You whisper, now rolling your hips while slowly moving your hands from his waist to the buckle of his pants. His deep, audible inhale at your touch is like music to your ears. 

“I want you. Hurry up.”

Your demand heightens the tension, sizzling your nerves and stiffening his muscles. Naughty little fingers dip beneath that leather band, loosening it just an inch before moving down to the front of his pants. Nanami is hard, practically throbbing in his slacks as you gently squeeze him through the fabric.

“Need to feel this inside me.”

An admission that you know will drive him crazy, obsessed that your husband is with stuffing your holes full. His fingers, his tongue, his cock. Nanami Kento makes it a point to never leave you wanting, nor empty. Too bad the man was cursed by his own self-restraint.

“Wait.” He growls through gritted teeth, but you’re so far past listening. The moment your thumb and forefinger grasp his zipper, teeth sinking into your lip at the sound of the first few teeth popping loose, Nanami slams the laptop shut. 

Finally.

Unabashed in celebrating your victory, you titter with delight as Nanami’s big hands hastily grab at the pale blue dress shirt you’d stolen from him, yanking it up and over your head in one fluid motion and tossing it aside. He forces your legs wide apart with astounding strength before delivering a quelling slap to your puffy folds, a shocking punishment that has you crying out wildly and hurtling on a one way express ticket towards one of the most powerful orgasms you’d ever had.

“AAAH!! K-Kento!” 

The pleasure tears through you, but you hardly have time to recover before Nanami’s big body bullies you into the corner of the couch, hoisting your legs up and around his hips, grinding his clothed cock mercilessly against your trembling flesh and extending that jolting release until it all becomes too much to bear.

“Y-yellow!” You gasp breathless and trembling from the overstimulation, hands grasping at his solid chest.

Nanami’s grinding immediately slows, his weight slightly lifting off your body as he gives you the space you need to catch your breath. Silently, he brushes stray strands of hair from your face as he waits for you to descend from your high, grounding you with his touch and gentle caramel stare. 

“Breathe. That’s it, love. Good girl.”

Once your breathing slows and you feel like you’re back on planet Earth, you nod for him to continue. But Nanami, being the sweet husband that he is, elects to lean down and soothe your frazzled nerves with a passionate kiss instead. 

“Bit off a little more than you could chew?” He teases, peppering kisses on your cheek.

“A little,” You chuckle, reciprocating his kisses with a few of your own against his stubbled jaw. “I never orgasmed from a slap before. Didn’t realize I was that kinky. Must be quite the confidence booster knowing that you’re the only one who can do that for me.”

Nanami’s laugh is warm and rich, a beautiful and rare thing in the presence of others, but not in your shared home.

“Indeed it is.”

His mouth finds its way back to yours, pressing a tender kiss to your lips before he whispers,

“Let’s find more ways to make you come, hmm? Shall we continue our game?”

Biting your bottom lip at his words, you nod, and Nanami rewards you with another fervent kiss, one that makes you feel like you’re the most loved and cherished woman in the entire world…which you are, being Nanami Kento’s wife and all.

He boxes you in as he kisses you, seemingly desiring to warp his large body around your own. Protecting you yet keeping you all to himself at the same time. Selfless and selfish, it's so satisfying watching the straight and narrow Nanami morph into a man of burning lust when it comes to you. 

Your husband pulls away from your lips with a pop, your red lipstick smeared prettily across his mouth. It’s a good look on him, and you’re about to tease him that he wears it better, but Nanami rightfully anticipates your little spitfire quip and brushes his fingers along the glistening folds of your sex. He’d rather hear you moaning instead. 

“Tell me,” Nanami whispers, hot lips brush teasingly against the shell of your ear while his fingers capture and circle your engorged clit. The responding acceleration of your heart is so intense you swear you hear it dancing in the room.

“What is this pussy made for, darling?”

His fingers sink into your tight heat, striking that sensitive bundle of nerves inside you. Like magic, lightning tears up your spine and lands at the base of your skull, buzzing and harmonizing with the desperate whimper that tumbles from your throat. Your cunt, made so sweetly pliant by the mastery of Nanami’s hands, squeezes around his fingers, walls pulsing and sucking those digits deeper as he holds you on that maddening precipice of release.

Nanami patiently awaits your response, taking note of your laboured breaths and writhing hips, calculating precisely how much farther he can push you. You’re nowhere near done yet. You can take a little more.

Finally, you answer him, reciting the words he has said to you many times before.

“My pussy is made to be spoiled and—” You swallow, pussy clenching once more around his fingers at the sinful promise your next word holds. 

“...stuffed.”

The heavy hand resting on your thigh gives you a rewarding squeeze, burning pleasantly even after his grip leaves. Nanami caresses your waist, tracing the outline of your supple shape, a paint brush along a canvas, before settling along the swell of your breast, thumb swirling appreciatively over your perked nipple. He plucks it firmly and your clit throbs.

“Stuffed by what?”

Your eyes shut with bliss, so enraptured by his touch that you forget to answer the question. Luckily, your husband so kindly reminds you by grasping your chin and sinking his fingers into your mouth. Releasing a moan, your eyelids flutter open, hooded and love-drunk as you instinctively suck. Nanami’s stare is intense, so focused and controlled, like contained fire.

“Tell me. What makes this shameless little pussy come every night?”

The dance continues as he plays with your tongue, stroking that wet muscle before pinning it down. 

“What do you think about when you’re horny and alone? When those naughty fingers slip inside this hot cunt, what do you wish was filling you up instead?”

Nanami fucks you deeper with his fingers, eliciting a wet, gutural groan from your lips, a trail of saliva dribbling down your chin. Messy. Indecent.  Fuck, being forced to describe out loud precisely how Nanami gets you off is the most tantalizing kind of foreplay. 

Slipping your tongue out from under his hold, you cheekily lick at the pads of his fingers, arching your back and mewling as he slips another finger inside your slippery walls.

“Cock.” You pant, wet and sloppy. “Your cock. Ken, please hurry up and fuck me. I want you. I want to feel your fat dick stretch me open. I want you to pound it so deep inside I can feel you in my throat. Kento…Ken—ugh fuuck.”

Unimpressed, Nanami sighs at your answer, his fingers plunging even deeper into your core, thumb cruelly neglecting your clit as he keeps you on that maddening precipice of release.

“Charming, but you are in no position to be making demands of me.”

The spark of irritation at his stone faced denial further ignites your rebellious flame. He's toying with you, dangling the attention you so desperately crave over your head like a carrot. Well, if he’s going to make you work for your pleasure, then you’re going to make him work for your obedience.

Fueled by your resolve, you clamp your teeth around Nanami’s thumb, digging them in just enough to leave a mark. Nanami doesn’t flinch, clicking his tongue disapprovingly before giving you a stern look. Oh, Nanami Kento and his iron restraint. It would be infuriating if it wasn’t so goddamn hot.

“Behave.” He warns.

Being the horny little instigator of delicious consequence that you are, you brazenly reply,

“Make me.”

Nanami pauses, taken a little aback, granting you the opportunity to wrap your glossy red lips around his thumb and suck. Your hips forcefully grind down on his fingers all the while, stealing your pleasure right out of the palm of his hand.

That's when Nanami snaps. 

His heavenly touch evaporates in an instant, leaving you cold and forsaken on the couch. He starts to get up, fully intending to leave you high and dry. However, you are his partner in this game, so he doesn’t end up getting very far. You snag Nanami’s tie in your tight grip and pull him back down.

“Don’t you fucking dare.” You purr before capturing his lips in a scorching kiss. Nanami growls against your mouth, wrestling against your tongue as his hands wrap around your waist. He indulges you for a moment, then breaks the kiss, hauling you up into the air and swinging you over his shoulder with ease.

“Hey—”

Your backtalk is cut short with a swift slap to your ass.

“AH!” You wiggle your hips, daring him to do it again. But Nanami is too clever to be fooled by such an obvious ploy. He gives you an irritated sideways glance instead as he carries you to the bedroom.

“You’re incorrigible.” 

Undeterred, you try again.

“Ken…” You brush one of your dangling feet along the throbbing length in his pants, teasing him and grinning like a cat when you feel him twitch against your toes. “Have you lost your touch? Normally you’d have me screaming to the rafters by now.”

Nanami drops you, abruptly and quite unceremoniously onto the bed. The shift in tone is a little jarring, making you wonder if you’d gone a little too far with that last playful jab. All doubt is put to rest however, when your husband climbs on top of you and pins you to the mattress, one large hand ensnaring both of your wrists.

“It appears I’ve spoiled you too much. We’ll have to remedy that.”

You watch as Nanami’s free hand reaches for his tie. His sharp gaze locks with your own as he slowly loosens it. The quiet sound of the sliding fabric a hush before a storm.

“Let’s put that mouth of yours to better use.” Nanami says softly. “You will be pleasing me tonight. Any objections?”

And there it is. That sincere and undeniable accountability that sits at the root of Nanami’s character. No matter how engrossed the two of you become in your play, your husband always makes sure that he has your total consent. 

You shake your head.

“No objections. You know I’m yours.”

Nanami leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead before getting off. He stands at the side of the bed, slowly removing his watch and placing it on the nightstand. His tie follows and then his shirt, that deep, brown stare fixed on you the entire time. 

The anticipation crackles in the air as you watch him, your molars digging into your cheek when his dress shirt falls to the floor. Nanami really is a vision to behold. Big. Strong. His arms, chest and stomach are chorded with mouthwatering, heavy muscle. But most tantalizing of all is the dusty trail of curly blonde hair that extends from his navel to his…

“Come here.”

For once, you do as you’re told. On hands and knees you crawl to him, nearly tripping over yourself when Nanami slowly unbuckles his belt. 

Nanami pops open the button on his pants, fingers still glistening from your mess as he reaches for you. He threads his hand through your hair, caressing the back of your head gently before grabbing a fistful of your locks and pulling you closer. You gasp, one hand rising to stabilize yourself on his hip as your nose bumps against his groin.

“Unzip me.”

You reach for his zipper, but Nanami takes your hand and places it back on his hip.

“With your mouth.” He clarifies.

You look up at him, your shared gaze unbreaking as you lean forward and fish for his zipper with your tongue. Once you have it securely between your teeth, you pull it down slowly. Nanami’s thick, hard cock springs free, landing with a heavy thump on your face. 

“Well done, darling.” He praises. “Perhaps there’s hope for you yet.”

A sensual hum rolls in your throat as you nuzzle his shaft, elated that you finally have what you’ve been craving all night long. You lick a wicked stripe up his length and then suck his fat, leaking glands into your mouth. The low rumble of Nanami’s carnal groan as you swallow his cock halfway nearly sends you over the edge.

“Yes, that’s it. More. Deeper. All the way to the base, sweetheart.”

Sucking in a big breath through your nose, you follow Nanami’s command, gagging slightly as you start to bob on his cock, taking his pulsing length to the base over and over, stroking him lovingly with your tongue, milking him with your lips. Fuck, you’re such a whore for him, so desperate to taste his release on your tongue.

“Faster.” Nanami growls, tightening his grip in your hair and giving your ass another slap for good measure. Your muffled cry of pleasure vibrates along his shaft, making your husband's head roll back with a heavy groan.

“Ugh—fuck, yes. God, you are exquisite.”

Nanami’s restraint begins to waver, his sharp hips pistoning his cock between your lips, moaning as he hits the back of your throat. Tears cloud your vision as you will your throat to relax, sucking him greedily while your cunt—who’s so jealous of your mouth—drips and squeezes around nothing.

With a heavy grunt, Nanami slams himself balls deep and holds you there, savoring your wet heat with a moan. Looking up, you realize that Nanami’s sharp jaw is locked tight, his hair slightly disheveled, chest rising and falling as he pants. He’s a mess. God, to think that you’re able to bring a man like Nanami Kento to his knees with nothing more than a flirtatious wink and an eager throat makes you dizzy.

Exhaling a heavy sigh, Nanami's fist pulls your hair taut, guiding your mouth slowly off his throbbing cock. His fat, pink head pops against your swollen ruby lips upon release, the lipstick ring around the base a marker of your achievement.

“Color.” Nanami demands.

You stare at Nanami through mascara stained lashes, gaze unwavering despite the dark streams that flow down your cheeks. Slowly, you lick the excess saliva dripping from your lips, sultry eyes trailing down his magnificent body, admiring the tense muscles that line his abdomen before landing on his twitching cock. 

“Green.”

Nanami is perfectly still, his brows furrowing as he appraises you. He’s reading you, assessing each and every little detail to determine whether or not you're pushing yourself past your limits. After another beat of silence Nanami prompts you again, this time more firmly.

“Color. And be honest with me.”

True, your lungs and throat are burning from the intensity of Nanami's thrusts, but you are desperate to keep going. You want Nanami to fuck your throat as wildly as he pleases, you want him to wrap his hands around your waist and fuck your pussy like it owes him money. All of him. You want every single inch of this man, and you’re not above using dirty tricks to get him.

You lean forward, swiping up the bead of precum dripping from Nanami’s tip with a kittenish lick.

“I said green…babygirl.”

Nanami’s blonde brow twitches, his frown a comical contrast to your mischievous grin. You stare at one another for a moment, holding the tension for as long as you can. Funnily enough, Nanami is the first to crack a smile. And that is the perfect curtain call to your shared game. The applause? The joyous bout of laughter you both share.

“Enough,” Nanami chortles, releasing your hair and leaning down to place a tender kiss on your head. “You win, you crazy little vixen. I’m too old for this shit.”

“Hardly,” You giggle, shifting back so you can lay comfortably on the bed, beckoning your husband with a curl of your fingers. “You’re just tired after a long day, nothing wrong with that. You can fuck me silly next time.”

Nanami climbs on the bed after you, taking your hand in his and pressing a kiss to your fingertips before he nudges your legs apart. The head of his twitching cock parts your folds, probing at your entrance.

“Next time?” Nanami murmurs, lips on your wrist. “Who said it was over?”

With one fluid motion, Nanami slides the head of his cock inside you. You both groan in relief, drowning in a passionate kiss as hands wander and caress each other’s bodies like the sacred temples they are. Nanami reaches down, grinning from ear to ear when he finds your sensitive little bud and feels you melt in his arms at his touch.

“Ken,” You arch, whining, rolling your hips in a desperate attempt to impale yourself deeper on his cock. “Ken, please, don’t make me come with just the tip. Give me all of you.”

Nanami chuckles softly, his knuckles brushing against your cheek adoringly.

“My sweet, spoiled little wife. How can I say no?”

Nanami leans back, hands hooking beneath your knees and pushing them flush to your chest, folding and pinning you beneath his weight as the place where the two of you are connected comes into full display.

He lowers his hips slowly, a pair of harmonized moans filling the bedroom as Nanami’s cock fills you to the brim. His movements are slow and careful at the start, but with your hips rolling up to meet his own, your lewd moans in his ear, and your breasts bouncing enticingly each time he surges forward, even the pertinacious Nanami cannot restrain himself.   

“Touch yourself,” Nanami pants, his thrusts quickening, angling himself so he can hit that perfect little spot inside you. “Touch yourself for me darling. Let me see you play with that puffy clit. God—fuck, that’s it, you’re so pretty like that. So beautiful when you’re feeling good.”

“Ken—ah! Yes! Please don’t stop!”

Kento’s body bares down with full force, the bedframe slamming against the bedroom wall, his massive arms trembling on either side of your head as he sweats and pants and drills that thick cock as deep as it will go. Fuck, he’s beautiful. So beautiful, and he’s going to make you come your brains out, just like he always does.

“Kento—I—ah—ummm!!”

You cry his name again, body tensing so achy sweet as you come on his cock. Kento reaches his peak not long after you, barking your name and heaving a groan as he buries himself deep inside your cunt, filling you up with spurt after spurt of milky white cum.

Your husband collapses in your arms, panting and sweating buckets. You pamper him with a kiss to his temple and the two of you hold one another, soaking in each other’s warmth and basking in the quiet afterglow. 

The faint ticking of Nanami’s wristwatch on the nightstand is the only marker of the passage of time in this private little heaven. It’s such a comforting sound, but nowhere near as comforting as the sound of Nanami’s heavy breathing. He’s fallen asleep, the adorable man.

Chuckling to yourself, you snuggle closer to your sleepy salaryman.

“One more round before bed?” You joke.

You're surprised to see him move, but even more surprised when his hand lands on your face.

“Woman,” Nanami groggily groans, pinching your nose. “Stop tormenting me and go to sleep.”

[swordgrace]

𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐇, 𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐄.

⠀ཾ༵ 𑁍┆ aegon ii targaryen x wife!reader.

SYNOPSIS: in the wake of his burning, aegon’s recovery is marked by rage and insecurities. he pushes you away, but it is your comforting embrace that he desires above all else.

anonymous request.

{ FORMAT: one-shot — requested by anon.

{ WORD COUNT: 7.4K.

{ WARNINGS: SMUT (mdni), hurt/comfort, post rook’s rest aegon, aegon isn’t a good person but he’s tormented, unstable marriage, talk of insecurities, wound/scar descriptions, p in v sex, unprotected sex, gentle sex, body worship (m & f receiving), lots of kissing & comfort/reassurance, very desperate aegon, begging, sub-ish aegon, reader is on top, riding/cowgirl, mutual orgasm, fingering (fem!rec), soft ending + aftercare

{ AUTHOR’S NOTE: This is my first time writing for Aegon, so please be gentle + any feedback/critique on his character is appreciated! He’s quite difficult to write for. Either way, I absolutely loved writing this, and I hope that you all enjoy it, too! As always, thank you for your continued love & support. ❤️

𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 — 𝐚 𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐨 𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐮𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐜𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝, 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐦𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐬𝐡 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐞. It spread its blazing roots to those cast within it, leaving them hideously scarred or deformed, or perhaps leaving them with nothing left at all.

Grand Maester Orwyle had said that your husband may never walk again — that he may never draw breath again.

The harrowing memory of soot-stained knights hauling your husband in on nothing more than a swath of linen tied to sticks, placing him gently onto your marital bed had haunted you for several weeks since its occurrence. You could recall the pungent scent of charred flesh, the ragged rasps of Aegon’s breathing, the labor and sweat of Maesters working tirelessly to save him.

It was the labored wheeze of his breathing that continued to linger within the recesses of your mind, a sound so hoarse and weak that you wondered if he would survive. Watching your husband become a shell of his former self was never pleasant — you wouldn’t wish it upon anyone, even your worst enemy.

Aegon showed a resilience that few thought him capable of — the will to survive, to endure and spite his brother served him well. Even if each breath made him ache and each step had rattled his bones, he continued to progress, showing an astounding level of improvement in a short amount of time.

Fire was the end of all things, but not for him.

The observant gazes of those denizens dwelling within the Red Keep often looked upon Aegon with despair, and perhaps pity — it was a pity that he despised, one that made him quiver with rage. He had been made a cripple by his brother, an undesirable.

No one would want him now — not even you, his resplendent wife, a dutiful creature who had solemnly stood by his side, even after his numerous sins he committed against you. He was burnt and ugly, half of his face marred by a web of scars, ear twisted, silvery hair missing on part of his skull.

It was contempt that fueled him now, and he continued to play the part of a wounded, forgetful dog whenever Aemond was near, but in the sanctity of his chambers, he cursed his brother to whatever Gods would hear him.

If they heard him at all.

With each passing day, Aegon regained strength, yet he used a cane to aid in his unsteady gait. He rarely emerged from his chambers, not wanting to be looked upon as if he were some wounded animal in-need of coddling. Wallowing within his own misfortune became commonplace.

You visited him each day when he was still unconscious, sitting by his bedside, holding his hand within yours, yet Aegon had convinced himself that you no longer loved him. What woman would sensibly love him, after everything he’d done? If you were intelligent, you would dissolve your marriage and find a new lover, cast him into the shadows where he belonged.

Aegon had forbidden you to see him for weeks now, likely out of his own fear of rejection, or seeing the horrified look on your face with his own eyes. Orwyle spoke of your tenderness, how you never left his side when he lay bedridden — he could scarcely fathom it, if he were honest with himself.

The evening was a dour one in King’s Landing, marked by the encroaching threat of war, and supposed riots that had broken out across the city. Aegon sometimes laughed to himself — Aemond never cared about the smallfolk nor their desires, and his former hand had discouraged him from catering to those less fortunate.

It gave him some twinge of satisfaction, knowing that he wasn’t that stupid — not as dull and thick-headed as so many believed him to be. The burden of being King had been forced upon him, even when he never wanted it, and so he had no choice but to simply adapt.

He molded himself to a role that never belonged to him anyway, attempting to fit himself into a puzzle that he was never in to begin with.

Acceptance — he had come to realize that perhaps, unseen forces had tarried and toiled to put him on a Throne that wasn’t his birthright. Even then, Aegon was still the King — but a broken one. Who would ever look to a shattered King for guidance, or to lead them?

Dusk blanketed the city, casting its shadow over the Red Keep, a starless sky — it was instead marked by the black haze of clouds that concealed all, even the moonlight. The Keep itself seemed wrought with tension, one that threatened to snap at any moment.

With Aemond on some warpath, the smallfolk calling for blood, and his own mother dismissed from the Small Council, part of him simply thrived within the chaos, the mess made by his younger brother. It was satisfying to know that even he was not fit to rule — not like he imagined himself to be.

His walk around the corridors had been cut short when he caught a glimpse of Aemond, with Orwyle taking him back to his chambers. Aegon could walk without assistance, yet the distance was never one of any merit.

Much of his unoccupied moments were spent drowning in Dornish Red, or perhaps the most surprising thing of all, reading. He was never the studious child — he preferred merriment and whoremongering over the study of High Valyrian and the histories. Being gnarled like this had forced his hand — perhaps he could still become a learned man.

The Kingsguard he had appointed were gone, sent to join the Night’s Watch or beheaded for insubordination — he had no friends here, nothing left except himself and his mind, still perfectly intact. Now, Aegon intended to sharpen what was left of it, if he could in such a short amount of time.

He spent many of his days in fear — fear of Aemond poisoning his drink or slithering into his chambers like the fanged viper that he was to torment him, or perhaps stick Aegon’s Dagger into his chest. There was time left still for his mad cunt of a brother to finish what he’d started.

As the doors to his chambers rattled, Aegon immediately grabbed the shortsword he kept alongside his cane, breathing becoming strained and heavy. “Who is it?” He barked, palm planted against the sturdy mahogany of his large table.

“The Queen, your Grace.” Ser Belgrave, one of the last decent Kingsguard left in the Red Keep, opened the door just enough for you to see your husband, alive and conscious. He stood watch for a beat, and then closed the doors behind him, leaving you alone with Aegon.

Aegon didn’t know what to say — he was rageful and bitter, and having you here to gawk at him did nothing to quell those feelings. He did admire you from across the room, taking in the plane of cerulean silk you wore, shrouded by a pale robe. Your eyes were indiscernible — he could not tell how you felt from where he sat.

You were, perhaps, the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes upon — and he had seen so many. He recalled when he first saw you in the Grand Sept in your wedding gowns, so shy and saccharine, like the first warmth of springtime. It wasn’t a union he cared for or desired, but duty demanded that he wed you, and you would give him heirs.

So much of his time was wasted in the arms of whores who cared for nothing save the size of his coin purse, when it all should’ve been dedicated to you — the last person who truly cared for him.

“Aegon,” There was not an ounce of reproach within your voice, and instead, it was all a breathy sigh of relief. You had only seen him in-passing, walking alongside Grand Maester Orwyle or Lord Larys Strong. He had not allowed you to see him fully, until now. “I …”

“Save your pity,” Aegon quipped, turning away from you as he turned inward upon his books, instead. Gods, he felt wretched for constantly causing you such agony, but he could not endure the sight of you seeing him. “Have you come to see the withered King?” He mumbled, voice riddled with disdain.

Aegon was not an easy husband — and your union had been fraught with strife, hallmarked by his love of whores and wine, his absence felt by you each and every moment. You had passed this off as reality — this was what marriage was, and you had no choice but to accept it or crack beneath the pressure.

Even now, you were willing to forgive him.

Instead, you gathered your skirts and inched closer, longing to look upon him again with your own eyes. He had always been a beautiful man, so handsome with those regal Targaryen features that it often stole your breath away — and that hadn’t changed.

“I missed you,” You confessed, and it made Aegon’s throat become unbearably thick. Tears stung his eyes, tears born of frustration, an inner hatred and disgust, a disbelief that you truly meant any of this. “I thought that I could stay with you this evening.”

“No,” Aegon retorted, voice trembling at the bottom of his throat as he shook his head. “I do not want you here. I forbid you from seeing me. What part of that do you not understand?” His rage swelled — but not at you. He was so angry with himself that it began to manifest in uncouth ways.

It stung you, but not as much as you thought. Aegon kept you away, pushed you out to arm’s length because he feared what you might think of him. Being beloved and liked by those around him, the desire for attention and adoration, was perhaps one of his greatest flaws. When he could not find validation, it was easy to find it with a whore instead, or in the simpleminded lickspittles.

If Dornish Red could talk, perhaps he would find whatever comfort he sought there, too.

He reached for his goblet of wine, hand unsteady as he held it to his lips, and even then, he looked absolutely pathetic when taking a swig. “I cannot even drink without looking fucking pathetic,” Aegon snarled, letting out a bark of humorless laughter. “I cannot walk without being gazed upon like a wounded animal.”

At last, you began to understand where this anguish came from, where it all manifested. As much as you pitied your husband for the tragedy that had befallen him, you admired his resilience, his desire to endure and push on, even if it was most unpleasant.

“Aegon …” As your soft palm reached to rest against his shoulder, he violently jerked away, recoiling as if it were you that had burned him. “I am here for you. We are still married — allow me to continue to be your wife.” You whispered, flinching when he let out a sardonic laugh.

The scars were everywhere, enveloping half of his body, still aching with a dull pain that he muddied with poultices and Orwyle’s draughts. Aegon refused to take Milk of the Poppy, enduring his agony in different ways, ones that many would consider to be harder.

“Gods, how cunning you are — you play the role of naivety so well,” Aegon hissed, attempting to pull himself up from his table, hand reaching for his cane. “I am burnt, I am disgusting, and I am a cripple. You are not here for me — I do not want your pity!” He growled, voice raising to a tempestuous level.

You did not press him further, but you could see the tears glistening within his lilac hues, spilling down his cheeks as he began to laugh. The sound was grating and hollow, devoid of any amusement — just emptiness. He used what momentum he had to stand, grip ironclad and white-knuckled around his wooden beam of support.

“Why must you continue to push me away, Aegon? Have you not done it enough?” You questioned, voice sharp and wrought with emotion, sentiments that you had been repressing for so long, for the entirety of your marriage. “Must I always justify why I want to be your wife? We are married — I love you.”

Aegon froze, tears spilling over his face, countenance one of complete and utter bewilderment. He could not discern if you were genuine or simply conniving, or if you were being true. You had told him that you loved him before, and he always cast it aside — maybe you had truly meant it all this time, and he was too indifferent to realize it.

His back was partially turned to you, as if warding you away from seeing him. Aegon had been made to think that he was a failure all his life, that he was insignificant, made to do nothing instead of act. Whenever he did act, it was impulsive and reckless, branded acts of stupidity.

Maybe the one thing he could do right was you — mend the divide, mend the bridge that had kept you distanced for so long.

That cold, bitter laughter soon dissipated into what were choked sobs, ones of despair — he had been holding himself together for so long, for the sake of the realm, for the sake of a family that cared so little for him. His body ached and trembled, and as much as he attempted to move away from you, he couldn’t.

The nearest settee happened to be where he fell, landing against the velveteen cushions, head hung in despair, body wracked with sobs. He was undesirable, undeserving of you and your love. He was some withered husk, a shell, a monster still dressing in the clothing of a King — he was nothing.

Yet, you made him feel like something.

Silently, you crossed the cold stone to join him on the settee, sitting at his side as you gingerly let your palm settle against his back. “You underestimate how much I still care for you, husband.” You whispered, caressing along his spine with a feather-light touch.

Aegon felt drawn to you, pulled into the warmth of your comforting fire, knowing that if there was still one person left in this world who cared enough, it was you. Tears stained his visage, leaving behind streaks of red, eyes wet with many left unshed.

“Why should you?” Aegon questioned, his voice beginning to lose the fury and rage it held before, and it was melancholy. Anyone would’ve asked themselves such a question, but you didn’t — you remained steadfast. “I have brought nothing but misery upon you.”

It was complex, his statement — you had been miserable for some time, but this tragedy that afflicted you both was something worth overcoming. You were beginning to see the true Aegon, the one buried beneath the weight of the crown, the weight of inferiority.

“There is still time for forgiveness.” Your words were poignant and soft, and they were enough to move Aegon to tears again. He sat there beside you, crying to himself, breaking down completely. You had never seen him like this before — and perhaps, it was long overdue.

The comfort you provided was one he so desperately sought, even if he felt so guilty. He hadn’t done anything to deserve this, to deserve you — and yet he welcomed the grace of your palm, the sound of your songbird’s voice, soothing him with your gentle smile.

He was ashamed for you to see him this way, a man lacking the strength of physicality, the strength to hold a shortsword. It often wavered within his grasp — he would never be able to protect you. His beloved dragon was left in ruins, recovering in the Dragonpit — everything he had that made him strong had been taken.

Aegon was terrified to look upon you in such close quarters, afraid to feel the bitter jab of rejection, the horror and abhorrence within your gaze as you found his scars. He dared not turn, only keeping the intact side bared to you, still perfectly handsome.

Orwyle had harkened this to some miraculous recovery, a sign that the Gods favored him — Aegon did not feel favored, nor did he feel that he deserved it. Whatever he used to think, that his father wheezed his last breath desiring him on the Iron Throne, was nothing more than a twist of words.

There was nothing miraculous or prophetic about him — he was a sad, drunken cripple left to rot.

As much as he commiserated over his woes and the foul hand dealt to him by his brother, Larys had convinced him to live out of spite — and you convinced him that being alive, even in this wretched state, was a reality that was worth seeking.

He nearly crawled away at the sensation of your fingertips brushing along his jaw, unmarred and unscathed by the garish tangle of scars. Aegon shivered at your embrace — he had gone so terribly long without it, wondering if he would ever feel it again.

“I remember when I saw you for the first time, in the Grand Sept — I thought that you were the most resplendent man that I had ever seen,” You crooned, feeling him nudge his cheek into your palm. You gently swiped away a stray tear beneath his eye. “You still are.”

Aegon scoffed — a bitter, vitriolic sound that made his breath turn hoarse for a moment. He found it incredibly difficult to believe you, to find any merit in what you said given the circumstances. Even if you still loved him, that did not include his horrific appearance.

Tears trickled down his face, ones that you collected with your thumb before he shook his head. “Do not patronize me,” He murmured, visage furrowing together. “You cannot mean any of that. Look at me,” Aegon hissed, only slightly turning towards you. “I am a loathsome creature.”

His misery was an understatement when it came to his appearance — he looked like some monster, gnarled and withered beyond recognition. Whenever he looked into the mirror, he screamed and raged until he fell, or perhaps lost his voice.

Any Targaryen was often regarded as beautiful — pale, platinum tresses and lilac hues, a countenance as regal and as beautiful as a god. He was nothing more than a cockroach, now. He couldn’t fathom that you still desired him in a conventional way.

With a soft, tender touch, your hand then moved to rest against his shoulder. “If there is a loathsome creature here, I do not see it,” You murmured, head canting to one side. “What must I do to convince you, Aegon? Do you not believe me?”

Aegon’s trust had worn so thin that it threatened to snap, threadbare and nonexistent. He could only allow himself to trust so much — everyone he thought he could confide in or rely on had now turned against him, or attempted to slaughter him.

“It is hard to believe anyone anymore.” He murmured, staring down at his hands — one trembled, wreathed in burn scars, and the other clenched into a tight first.

He was made to believe that he was the rightful heir over Rhaenyra, when that was never the case. He was made to believe that he was a good ruler, when his Small Council plotted behind his back without his knowledge. He believed that Aemond was loyal to him, that he loved him as a brother would.

Lilac hues flickered from the void of his chambers to you, peering at you from beneath the curtain of pale tresses that still clung to his head. Despite the accusations of disloyalty he had hurled at you, his mistrust and doubt of your true intentions, you still maintained an amiable gaze.

You stared at him as if he had moved mountains, pulled the stars from the heavens for you — and he realized that no one, besides you, had looked at him in such a way before. It was profound and affectionate, wrought with a palpable adoration that came from a deep-rooted place of good.

Aegon’s throat grew tight, thick with emotion as he drank you in, tracing over the delicate plane of your features, the spark of warmth that brightened your eyes. Such divine beauty that he had robbed himself of for so long — he only felt like a fool, the greatest fool there was.

With an unsteady, quivering hand, he hesitantly reached out to you, unburnt fingertips tracing the curve of your jaw. He sucked in a sharp breath whenever you shuddered, face turning inward to press a kiss against his palm.

“I want to see you, husband.” You whispered, grasping his hand with both of yours, digits oozing with the radiance of heat that blossomed from you. The burn scars were carefully concealed behind silken garments, hidden from sight. Aegon grit his teeth together, not wanting you to see how disfigured he’d become.

“No,” Aegon quipped, shifting away from you with a scornful, wary expression. Whatever handsomeness he possessed before, it had all been burned away, turned to ash — and it left him, this husk of himself, with a physique that was repulsing to behold. “There is nothing pleasant about it — it is rotten.”

Rotten was perhaps a vast exaggeration for his wounds and scars, something that you found to be perplexing. Scars did not bother you, and you wouldn’t let your husband’s insecurities dissuade him from your comfort and care. Still holding his hand, you moved closer, pressing a kiss against his knuckles.

Aegon shivered beneath the chaste kiss, wanting nothing more than to collect you into his arms. The gnawing fear of your potential repulsion made him hesitate, and the bitter stab of rejection seemed to dig into him more than anything else.

“What woman would want this?”

Aegon’s forlorn, despondent inquiry hung above the both of you like some dour cloud. His grim outlook was something that you could sympathize with, given that his appearance had been torn apart within an instant. He swallowed the sob building within his chest, violet hues glistening with wet tears.

At last, he looked at you fully, exposing the marred, scarred side of his visage, tangled with a web of textured burns. His eye was sunken in, vessels having broken the white around his iris, ear nearly missing entirely, countenance partially mottled.

It was the same with his body, nearly half of it covered in the same fleshy web, scars spreading out like the roots of a tree. Aegon looked to you with a shattered expression, one that possessed a vehement swell of rage and frustration, yet still retained a sense of desperation. He was desperate to have your approval, for you to tell him that he was still perfect, regardless of his disfigurement.

Without a word, you moved your hand toward the maimed side of his face, expecting him to rip away or recoil entirely. Instead, he stayed there, rooted in-place, shuddering when the softness of your palm cupped his jaw. The pad of your thumb gingerly raked over his cheek, feeling along every scar and rough surface.

“I want you, Aegon,” The soft, silky resonance of your voice had brought him to heel, gaining his subservience, despite his inner battle with his insecurities. He feared being ugly in your eyes, as if his heart weren’t black and decayed enough. “I want you still.” Your lips twitched into an amiable smile.

For a moment, his eyes had fluttered shut, and he soaked in the sensation of your touch, warm and real against his cheek. It felt incredible, something he had craved for so long — it had left a gaping hole within his chest. Any tears that fell, you collected them with your fingertips, swiping them away.

Again, you inched closer, leg-to-leg with him, gaze drifting towards his lips. Aegon did not dissuade you from it, breathing becoming somewhat laborious as you pressed forward, mouth molding against his. It had been a long time since you had kissed him — truly kissed him.

A low, stirring groan reverberated within the depths of his throat, and at last, he reciprocated. Aegon’s kiss was done in a flurry of passion, realizing what he hadn’t had for so long. You tasted saccharine, warm and soft against him, mouth pliant and willing.

Gods, how blind he was — foolish, fragile, moronic.

He had abandoned you for unattainable things, for insignificant people that cared little about his wellbeing. Aegon had you — you, so devoted and loyal and forgiving, even when he deserved none of it. He very nearly sobbed again, knowing what error and sin he’d committed against you, but he shoved it down.

His insecurities seemed so small, as if they were wiped away by the curve of your mouth that so desperately kissed him. Aegon moved his good arm, bringing it to the swell of your hips, feeling your supple physique through the thin silk of your nightgown.

A sweet, simpering moan bubbled within your throat, a sound that so clearly vocalized your desperation for him, your repression and longstanding suffering. “Aegon,” You whispered, sending tremors down his spine as he kissed your jaw. “We don’t have to, we — you’re in pain.” You didn’t want to subject your husband to such agony.

Aegon shook his head, willing to push through the dull aching if it meant that he could have you again. Despite his fractured confidence, you made him feel so strong again, as if he still looked as he had before the burning. “Fuck agony,” He panted, hot breath fanning across your flesh. “I need you.”

That was enough to send a surge of molten heat throughout your belly, thighs rubbing together to alleviate some of your mounting arousal. “To bed, then.” You whispered, and Aegon swore that he moved quicker than normal, as if you had rejuvenated in some mystical way through words alone.

Using his cane to support most of his weight, he sluggishly walked toward your marital bed, feeling you hover around his side. You did not help him, and he didn’t want it, anyway. He was growing stronger by the day, capable of making it to his bed without support.

Fresh linens, silks, and feathered pillows had replaced ones used yesterday. It was all clean, smelling of lavender and honey. As he sat along the edge of the bed, he nearly chuckled at all of this — finally laying with you out of desire, and not duty, looking positively abhorrent.

If only it hadn’t taken him so long to get here.

“Are you certain, Aegon? I do not wish to hurt you, I —” Before you could prattle on about your concerns, Aegon silenced you with a kiss, coaxing you down by his side. His lips remained unblemished and unburnt, the taste of Dornish Red and sugar permeating his tongue.

“You won’t,” Aegon uttered, lilac hues raking over you, hungry and rapturous. “And if you do, you will not stop until I tell you to.” His tone retained a sternness to it, one that pleaded with you to allow him to drown in your affections, just like he always wanted.

With a gentle nod of your head, Aegon pushed your tresses away from your neck, thumb caressing along the column of your throat before he pressed a kiss there. You scarcely recalled the last time he’d done something like this, but you weren’t about to protest.

He wanted to hear your sighs and sweet whimpers, the sound of his name, breathy from your tongue. Aegon did not have the stamina he used to, but he would rather damn himself instead of stopping so quickly. He kissed and bit at your neck, soothing each mark with the languid lap of his tongue.

Gods, that sound — Aegon delighted in listening to your soft, wanton moan, pearlescent teeth nipping at your sensitive skin, kissing wherever he could reach. His burnt hand trembled, the flesh tender and still pulsating with a dull ache, but he elected to ignore it as best as he could.

Your hand pressed against his unmarred thigh, gripping into the flesh there as he groaned against you. He had finally gotten rid of that horrid, lengthy nightshirt, back to linen trousers and a silken, emerald tunic. His growing erection wasn’t subtle in the slightest.

“Let me see you.” Aegon murmured, wanting to look upon you with renewed eyes. You had always been beautiful to him, but now, you were captivating — a goddess incarnate, come to grace him with your presence. He watched as you stood, unraveling your robe as you draped it across the foot of the bed.

His mouth became dry, desire swelling within him like the urgent crash of a tidal wave. Aegon’s violet gaze remained transfixed, unable to tear themselves away from you and your perfection.

You stood in between his legs, shedding the thin, sheer gossamer of your nightgown, allowing it to pool around your feet before you nudged it aside. The last time you had undressed for Aegon, he was drunk and needy, several months ago.

His intoxication was of a different sort now, drunk upon your resplendence, your beauty, living and breathing before him. Aegon gripped your hip with his good hand, learning forward to press kisses all along your abdomen and stomach.

The sensation of your hand, so gentle and sweet, slipped against his marred cheek, gingerly caressing over his uneven web of scars, encapsulating over half of his skull. Aegon nearly groaned at your heavenly touch, the touch of a wife who loved her husband, scars and all.

He did not feel so monstrous anymore.

Aegon turned to press a kiss against the inside of your wrist, savoring the feeling of your fingertips roving across his scars. It was only when you moved to kiss the top of his head that he nearly faltered, breath warbled and wavering, surprise settling into his features.

He moved back, countenance twitching with pain for a fleeting moment, finding comfort within the silken duvet and soft sheets of your shared bed. You nearly moved to sit beside him again, but he stopped you, swallowing the growing lump within his throat.

“No,” Aegon whispered, tone a low, husky resonance, strung out with desire as he coaxed you into his lap with certainty. “Come here.” Those lilac hues were blown-out with lust and bewilderment, enthralled by you as he felt you settle down against him, thighs firmly caging him in on either side.

A grunt stirred within his chest, a dull throbbing pulsating throughout his body, but he persisted, feeling your plush form sit right in his lap. His good arm stroked along your spine and hip, faces mere breaths apart, and he kissed you with a blinding fervor.

Aegon never kissed you like this — not until now.

Whatever sentiments you felt for him, the ones that drove you to complete devotion, began to resurface — you still loved him fiercely, despite everything. “Will you allow me to see you, too?” You whispered against his mouth, digits dancing toward the hem of his tunic.

A beat of hesitation passed through your husband, who almost seemed to revert to his reclusive state. His jaw became tense, an inner war raging within him as he contemplated letting you disrobe him. Aegon looked at you, torn yet wanting, tugging you closer.

You gave him time to deliberate, not wanting to push him into something that he wasn’t prepared for. As if to soothe him, your fingertips traced along his brow line, and into the tangle of scars. “If you do not, I will understand, husband. It will not make me love you any less.”

That alone made him want to remove his tunic.

Aegon tilted forward, burying his face against your collarbone, mottled flesh textured against your own skin. He felt your palm glide against the nape of his neck, carding your digits through his wisps of pale hair. “It is hideous,” He uttered, insecurities bubbling to the surface. “I wouldn’t dare subject you to it.”

“Aegon,” The tenderness of your tone seemed to grab his attention rather swiftly, lilac hues drifting up toward your visage, perfect and comely. “It is all you — every scar and every imperfection, and I will love it all the same. My desires haven’t changed.”

His breath hitched within his throat, eyes swimming with an amalgamation of emotions, some of them too overwhelming to fully comprehend. He had sorely missed your embrace, and to further deprive himself of it seemed like an unimaginable torture.

You wanted him to take his time, neck craning as you peppered your lips against his throat — the burnt side, flesh marred and uneven, the sensation akin to a leathery surface. Aegon exhaled, gripping you tighter as he reveled in the feeling of your mouth.

It was he who initiated the removal of his tunic, attempting to pry it away and over his head, but he struggled, a low groan escaping him. Aegon wanted to feel independent, to do something himself, but he relented, accepting your assistance.

Removing the garment felt like an eternity, born out of his own nervousness and crippling insecurity of you seeing him this way, marred and mottled. Only half of him was covered in that tangled, leathery web of scars, spiraling down his entire physique.

Hovering your palm above his chest, Aegon’s lilac gaze silently pleaded with you to touch him, grace him with the touch of your resplendence. The scars were rough and uneven, innumerable and etched into his flesh like a blanket of leather.

Yet, you did not recoil or shy away, tracing patterns over his skin, pressing your sweet kisses wherever you could reach. Aegon felt his cock twitch and throb with desperation, longing to be inside of you. The tender care you showed him meant more to him than any crass or lewd act did.

You kissed his scarred shoulder, a gesture so comforting and kind that Aegon shuddered from exhilaration. That pattern of soft worship continued, as you kissed his scars again and again, reverence seeping into each grace of your mouth.

“Gods, how divine you are,” Aegon exhaled, quivering hand finally extending just enough to knead against your thigh. The palm that held your hip traced towards the warmth between your legs, and he shivered at the slick arousal there. “What a pleasant surprise.”

You squirmed, cunt aching for him in every way imaginable, hips jolting into the sensation of his practiced digits. Aegon was swift to reward your kindness with quick strokes of his fingers, tracing along your slit before caressing your clit, toying with the sensitive pearl.

The game of waiting was an agonizing one, as he longed to be inside of you, let you feel him again with renewed vigor, drown himself within your love. Aegon groaned when your lips met his, connecting with a thinly-veiled ardor, passionate yet tender.

Agony and pain became a thing of the past — even if his body ached and contorted with a continuous sting, he didn’t care. He wanted to endure for you, savoring each moment, digits greedily stroking away at your cunt in order to warm you up.

Desire made him dizzy, head beginning to spin in a delirium, induced by the growing haze of lust. He couldn’t recall the last time he laid with a woman and truly enjoyed it — but he was enjoying this — he loved your body, and above all else, he loved you.

“I want you inside of me,” You panted, hot breath fanning across the shell of his ear. A shiver cascaded along his spine, prompting him to slow the steady strokes of his digits. “Aegon, please.” With a pleading tone that brought Aegon to heel, he nodded, letting out a grunt of discomfort.

He gently removed you from his lap, but only to readjust, moving himself back against the mound of feathered pillows and cushions. Those violet hues silently observed you, rapturous and starving, like a hound preparing to devour its meal as you clamored forward again.

Your hands moved to the leather ties of his breeches, loosening them up enough to free his cock from its confines, flushed head oozing with tendrils of precum. Aegon wasn’t shy about how aroused he was, how desperately he needed you.

“Sit,” Aegon groaned, hand kneading against your hip, attempting to coax you onto his hardened length. “Please, I — I need you.” You hadn’t heard him beg before, but the sound was husky, timbre strung-out with desire as you crawled back into his lap.

As you gently lowered yourself onto his cock, Aegon nearly moaned at the sensation, head rolling back against the pillows as you sank down completely. He couldn’t move like he used to, guide you along or assist, but he did squeeze your hip, caressing all along your side.

Depriving himself of you for so long was perhaps one of the greatest faults he’d ever made, filling him with a wave of guilt. He could not make up for it anymore, properly ravage you in the way that you deserved, but he hoped that this was a start.

Everything began to ache with more of an intensity, a dull throbbing sinking into his bones, but he relented. Aegon would not deny himself, and he would not deny you, above all else. A myriad of throaty groans escaped him as you began to move, hips rocking forward, disarmingly gentle and sluggish.

You did not go quickly at all, each movement slow and steady, thighs stinging from exertion. Slowly, you reached for his hand, the one that had stayed closer to his chest, longing to hold it, if he was able. Aegon’s breath hitched when you did, gently twining his fingers with your own as you rode him.

His cock filled you perfectly, filling a void within you that had been left half-empty for so long. At last, you had your husband again — the one that you yearned for since your wedding day. With gentle gyrations, you moved yourself up and down along his length, continuing your sluggish rhythm.

The palm that cupped your hip and thigh soon slithered toward the apex of between your legs, hoping to stimulate you just as you did him. Your moans, breathy and high-pitched, filled your chambers, noises that he had been longing to hear.

The full, lovely swell of your breasts bounced gently atop your chest as you continued your ministrations, repeating the monotonous motion of rocking along his cock. Your stomach sloshed with molten heat, and it quickly spread to your loins when Aegon’s thumb caressed the pearl of your cunt.

He wasn’t going to last much longer in this state, cock throbbing with tendrils of precum that released themselves inside of you. The way in which you milked him, moved agonizingly slow, allowing him to feel your cunt tighten around him — it was nearly overwhelming.

Your cunt clenched pathetically, snug around his length as you continued to ride him, his cock bottoming out within you. It was a perfect storm of sensations, between the fervent circles he traced into your clit coupled with the feeling of him inside of you, you knew that your release was near and inevitable.

A breathy sigh of ‘fuck’ emerged from Aegon’s mouth, countenance contorted into a look of complete and utter ecstasy. “Gods, do not stop,” Aegon commanded through wanton groans, hips desperately wanting to buck up inside of you, but the pain was becoming too great. “Please.” He pleaded.

Everything felt so raw and sensitive, nerves set ablaze, arousal gripping him tightly as you continued to ride his cock, ensuring that you were still incredibly gentle. He thoroughly enjoyed watching you move, cautious and mindful of him, lips agape and visage one of sheer bliss.

The delight you felt was immense, holding onto Aegon’s hand, wanting to grind yourself into his thumb. “Aegon,” You moaned, looking down upon him with reverence and awe, no inkling of disgust to be found — it was ardor and want, all tangled into one. “I—I’m close!” Your whine made him want to tear you apart.

It only took one more roll of your hips for him to fall apart, in shambles beneath you, hot ropes of virile seed filling your womb with desperation. Aegon saw stars from the intensity of his release, nearly collapsing in the aftermath of it all.

His breathing quickened, hoarse and labored as you tilted your hips forward, finding a much-needed friction as he caressed your clit even still. Watching you reach your release with his own eyes was a captivating sight, mesmerizing to behold as you shuddered, trembling and aching with relief.

He huffed, attempting to recuperate as you stayed in his lap for a moment longer, slick with your nectar and his own spent, its sheen coating the inside of your thighs. You removed yourself from him to give him some reprieve, stepping away to clean yourself up and retrieve your nightgown.

Aegon’s visage became one of immediate concern as he watched you move away, worried that he had offended you. “Where — Are you not staying?” He questioned, hastily maneuvering his breeches up around his hips again, doing his best to lace up the leather ties.

Surprised, you stopped near the basin of water sitting along the vanity, head canting to one side. “I intended on staying with you, unless you do not want me to.” You replied, sliding the silken garment back on after having taken a swatch of cloth to the warmth between your thighs.

“I want you,” Aegon’s tone had become a rather desperate resonance, as if imploring you to stay even when there wasn’t a need for him to do so. “I want you to stay.” He uttered, lilac hues somewhat shrewd as you approached, helping him put his tunic back on.

“Of course.” With a soothing voice, you pressed a kiss against the scarred side of his scalp, and then to his forehead, helping to ease him back down into bed. The draught left behind by Maester Orwyle assisted with the pain — not nearly as strong as Milk of the Poppy, but it was the best choice.

Taking a swig, Aegon sighed, feeling you climb into bed, curled against the good side of his body. He immediately collected you into his arm, feeling your cheek press into his shoulder. It was the most satisfying feeling in the world, having you by his side again.

“If you are agreeable to it,” Aegon began, tracing patterns into the small of your back, “I wish for you to stay here again, and share my bed.” He didn’t demand anything, nor did he use his title and power to force you into sharing your chambers again.

He would’ve understood if you declined, given everything that had happened between the both of you.

Aegon loathed the thought of being alone again, to return to his reclusive existence of self-deprecation and endless misery when you were still here, living perfection — his beloved wife. He turned his head just enough to kiss your crown, briefly inhaling your floral scent, one that he sorely missed.

“I would like that,” You hummed, comfortable by his side. It was the first time in many moons that Aegon felt almost entirely comfortable again, scars and all. “Know that I love you, Aegon — until my last days.” With a gentle touch, you reached for his marred hand, holding it delicately within your own.

Tears swam within his lilac hues, and he had to squeeze them shut just to alleviate that feeling of sobbing. To hear you say with certainty that you loved him — he knew that he no longer needed to fear the idea of living, not when he had you.

“I love you.” Aegon whispered, barely above a whisper. He held you tightly, cradling you close, grasp innately protective even when danger didn’t hang over your heads.

Perhaps, for the first time in his life, he was finally being transparent with himself — with his inner turmoil, with his very existence, and that he loved you too.

copyright @ swordgrace ; please do not copy/steal my work and claim it as your own. please do not translate my work onto other platforms.

[muntitled]

𝐁𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐞 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐃𝐨𝐨𝐫

Summary: Visiting home brings up old feelings for the boy next door…

Myung Jaehyun x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Boy Next Door AU, Non-idol!AU, Language, Mutual pining, Hyperfeminine!Reader, Childhood friends to lovers, Smut +18 (Minors DNI), dry humping, slight ddlg themes, praise kink, dom/sub themes, Dom!Jaehyun, Needy!Jaehyun, Hyperfeminine!reader, Premature Orgasm, Loser!Jaehyun, Needy sex

The lack of actual boy next door fanfic for Boynextdoor is harrowing...

You did not hate your childhood. In fact, you would venture to say that you should look quite fondly of most of it because most of it had taken place here- in a picturesque wasteland of suburbia, and as you drive through the narrow main road, staring at glimpses of childhood relics, you begin to frown. Every memory was so unequivocally perfect except, maybe, for the ones containing him.

"Can you at least try to sound like you're not going kill yourself while you’re there?" Your best friend's voice drones on from the car speaker. Her words, no matter how valid, elicit an eye roll from you, effectively stopping your journey down memory lane. "It would be awful to have to drive down to your childhood home just because you tried to kill yourself, I refuse to have that be the way you introduce your college best friend to your mother."

"Relax," you affirm in a voice groggy from underuse. Spending an entire 15 hour drive beguiled to your car without any company except for maybe of course your Destiny's Child album and a swelling sea of dread in the pit of your stomach.

This would be the first time in a year that you were visiting your childhood home since you left for college. The first time anyone who mapped the outline of your childhood, would perceive you as the budding, blossoming, depressive adult you have become. You felt like a storm coming back into your picturesque childhood neighbourhood, threatening to sweep everything away. That feeling of dread only doubles when your driveway appears on the bottom of a hill. The cul-de-sac of your childhood with all its trimmed hedges, neat fencing and constantly perfect shudders, sends you hurtling into nostalgia and once again, common ordinary dread.

"What If I just turn the car around right now, would that be bad?"

"I have never met a college student so unhappy to be home-" Your best friend mumbles, "You're going to be living the dream!? Actual balanced meals!? Please take one for the team,"

Almost immediately, her words trigger a rumble of hunger from your stomach and you groan as your car curls into the cul-de-sac. Your heart is hammering in your ear, not for the reasons anyone might think, but because of those memories locked in your childhood. As you drive, you try to keep your eye on your house. Your perfect homely house.

Your eye doesn't even stray to the house beside it!

Honest to God!

Not even once.

"Is there a reason you don't wanna go home so bad?"

"The weather is so bad," you say almost automatically, "I think the line's about to cut,"

"Bitch, you only avoid my line of questioning like this when it's about some dick-"

"Jeez, the weather’s messing with the connection."

"If you drop this call TRUST you will be dealt w-"

"I'll call when I unpack, love you-" when you drop the call, your car is parked in the driveway and your shoulders are slumped over. You contemplate waiting around in the driveway until some relative forcibly pulls you out but that thought is quickly made obsolete when you hear a harsh knocking on the door. Your stress levels gravitate to an all time high as you watch him, waving frantically at you from the other side of the glass. His smile is bright and just as crooked as ever. His wave is frantic and energetic; Jaehyun is practically bouncing on the balls of his feet, so unequivocally happy to reunite with his childhood best friend.

His only friend. The return of that voice in your head is one of things you had been anticipating on this trip. Mainly because your childhood had been riddled with so much self esteem issues, your feelings practically metamorphosed into that voice you now hear now. That's all you'll ever be to him. All you've ever been, Your mind remarks in a distasteful spit of venom.

"Get your face off of my windows unless cleaning my car for the foreseeable future is a job you're actually interested in." You say coolly as you slide out of the vehicle. Jaehyun gives space for you to stretch, all while shuffling from one foot to the next, picking at the sleeves of his flannel with a dopey smile like he was one second away from proudly telling you he 'frew up at school'.

"Still as homicidal as ever." He says your name with a familiarity that nearly knocks you unconscious. You focus on lifting your arms to the air, and ironing out tje various aches in your back.

"How long has your ass been waiting here anyway?" It's Jaehyun's turn to nearly evade eye contact at your question. He finds it exceedingly difficult to follow along with what you're saying when you so very clearly have boobs now.

"Since my mom told me you'll be back,” He says before immediately adding, “hey- how long have those been there?" You drop your arms with furrowed brows as you look at him.

"What?"

You await a response that doesn't arrive. Jaehyun only points nonchalantly towards your chest. You look down at your v-neck and back at Jaehyun. "I don't know what you're talking about," you roll your eyes as you shuffle past him.

"YOU HAVE BOOBS NOW?!” He exclaims, “EW-"

You turn around to face him, pushing your acrylic nail into his sternum, "I've always had tits- sh-shut up-"

"You literally finished high school without them. I would have noticed as the tiddy connoisseur, trust me."

You find yourself embarrassed, not by his avid teasing (this is something you've been forced to deal with every single day of your childhood and adolescence,) but you find your stomach warming for completely different reasons. Your Jaehyun-obsessed brain wants to pick apart and dissect his entire statement. Maybe he's finally noticing you now? Maybe this age-old crush will evaporate and metamorphose into something else.

You cannot speak because your nail is still digging intently at his sternum and he's staring down at you, as if waiting for whatever venom laced comeback you had waiting for him.

All you're able to focus on however, is the way in which you're staring intently at each other. For him, this proximity is probably nothing, but for you... "Also when you get in there, please for, the love of God, act surprised."

The spell is immediately broken and you're once again brought back down to earth.

The cul-de-sac.

The driveway.

The afternoon sun, surrounded by a cooling breeze.

"Please don't tell me I'm about to walk into another family dinner," your eyes grew heavy with fatigue at just the mere thought of all your family dinners before. 'Family' being used very loosely because he always somehow found himself in every single one.

"You know how our moms can get," you did. You really did.

"Ugh," you exclaim, trudging up the house steps, "1 hour of this and I'm done." Your hand pauses before the doorknob and you turn to Jaehyun with a bored, almost questioning stare. "Aren't you gonna get my things?"

His grins a wolfish grin before clutching at the t-shirt under his flannel, "Oh how I've missed being bossed around by you-"

"Fuck you-" You chuckle out. Jaehyun only turns his torso sloppily as he continues walking to your car.

"A guy could hope!"

And just like that, that smile is gone. The moment is sour. Because whatever he meant, you knew from childhood experience that it did not mean what you wanted it to.

-

Meeting everyone all at once had been as jarring as you expected it to be. You ceremoniously heeded Jaehyun's advice, acting so completely shocked when your relatives and Jaehyun's family yelled 'Surprise' in unison. Everyone was sporting smiles that crinkled their eyes and arms open for hugs. Before you were made privy to every line of questioning surrounding school, Jaehyun's mom swept you into her arms.

"How's is my daughter in law-" there was no time for her to watch you grow tense at her words because Jaehyun who was lugging your luggage in, calmly affirmed, "She has tits now, apparently-"

"MYUNG JAEHYUN-"

The evening had progressed with all the domesticity that you lacked during college and you found yourself at immense ease throughout dinner. Home is still home. Jaehyun is still Jaehyun. Everything that once was, still is and you took a second after dinner to ruminate in the feelings of comfort seeping into your entire being.

That is until your mother ruined it by inserting a very unnecessary, wholly uncalled for fact during dessert drudgery.

"Any boys on campus?"

"It's campus," you snorted as you stuffed your face with malva pudding, "of course there are boys," Throughout the course of your dinner, Jaehyun, who is dutifully seated directly beside you, has taken to swinging his leg against yours. A provocation from childhood that you almost immediately latch onto until you are both playing a violent game of footsies under the table.

"No boys to smooch on campus," Jaehyun speaks up, petulantly puckering his lips at you. All you're able to do is try and ignore him which proves to be a dangerous feat.

"I should think there's a new boy." Your mom says before pointing at you and Jaehyun with the flick of her utensils, "The primary school crush you two had on each other has gone on for way too-"

"MOM!?"

Your mother's slip of the tongue instantly grabs all of Jaehyun's attention. He's perking up in his seat like a rottweiler at attention with his head snapped in your direction.

"Crush?" His eyes falter, scanning the side of your face as if he was perceiving you anew. All traces of a smile are gone as he dumbly asks "What crush?"

"I've been driving for an insane amount of hours," you begin by pushing yourself out of your dining chair, "I should unpack and get to bed-"

"W-Wait I can help." You glare daggers at Jaehyun, that look alone should be enough to stop him from rising from his seat.

"Don't be rude. Your best friend hasn't seen you in ages" your mother scolds, lightly prompting your hands to curl at your sides, "We'll take care of the dishes."

-

Your ascension up the stairs had been charged with tension and filled with something else entirely. You walk ahead of Jaehyun as if trying to distract yourself from his presence, but everything about him is so completely there, "I can feel you staring at my ass," you mumble, needing to fill the air with something, anything at all as you reach the upstairs landing. "Guilty," he says as he follows you into your childhood room which is much the same.

Jaehyun beelines for your twin bed, almost immediately flinging himself on the childish quilted bedspread. "This place is still the same..."

"So are you actually going to be useful, because if not," you fold your arms as you stare him down, "You can leave?"

His mouth hangs open in a lopsided grin as he reaches around to grab at the very first plushie he finds. One of many.

"You still sleep with these?" He asks instead, as if your question meant nothing at all. He plays idly with the stuffed dinosaur in his hands as he leans his head back against the pillows. Seeing him here, amongst your things, brought an avalanche of nostalgia and a wave of hopelessness. He is still so attractive, even after all these years.

You sigh, "Jaehyun if you're not gonna-"

"So was that true?" There it is. The shotgun question that had been hanging like damp washing between the two of you. With your nerves shot to hell, you decide to lower your behind on the very edge of the twin bed as you busy your hands with folding your clothes. Your back is turned to him but you can feel those piercing, smiling eyes watching you.

"Is what true?"

"C'mon, don't do that,'' there is a noise of shuffling behind you. Your heart hammers in its cage with the dip in the bed sheets and you can feel him seated directly behind you. You look down at your lap to find that he's placed your plushie there, as if to distract you from the fact that his legs were now framing yours, his front pressed against your back.

"You know what," he whispers straight into your ear, sounding as serious as you've ever heard him.

Craning your neck backwards to let your eyes fall on Jaehyun would prove to be a cataclysmic mistake. It only heightens the wobble in your voice as you say, "The crush I had on you was juvenile and childish and frankly didn't mean any-"

"Dude..." he whispers, eyes seemingly boring into every single square inch of your face, "I've dreamt about being your boyfriend since I fucking found out what a boyfriend is." His words knock the breath cleanly out of your lungs and your voice grows quiet as he lifts his hand to the side of your face. "What..."

"Yeah!"

His voice is loud and boisterous but you're still somehow locked tightly in your stupor.

"Nu uh," you mumble, your eyes daringly drifting across his lips, "You're lying?"

"How am I lying, angel?" you suck in a deep breath because his thumb is rubbing dizzying circles against your cheek now and his voice has descended a gravelly octave. He dips his head down, experimentally placing a feathlight kiss on the corner of your bottom lip. So innocent, but charged with so many expletives, the possibilities rush straight to your clit.

Still, you soldier on.

"B-Because remember what you said at our grade 6 dance?"

He's not listening. He's not listening because he's finally got a taste of you and he'd be damned if he didnt get more. Jaehyun cranes your neck until you're facing forward once more and you gasp when his lips descend on the skin between your neck and shoulder. "Enlighten me," he mumbles against your skin, placing more featherlight kisses there before he quickly grows bored and decides to stick out his tongue experimentally. You turn into molten clay in his hands and the whimper that escapes you is borderline pornagraphic. This is the stuff all Jaehyun's previous fantasies are made of.

"W-When you asked me out- you said..." your voice drifts off because Jaehyun can't help but let his right hand reach around until he squeezes your torso impossibly closer. All the pudge, all the skin, all the ways he's been dreaming about having you this close and you were there for the taking this whole time.

"Fuck, I'm obsessed with you…" He says, and he does a very odd thing. He buries his face in your neck and just sniffs. This momentary slip of weakness allows you to regain some of your senses as you say,

"Y-You asked me to be your date," Jaehyun is drunk on the very scent of you now and his cock throbs as he brings you impossibly closer against his lap,

"What else did I say, baby," he wants you to carry on talking. Anything that might distract you from wanting him to leave. Anything that might keep you here just a little longer. His cock throbs at that thought alone and it has him rubbing against your skin like a dog in heat.

"Y-You said you didn't have anyone else to go with-" you suck in a deep breath through your air as Jaehyun's hand venture underneath your shirt. He slithers his hand up in a hurry until his cool fingertips are grazing the flesh of your breasts. Like a crazed adolescent driven by his hormones alone, he pulls your bra down, all while tonguing and licking at your neck like his life depended on it.

"S'sorry," he mumbles incoherently behind you, and his hand on the side of your face cranes your head backwards so that you're facing him once more, "So'so'sorry," he places a sloppy, apologetic kiss on your mouth which immediately triggers a very deep desire that is almost as old as you are.

"I wanted you so bad-" you admit with a gasp, and Jaehyun feels your confession shoot straight down his spine. He plasters his front into your backside, pressing his hips against your ass in an apparent wave of lust.

"I've always needed you," he ventures to admit, pressing his bulge against your backside as if needing to persuade you further.

Those words of affirmation are all you need , all you've needed for a lifetime and you immediately turn until you're lumbering onto him before letting your knees frame his hips. His hands instinctively grip onto, your supple, full hips and the feeling of your softness on top of him alone is enough to have him groaning into the air as his hips stutter up at you.

While you crash your lips against his once more you lift yourself away but his hips follow, "The fuck are you doing!?" He mumbles against your lips before biting lightly at your bottom lip.

"Too heavy," you mumble, "I don't wanna be too hea-"

Your words dissolve in your throat and in its place, a yelp escapes as Jaehyun forcibly pulls you down onto his sweatpants-clad lap. "You did this to me," he says, watching you intently as if scolding you, "You did this to me and now you wanna run away?" He scoffs as his hands begins to guide your hips against his. You're both in very flimsy material. Him in his sweatpants and you in similar attire except your sweatpants were a dusky pink. "Youre so pretty grinding on me like that fuck-" he speaks quickly and fluidly as he leans backward onto your bed, making more space to watch you grind yourself on top of him.

His attention is utterly intoxicating and so you do nothing but listen when he says, "Take your top off, baby-"

You peel the item of clothing off, unclipping your bra with all the speed and sloppiness that came with your lust-filled fog/ Jaehyun doesn't help. He's all too focused on guiding your hips against his, watching you face contort into pleasure.

"Pants," he says, needing to see more of your open-mouthed moans, "Take your pants off," he whispers, "Make a mess on me," he swallows thickly, "Please,"

You lift yourself to momentarily push your sweatpants, Jaehyun lifts himself momentarily to grab at your stuffed animal.

"Whatre you-" When you straddle him again, you're completely naked while he's fully clothed. The juxtaposition only elicits another wave of lust. "Hold this while you ride me," he stuffs your plushie against your chest, watching your mouth hang open as you lower your clit onto his bulge,

"O-Oh my fuck, Jaehyun-"

"Just like that, angel, fuck,' he throws his head back momentsrily stumped by the weight of his pleasure. He's trying to be dominant for you. He's trying to keep his control for you, but you're moving your hips against his, with his bulge between your legs, using him for absolute filth. It ruins him entirely.

His voice cracks when he lifts his head to look up at you and say, "Oh my god, you feel so fucking good, oh my god," When Jaehyun curses, your cunt only presses down harder against him, prompting a needier response out of you.

Jaehyun swallows thickly, "Use me, baby," he says, "F-Fuck, just fucking use me," his hips stutter upwards and his hands on your sides grip you so tightly you know it'll leave marks. "Doing s-so well for me. Youre doing so fucking well-"

He watches with an open mouth at your tits, so pillowy and full, bouncing as you rub yourself against him and he completely loses it.

"Fuck- p-please cum, I need to cum so bad-" Jaehyun gasps, wracking another torrid moan out of you as you descend almost immediately into your orgasm. Jaehyun watches with an open mouth and half lidded eyes, unable to stop himself from fucking up into you. He wraps his arm against your waist and buries his face in your chest. You rake your fingers through his hair and he shivers

"No way you just made me cum in my pants," he is so incredibly overcome with embarrassment, he dreads having to look up at you.

"I'm sorry," he whispers.

"No, Jaehyun, its-"

"I mean about not being honest sooner. That was bad of me, he mumbles into your chest and you chuckle at his petulance, "I'm sorry,"

"Apology accepted for making me wait so long..."

<3

© to @mphountitled on tumblr; do not repost

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

Hi! Do you have any fanfics about Stiles turning into a fox?

Hi anon! @kevaaronday made this list for you.

Mating Run by Starless_Void (9/9 | 47,631 | Explicit | Steter) Newly presented werefox omega, Stiles Stilinski, signs up for the annual Mating Run, a supernatural event designed to pair eligible were-folk of the candid variety. Alpha Peter Hale returns to his hometown after being away for ten years, traveling the world and making his fortune, or, well, adding to it, at least.

You can guess what happens next...;)

Exceeding Expectations by Dagger_Stiletto (2/2 | 20,497 | Teen | Steter) This is the last time the Hale Pack will ever entrust Stiles to Scott fucking McCall's care. The absolute last time. He couldn't keep his dick inside his pants for a single night, and now Stiles is a Were-creature, Bitten against his will and drugged and abandoned by the friend that should have been there to protect him. But now Peter is an Alpha again, and all the better for it. Peter will be sure to keep his favorite Beta safe where Scott wouldn't.

The Der-Bear-Est of Them All by sapphireginger (16/16 | 18,976 | Teen | Sterek) True Mates Stiles Stilinski and Derek Hale are as close as close can be. Derek is very protective of his little mate who is only three while he himself is only seven.

This is their story.

At Home Under the Moon by wanderingeye (1/1 | 18,425 | Explicit | Sterek) There is no doubt in Derek’s mind that this fox is alone, in trouble, and needs to come home with them, with him. Derek takes a risk and lets his wolf go, calling his human side forward as he shifts. The fox barks in alarm and scrambles back to the bushes. Derek kneels and holds his hands out palm up.

Derek pushes power into the next words and lets his eyes go red. “I promise. You’re safe. No one will hurt you.”

Caged by DearDaisy, Giveemhale (1/1 | 16,274 | Teen | Sterek) Werefox Stiles instantly knows there are hunters in his town, he can smell them. But with them has come that enticing scent that he used to smell in Beacon Hills. Beacon Hills, the place where he grew up and where his mother died. And the place him and his father left.

Stiles isn’t going to let hunters come into his town, only when he investigates, he finds a captive wolf.

Stiles is My Safe Place by Star_crossed02 (5/5 | 10,106 | Mature | Sterek) Stiles gets bitten by Kali, and after a brief adjustment period, proceeds to co-lead the Hale Pack to defeat the Alpha Pack once and for all. 

OR

What happens when a sassy spark-werefox starts courting an alpha sourwolf?

Stiles Stilinski Animal Whisperer by StaciNadia (1/1 | 5,558 | Teen | Sterek) When Stiles gets bitten and becomes a werefox, he discovers that he can understand what animals are saying.

Only You Can Calm Me Down by AMatchInWater (1/1 | 3,228 | Teen | Sterek) Stiles turns into a fox after the Nogitsune leaves him and he thinks that Derek is his Alpha and not Scott. With Derek having left for South America with Cora, Stiles feels separated from not only his pack but his mate and goes feral.

Of course Derek immediately comes back when the sheriff calls him and demands he come fix Stiles. It isn't until he's back in Beacon Hills that he sees just what he needs to fix.

Dear Derek… I’m dating your uncle? By Geoff_Ramseys_Moustache (1/1 | 2,483 | Teen | Steter) Peter and Stiles have been dating for a while, and they haven't exactly been subtle... it's not their fault their family is oblivious. 

or 

The Pack find out about Peter and Stiles.

AND

@seaweed-water suggested this one.

Do Not Go Gentle by MojoFlower

(51/51 I 191,878 I Explicit I Sterek)

Derek Hale, Beacon Hills Alpha and Dom, wakes up in a dark cell already housing another captive – a mute, traumatized sub with a cruel collar around his neck. His only goal is to get them both free of their brutal circumstances; but even as he tries to get his young companion home, a bond between them grows. Nothing comes easily: danger and harrowing echoes of their ordeal shadow every step they take.

AND AND

@library-fiend suggested this one.

Hanging On (You're All That's Left To Hold On To) by vMures

(19/19 I 92,823 I Teen I Steter)

The Stilinskis find themselves struggling in the aftermath of the Nogitsune; sometimes help comes from the most unlikeliest of places.

[koqabear]

hiiii hope ur doing well !! this is for the "the magic is yours" portion of the 2k event: ot5 with an oral fixation that's so bad giving pleasure turns them on more than receiving pleasure.

[2K Masterlist]

ot5 x fem!reader // wc: 2.7K ; around 500 per member //genre: established relationship, smut, MDNI.

warnings: service top! txt // yj: dom!yj, sub!mc, oral (f. rec and allusions to m. rec), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, car sex, semi-public sex // sb: no established dom/sub dynamics, marking, insinuated free use and somnophilia (consensual), oral, (f. rec)  breast play // bg: switch!gyu, switch!mc, oral (f rec), manhandling, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, dry humping, hair pulling, (m. rec) pet names, (baby, puppy) name calling, (bitch) unprotected sex, creampie // th: dom!tyun, sub!mc, oral, (f. rec), praise kink, face sitting // hk: no established dom/sub dynamics, oral, (f. & m. rec) breast play, biting, cum eating, creampie, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, dacryphilia, aftercare

notes: yes i know i said i was in a disastrous tyun mood and i still am, i always am, (hence the header) but then i remembered this ask and couldn’t stop thinking about txt who can’t survive a day without tasting you. Service tops will forever have my heart, thank you for this anon… you know me too well <3 (barely edited haha...)

[Yeonjun]

Yeonjun isn’t really sure when this happened— when he realized that he’d rather spend his time in between your legs rather than the other way around; he was always more inclined to receive than give in his past relationships, claiming to be addicted to the sight of his partners struggling to take him in, teary eyes and drooly face determined to make him feel good— and yeah, that’s nice and all, but Yeonjun knew he was a goner the moment he first went down on you. 

Sweet whimpers, thighs that shake around his head and threaten to close in on him, your restless body that writhes and arches against the sheets— fuck, he swore he almost came untouched the first time you had sex, eyes widening at the feeling of your shaky fingers threading into his hair and pulling him closer to your sopping cunt, grinding against him with breathless whines of his name— and he couldn’t bring himself to pull away from you, even when you were shaking and crying from the overstimulation, cooing softly that he’s just trying to prep you, that you can handle one more— but that’s a lie and he knew that, much too obsessed with seeing you fall apart on his tongue again to care if you believed him. 

And after months of begging to go down on you practically every hour of every day, Yeonjun finally decided to accept the harrowing truth; he’d much rather give you pleasure than receive it at all, and he’d spend eternity in between your thighs if he could— and you, well you’re not complaining at all. If anything, you took your chance to give him a taste of his own medicine and tease him relentlessly, your wardrobe piling with cute dresses and skirts that you were ready to unleash the moment summer came around. 

And when the season finally came… oh, Yeonjun was a goner. Almost popping a boner the moment he saw you come out of your home for the picnic the two of you planned out, donned in a pretty sundress that hugged and exposed your body perfectly— he almost crashed the car when he glanced over at you and noticed the way the skirt hiked up to expose the soft, smooth skin of your thighs to him.

You expected this outcome, really; unable to make it out of the car as he pulled you to the backseat of his car, spending a good thirty minutes laying on his seats and left to his mercy before you finally emerged with shaky legs, hand placed daintily on his shoulder as he guided you up the hill, one hand placed on the small of your back and the basket in the other, talking your head off about who-knows-what while you tried to pretend you hadn’t just been given some of the best head of your life. 

Yeonjun tops it easily the moment you’re settling down— he doesn’t even bother to eat before his head finds itself under your dress, licking at your clothed cunt because of how desperate he is to finish what he started— by the time he’s finally satiated, you’re entirely spent, face flushed at the way he tells you to take a nap, patting your head fondly as he shakes his head at your offers to return the favor. 

You think you’ll wear sundresses more often. 

[Soobin]

Soobin is someone who is simply unashamed of the fact that he needs to have something in his mouth 24/7. It was a cute habit that endeared you when you first met him, always spotting a lollipop in his mouth every time you saw him, whether that be on his walk to class or while he was studying— he kept a bag of it in his book bag, he told you, ears tinged with embarrassment as you laughed and cooed about how cute he was. 

Inevitably, that habit transferred seamlessly into your relationship; you didn’t think much of it, at first— to you, he was simply overly affectionate, unfazed of the way he constantly begged you for kisses, sweet tongue slipping into your mouth and messily making out with you for hours— lazily cuddling on the couch, a big hand on the swell of your ass as he kept you still, swollen and sensitive lips still pressing messy pecks against yours as you whined that you had to go to the bathroom, or you had an assignment that you needed to work on— you could never get out of his arms without hearing his incessant whines telling you not to go.

But as your relationship progressed and you slowly began to get touchier, that habit of his became more of an inconvenience to you— leaving splotchy marks on your neck without you noticing, nights where you would fall asleep with his head tucked into the crook of your neck ending with you shifting in the odd hours of the night, feeling Soobin’s pouty lips sucking and kissing at the canvas of your neck absentmindedly— and you’d have to spend a good chunk of your mornings attempting to conceal the mess he left on you, your apologetic and sleepy boyfriend clinging to you in the bathroom as he whined and whined about how sorry he was— but you really doubted it. 

So was it really much of a surprise when Soobin finally confessed his oral fixation to you with a red, flustered face? It truly wasn’t, but seeing him confide in you about it allowed him to find himself in what he liked to call his personal paradise— in other words, the interesting little arrangement the two of you conjured up. 

One pouty look from your boyfriend was enough to have you rolling your eyes fondly and tugging your shorts off— scrolling on your phone while Soobin’s hair brushed against your inner thighs, soft lips sucking and pulling your swollen clit into his mouth as he ran his tongue along it, moaning into your cunt that only clenched around nothing pathetically— waking up in the mornings to see your boyfriend had already begun to make himself busy, legs thrown over his broad shoulders and button nose pressing against your clit as he fucked you with his tongue and slurped at your arousal desperately. Movie nights where you were innocently cuddled on the couch turning into you trying your best to focus on the movie while Soobin bit and suckled at your breasts, trying to hold back tears at the way he left them bruised and sensitive afterwards— and if you shed a few stray ones and scolded Soobin to give you a break, he didn’t really mind— he was more than happy to move onto your lips or cunt instead. 

[Beomgyu]

Beomgyu, who moans like crazy whenever he eats you out, messy and desperate and nasty that you’re unable to keep up with him, helpless against his hold as he merely throws your legs over his shoulders, practically pressing your thighs against your stomach from the way his hands remain on the underside to caress your skin, all in a feeble attempt to get closer to you— and it wasn’t as though it made much of a difference, his face already pressed firmly against your pussy and his hips rutting into the mattress as he brought you to countless orgasms, always telling you “one more, just one more baby,” but lying like the little sadist he is, holding you down and not letting you squirm away as he brought you to tears practically every night. 

“What? I just think you look hot when I go down on you,” is what he tells you when you try to question why he just can’t stop asking you if he can eat you out, giving you an innocent and puppy eyed look— but you know it’s more than that, always used to your previous partners treating eating you out like a chore— and you weren’t exactly oblivious to the times where he’s been so lost in your cunt he could only hump into the mattress pathetically, moaning breathily into your cunt and setting a pace that matched the way he was fucking desperately into the sheets— and if Beomgyu thought you didn’t pick up on the many times he was able to cum from that alone, whining against your pussy and soiling his boxers completely, he was sorely mistaken. 

This front of his was quickly beginning to irritate you; exasperatedly shaking your head whenever you’d have to tell Beomgyu no, you can’t eat me out under the table right now. Finish your food, and having to deal with his predictable pouts and whines pleading you to just give in.

So when you inevitably find Beomgyu between your thighs once more, you decide to test something out— watching with lidded eyes as he takes his time running his tongue along your slit, circling your clit and licking at it softly, eyes closed with bliss— and your hand is sneaking down to tangle in his long hair the moment you notice his hips beginning to grind, getting a good grip and tugging harshly; the broken moan Beomgyu lets out at the pain tells you all you need to know. 

“Fuck, desperate puppy just can’t get enough, hmm?” you coo out, his glassy eyes looking up at you and nodding, face twisted in a wince as you tug again— and he whines, hands rubbing your thighs sweetly as he pleads for you to let him keep going, to let you feel good. 

“Y’want it that bad?” you ask indifferently, throwing your leg leisurely over his shoulder and watching his face heat up, eventually giving you a small nod, “Fine. But I don’t want to see you humping the bed like a pathetic bitch.” and you’re shoving him back into your dripping cunt, feeling him move feverishly against you with every tug of his hair— and while he follows your orders nicely, the night ends with him almost crying the moment you tell him to fuck you; so immersed in making you feel good over and over that he neglected his throbbing and leaking cock, cumming pathetically the moment he sinks into you— and his lips latch onto your neck with every broken sob of his, leaving you to wonder if your cunt is really the only thing he likes to have his mouth on.

[Taehyun]

This man thinks he’s slick. Is in absolute denial that he has an oral fixation of any sort, just believes that it’s just because you’re really hot and he simply wants to make you feel good. He’s never experienced this with any of his other partners, so why should he care? It must stem from the dynamic the two of you have— his need to pleasure you like crazy, that is. There’s just something about you that raised his sex drive beyond comprehensible limits, and he just found it even hotter that you willingly took anything he gave you; multiple rounds? Sure, you can handle it. Being rough with you? You’re into that, you’ll take whatever he tries on you. Whatever he springs up on you, you take it like it’s nothing, rewarding him with your sweet sounds and pretty faces he ingrains into his mind. 

So the first time Taehyun eats you out, he’s hooked— your taste is so addicting and you sound so pretty, round eyes looking up between your legs to catch the way your face flushes and your mouth falls open, legs jumping and closing in on his head, threatening to suffocate him. Your hips buck up and your clit bumps against his nose when you cum, making you keen in a way that almost has Taehyun spilling in his sweatpants then and there; your nimble fingers run through his hair absentmindedly, spilling praises and sighs of his name that drive him mad. 

Fuck—! So— s-so good, so good to me tyunnie– ah! Hah, ughhh fuck, just– just like that, god, Taehyun—! 

Was it really unreasonable for him to want to eat you out every second of the day if you sounded like that? Taehyun doesn’t think so. 

Thus begins the absolute agony that is Taehyun asking if he can just please, please give you head, trying to disguise it under reasons that at some point, stop making sense. 

You look really good in that skirt— can he give you head? Oh, you’re studying, you should take a break. Can he give you head? You’re restless, unable to sleep, tossing and turning and sighing desperately— and he turns to you, startling you because what the fuck I thought you were asleep, pushing past your surprise to tell you that sex can help tire you out and sleep. Can I give you head? 

Practically jumps with joy on the days you actually agree, going down on you then and there, no matter the circumstance— dropping to his knees in the kitchen, throwing your legs over his shoulders on the couch, laying on the bed and telling you to sit on his face with bright, sparkling eyes— and he enjoys it just as much as he did the first time, letting you fuck yourself on his tongue and sucking on your clit with his swollen lips, staring at you with eyes of adoration and need each time; he doesn’t even care if he gets to fuck you at the end of it, (though that’s always a plus) all he wants to do is watch his favorite girl cum on his face. 

[Hueningkai]

This man. Can— and does— spend hours at a time between your legs; he just loves to have his mouth on you, loves to lay down on the bed, on his stomach as he lazily licks at your clit, wanting to take things slow as you run your fingers through his hair and sigh about how good it feels. Will be in bliss as he eats your pussy, eyes shut and pretty nose bumping against your clit as he fucks you with his tongue, large hands placed on your tummy and rubbing it fondly because he just can’t get enough of you— he’s infatuated with you, with your soft skin and the way you moan out his name, not even searching for his own pleasure as he solely focuses on yours. 

It’s become routine for you two at this point; running to you when he’s had a bad day, wanting nothing more than to kiss you and use you as his cute little destresser. Starting it off with slow kisses, feeling the way he moves along your jawline and down your neck, lifting your shirt up to expose your breasts— and he spends quite a while there too, watching your nipples grow stiff and sensitive from the attention he give them, biting teasingly and listening to the way you squeal at the feeling— and of course, it all ends with his head between your legs, peppering kisses along your inner thighs and on your clit, leaving open-mouthed kisses on it as he watches you squirm and whine for him not to tease. 

Kai, who gets drunk off your pussy and doesn’t even expect you to return the favor, genuinely surprised whenever you ask him if you can suck his dick or if he can please, please please just fuck you already. And he says yes, bending to your will and giving in to your puppy eyes that are glassy with desire; he’ll be mesmerized at the way you allow him to cum in your mouth, releasing so much that you can’t help but let it bead at the corners of your lips— and Kai is quick to bring you up for a kiss, messy tongues tangling together as he groans at the taste of his lingering cum on your mouth— or pulling out immediately on the nights where he’s fucked you to the point of exhaustion, looking down to see your cunt that drips with the multiple releases of his cum, unable to even protest the moment you see him spreading your folds gently and swooping down to clean you up; warm tongue running along your slit, curling inside you before he’s circling your clit, flicking gently as he listens to the way you mewl and cry at the overstimulation.

Kai, who’s not just obsessed with your cunt, but is also obsessed with you, never failing to pamper and coddle you endlessly, telling you how good you were for him with a fond smile, kissing your cheeks and tasting the salty tears that cling to your skin.

[angel-of-the-moons]

Marc x reader smut where reader is down in the dumps and is getting insecure of not being good enough (compared to Layla) and hates that but can’t help it so Marc figures this out and fucks the insecurity outta reader?

More Than Enough

Marc Spector x Fem!Reader (Implied Steven/Jake x Reader)

TW/CW: NSFW, Smut, Feelings of inadequacy, unprotected PiV, Mirror Sex, Praise, Mostly-clothed sex, Marc has a few of his own issues and is not a licensed psychologist

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: I am so sorry this has been sitting in my ask box for so goddamn long, enjoy the word vomit aksbldbldbld

You knew it was a stupid thing to worry about, your insecurity. You felt... sub-par.

Compared to other people, compared to other women, compared to... her.

You could tell they had something special at one point, something almost-unbreakable. But then the issue with Steven realizing who he was, hunting Harrow, fighting Ammit, finding out Marc was there when her father was murdered... Jake goddamn Lockley...

Layla el Faouly was, honestly, a head-turner. She was funny, smart, beautiful and had a way of getting people to open up to her.

Even you, to a point. But you still felt inadequacy, even a bit of envy when it came to Layla. She was with Marc for so long--hell they had been married!

You couldn't keep lying to yourself, and you couldn't keep lying to them. So... You came clean. And the look Marc gave you made you wilt.

It was even worse because he was silent. You couldn't bear to be under his scrutiny so you turned around and wrapped your arms around yourself, staring into the floor-length mirror with a mixture of shame and embarrassment.

Your eyes darted towards Marc's reflection. At first, you thought he was looking at you; but then you realized he was having a mental conversation with Steven and Jake about the situation. You wished you could be privy to those conversations, worrying about any possible arguments that may be waging behind his eyes.

Your shoulders drop and you sigh, eyes closing. "Just--forget I said anything? Please, I'm sorry that I..."

Your eyes open and you instinctively gasp--Marc was standing right behind you, his dark and stormy eyes locking with that of your reflection's. "M-Marc--"

"You fuckin' kidding me, doll?" Marc asked you, frowning. The tone of his voice alone made you wince.

"I--I'm sorry, I shouldn't have..." You try.

"Damn right you shouldn't have."

You squeeze your eyes shut once more, hating yourself as that stone of regret pings around in your belly.

That is, until he growled, hands bunching your shirt at your waist, yanking you against him, his lips barely curling into a snarl at your ear, "Cause that's my girlfriend you're fucking talking about."

You shiver, a small gasp coming from you as Marc's mouth was on your throat; licking, kissing, mouthing away at your skin, making goosebumps prickle across your body.

His mouth comes to a halt for a split second, his eyes focusing on his reflection once more; "...Right. Our girlfriend."

He takes a small bit of your skin between his teeth and nips; "And we know for a fact that our girlfriend isn't doubting for a single fucking second if she's "good enough" for us."

"I... I just..." You babble as his grip goes white-knuckled in your shirt.

You gasp loudly when he grips just a fraction tighter and rips your shirt open, the buttons flying in different directions in the room, skittering across the floor to be hidden until Steven's next "cleaning day" spree.

"M-Marc! My shirt--"

"Is hidin' you. Gotta show you what you're blind to, baby." He muttered against your skin, his hands spreading over your belly, one going up to pluck at the bra you wore. It wasn't fancy or sexy by any means. Just one of those stretchy, mesh, wire-free ones you opted to wear when you didn't want your skin irritated by the wires and elastics fo your typical ones.

"Wearing Steven's favorite one, today." Marc hisses in your ear, groping at one of your breasts through the fabric, running his thumb over the bump of your nipple as your heart begins to pound.

"I... I didn't--"

"Wanna know why he likes it?" Marc asked, biting onto your earlobe, grabbing the loops of your jeans to tug you against him; allowing him to grind the growing bulge of his cock against the curve of your ass.

One of his fingers pluck the stretchy fabric, letting it go to ever so slightly smack against your skin; "Because it don't fucking hurt you. Because, it looks way more natural--way more comfortable."

He chuckles warmly, a soft smile playing on his lips, "That, and the way that they bounce more in this bra than the others tends to distract him, too. Makes these," His index finger swirles over the bump of your nipple once more. "way more visible."

Shame and the heat of your self-esteem make your cheeks flush, and you look away. Marc frowned stubbornly, "Baby..."

"Marc, I don't think that I'm..."

He growled again, the typical sound that came from him when he was frustrated. He'd never used it on you, before; so the sound made a thrill run down your spine.

He shoves his hand from your bra to the front of your pants, yanking the button open and pulling your fly down. He hastily shoved the denim down your thighs, revealing your soft, lacy panties.

They were a dark gray color, with bits of green and red--vines and roses across the lace. They left very little to the imagination, but they were so soft sometimes you'd forget you were wearing any at all.

"Damn, baby... wearin' Jake's favorite, too?" He grinned against the skin of your shoulder, staring down your reflection with the hardened gaze of a soldier sighting down his target.

His rough and calloused hand stroked over the fabric, his fingers dipping low to tease the seam of your panties, feeling a damp spot that was slowly spreading. It never failed; you were light a string in a guitar, waiting to be plucked so the most melodious of tunes would come from your weet lips.

Marc continued to stroke your damp panties for a moment, humming against your soft skin. "Wanna know what the favorite thing that you're wearin'?"

"Wh-what?" You breathe.

Marc withdrew his hand and gently encapsulated your fragile wrist in his fingers, holding your left hand up, where a gold ring was snugly fit around your ring finger; "This. This here means that you're mine. That you're ours. So don't you think for a minute that you're second-best, that you're not good enough for us."

In that moment, you felt stupid all over again. How could you forget? The weight of the ring felt so obvious to you, now. Marc's fingers caress the cool metal, smiling in a gentle way at your hand.

"Baby, you gotta understand... You're right."

Your heart thudded against the delicate cage of your ribs as he let that sentence hang in the air, keeping you in suspense.

"You're not Layla. You're nothin' like her." He continued, "You're you. You're funny, you're soft-spoken, you have a habit of always finding animals to play with and pet when we go out... And that little giggle-snort you do when you laugh so hard you're outta breath? All. You. We fucking love every single goddamn piece of you, baby. So... Please stop comparing yourself to Layla... If you keep doing that, you'll just tear yourself up inside until you're all hollow. Believe me, I did it so much that... well, you know what happened."

He brings your hand up and kisses your knuckles, "And we can't have you falling apart on us... you're the closest thing we have to normal... we need you."

Your heart squeezed in your chest and you sniffled, feeling tears well up in your eyes as your lip wobbled. Lingering feelings of doubt still clung to your subconscious, even in the face of all of Marc's affirmations, "But... but I don't feel like I'm good enough, Marc... Sometimes... sometimes I just feel so useless, and..."

Marc grunts, the sound coming from his nose in a hefty exhale as he drops your hand. "Alright... Maybe you need a little extra convincing."

You almost turn, confused by what he meant, when his hand flattened between your shoulders, shoving you against the mirror so your hands were spread across the reflective glass.

"M-Marc--!"

"Shush, and don't you stop looking at that mirror. Want you to see how fuckin' pretty you are while I fuck you." He murmurs, leaning back to undo his own jeans, hastily shoving the and his boxers down to free his cock, red and throbbing.

His rolled his hips against you, his cock grinding against the soft lace of your panties, smearing a small droplet of precum onto the fabric. Marc lifted his eyes to lock with yours in the mirror.

"Don't look at me, baby. Already told you."

Your breath leaves you in a stutter, your eyes dragging down to look at your own flushed face; your parted lips and torn shirt, your breasts heaving, the soft fabric stretched across them as their soft weight swayed and bounced as Marc maneuvered your body.

He slides your underwear off to the side, gripping the base of his shaft as he slides the tip of his cock through your budding wetness. Your eyes go wide when you feel his tip catch at your entrance, and you barely have a moment to breathe as he slams his hips against you, sinking inside of your body in one fluid thrust.

The stretchy was sudden; the lack of proper preparation left you with a stinging sensation that battled evenly with the pleasure of having his thick cock settle deep inside of you as he pressed against you; the dark hairs at the base of his cock tickled the skin of your ass.

"Baby, you're--fuck." He whined, his brows creasing as a stray curl falls over his forehead as he bows forward, relishing in the moment how good it felt to have your soft, velvety heat wrap and cling around him.

"Shit, honey." Marc sighed after what felt like eons; his hands stroking and gripping the flesh of your ass in his meaty palms. "You're like fuckin' heaven..."

He pulled back once, and slammed back in, making you cry out as the burn and ecstasy once more fight each-other in a bare-handed brawl; making your eyes roll back and flutter closed. God, why did it feel so good?

His mouth was at your ear, his voice tight and strained as he rocked his hips into yours, his cock sliding in and out of you easier and easier as the pleasure began to mount; tickling your spine. "...and I should know, angel..." Marc grunted. "I was in heaven for a little while..."

"Marc..." You whimpered, dropping your head as he began to pound into you, your chest burning with every heavy breath you took as Marc roughly crammed his cock inside of you, pressing hard on every single spot inside that had your head swimming with euphoria.

"Gh--fuck!" Marc barked, grabbing a fistful of your hair (carefully, ind you, he didn't want to hurt you at all) and pulled your head back so he could see your face, "I told you... watch yourself, baby. Don't look away."

You hiccup. Marc was fucking you so roughly from behind that you were almost concerned the pressure you were putting on the mirror would shatter it.

"That's it..." Marc groaned, his eyes rolling back with a blissful sigh as he tipped his head back.

You could see his Adam's apple bob, his jaw tighten as he fucked into you like a rutting dog. His hand lets your hair go and slides down your back, beneath the fabric of your torn shirt to caress the curve and contour of your spine.

Marc's eyes meet yours in the reflection, and his lips quirk up as he gives you another sharp thrust; your voice punching out of you in a breathless cry.

"Baby... do I gotta tell you again?" He sighed, gripping you by the back of your elbows and yanking you upright against him, so your back was pressed against his chest.

You groaned in bliss as you felt him shift inside of you. This position was new... and not unpleasant.

One of his hands curls around you, gripping your chin and jerking your head up, snarling in your ear; "Fuckin' watch, baby."

Your eyes slide down, and between your spread legs, your panties hastily shoved aside... You could see Marc's cock pull out almost to the tip before he slammed his hips up, rutting up into you in another frantic thrust.

"'m gonna show you how fuckin' good you are to us... Even if it means I gotta prove it to you all night long."

He slammed into you once more, his lips curling against your ear as he watches himself disappear inside of you.

"Even if Steven and Jake gotta take over after. I'm done with you."

[projectionistwrites]

moonboys and a reader who maladaptive daydreams?

hi, nonnie! thank you for this request, you must’ve seen my blog description haha. this is my first fic request which is very exciting! my inbox is always open so if you’d like to request something, i’d appreciate it. :) anyway, i hope you like it!

IMPLODING THE MIRAGE

Moon Knight x afab!reader (primarily Marc Spector) (10.6k+)

You’ve been escaping into yourself more and more often, and the boys are starting to notice. How are you supposed to explain to them that you don’t want to live in the moment, when the version of your life inside your head is so much better than reality on the outside?

RATING: EXPLICIT (18+, mdni) WARNINGS: maladaptive daydreaming, insecure reader & negative perceptions of self, depictions of injury & violence, kidnapping, miscommunication, SMUT (inappropriate fantasizing, unprotected p in v sex, cum eating, dirty talk, dom/sub dynamics if you squint)

imploding the mirage — the killers

i had to do it, i had no other choice you’ve got to listen to the inside voice a bullet train will get you there fast but it won’t guarantee a long last sometimes it takes a little bit of courage and doubt to push your boundaries out beyond your imagining

He was the moon, and she was the stars.

It was serendipitous, how the couple had come to fall in love throughout the course of their divine adventures alongside each other—two servants to a pair of primordial Egyptian deities, serving as Avatars to protect those who could not protect themselves. She’d met him at a meeting of the Ennead, when he’d been called upon to answer for his actions against a human named Arthur Harrow, who was accused of attempting to raise Ammit from eternal isolation.

The trial hadn’t gone well, and certainly hadn’t worked in his favor, but her goddess protector had a soft spot for Khonshu, the God of the Moon—after all, he was the reason she had been given five extra days with which to bear her five children.

So her Avatar was secretly assigned to keep watch over the Moon Knight, to aid in his fight to keep Ammit contained and offer her services should he need them.

He was resistant at first, but Khonshu insisted that having Nut as an ally could only serve to benefit them in their journey—after all, she was the sky, and without her, the Moon could not rise.

Marc Spector and his alters didn't anticipate becoming so infatuated with the soft curve of her Avatar’s smile or the cosmos she seemed to hold within her eyes. But as time passed, they grew closer, and when she saved him again and again, the navy blue of her armor shimmering with glowing silver emblems of stars, he felt as if his soul was tethered to her. It seemed to be fate, as clear as a constellation, that their lives were somehow intertwined and their happenstance meeting was actually the result of some unseen gravitational pull, guiding them through the darkness until they found solace in one another.

He heard her sandal-clad feet softly hit the solid ground, her body drifting down from the sky to land beside him after her short flight in the air. He turned to look at her—the flowing robes of her ceremonial armor billowed in the evening breeze, her hair pulled back intricately with thin glittering bands of silver, adorned with five-pointed stars that captured the moonlight in her curls. She was ethereal, heavenly, celestial, and when she turned and smiled at him, he swore the planets aligned in some brief moment of rapture.

“Where to next, Moon Boy?”

She teased lightly, her nose crinkling with amusement. His hands twitched at his sides, unable to control the movement of his arm as it reached for her hand.

He heard Khonshu chuckle deeply from somewhere behind him, condescending and slightly mocking. Still, he always spoke kinder about the woman beside him than any other being on this Earth.

“I should’ve known you would become enamored with the little star. Nut always finds a way to reunite the beings of the night sky.”

Marc ignored him—he was too enthralled by the way her breath hitched in her throat at the feeling of his fingers brushing her own, the hood and mask of his armor receding to reveal the tenderness of his gaze. He turned to face her, his other gloved hand reaching to cradle the side of her jaw. He watched as her gaze flickered down to his lips, and he smiled.

“Anywhere, as long as it’s with you.”

He leaned forward to capture her lips with his own, swallowing her contented sigh as she melted into his touch—

“Jesus Christ!”

You nearly toppled forward when Marc abruptly yanked his arm away from you, his face contorted into a look of pain. You blinked once, then twice, eyes clearing to focus in on the blood staining your hands and the curved needle that was pinched tightly between your forefinger and thumb.

“The fuck was that? Are you even paying attention to what you’re doing?”

Marc hissed at you, cradling his injured forearm to his chest, gritting his teeth as your eyes widened in realization.

“Shit, shit, I’m sorry, Marc, I zoned out, here, just let me see—”

“Forget it, I’ll just do it myself.”

He snatched the suture from your hand and laid his arm back on the marbled countertop of your bathroom sink, giving you a clear view of the mistake you’d made—you’d laid the stitch nearly a full inch from where the edge of the gaping incision had started, sinking it into completely uninjured, healthy skin.

“Marc, stop, I’ll do it.”

You stopped him before he could hurt himself even more—he never had the patience to treat his wounds properly, but for ones that were this deep, it was smarter to close them by hand than wait several hours for his magical suit to heal it on its own.

He grunted in protest, but nonetheless allowed you to retrieve the needle from his hold and lean over his arm, tongue pinched between your teeth in concentration.

You were much more careful, this time, deliberate with each pull of the thread beneath his skin, finishing sewing shut the injury quickly. When you’d finally finished, you leaned forward to bite the end of the stitch and tear it away with your teeth. You reached for a piece of gauze, pouring a generous amount of saline solution onto the cloth in order to blot the excess blood from his skin.

You could feel his eyes on you the whole time, burning into your skull as if he was trying to read your mind. You sulked.

“I said I was sorry, Marc, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Your words were soft, and he could hear the guilt that was churning in your stomach. He didn’t flinch when you began dabbing at the drying blood around the wound.

“S’fine. But—what happened? It’s like—you just tapped out for a second, there. Did you even hear what I was saying to you?”

You frowned.

“No, I’m sorry. I just—got lost in thought.”

“Hell of a time for that to happen.”

He chuckled in an attempt to lighten the mood, but you didn’t laugh. Your eyes were still fixed on the skin of his arm, even though you’d successfully wiped away most of the remaining blood.

“I was just saying that—that I appreciate that you’re willing to do this for me.”

Your eyes darted to his face, surprised at the vulnerability he was displaying by expressing his gratitude.

“I mean—I never figured that when I’d stumbled onto your balcony all those months ago, beaten to all hell, that I’d meet someone who was willing to patch me up over and over again. Well—at least, before you stabbed me with a needle.”

Your eyes fell again, cheeks reddening at his jab. But he just laughed warmly, lifting his arm to rest his hand on your shoulder. Your bristled beneath his fingers, although his touch was nothing more than a friendly expression of appreciation.

“I’m just teasing you. But either way—just wanted to say thanks. Steven told me that I don’t say it enough, so...”

Now you laughed. It was more of a scoff, really, accompanied by the roll of your eyes as you reached for the knobs on the faucet, rinsing the blood from your fingers.

“Of course Steven made you.”

A lopsided grin found its way onto his face, and when you looked at him again, there was a twinkle in his eye. Your breath stuttered in your throat as you gazed at him—ebony curls spilling messily against his forehead, his lips quirked upwards at the corners, the fondness that was lingering beneath his brown irises. Was it possible? Could he really care about you the way you cared for him?

You turned away, standing and exiting the bathroom quickly before you could make a fool of yourself, face heating up at your own naïveté. Of course he didn’t feel that way about you. You were just—you. Only in the sanctuary of your imagination would he ever look at you and see anything beyond just a nurse playmate, or even maybe a friend.

You heard his heavy footsteps follow you back into your flat, where you wandered into the kitchen and retrieved a couple glasses.

“Do you mind if I—”

“Spare bed’s already made, I washed the sheets since last time you bled all over them and didn’t even tell me.”

You turned on the tap to fill the two cups with water. You were certain Marc hadn’t remembered to drink anything since his most recent escapade as a masked vigilante, and being around him always tended to make your mouth run dry.

“Thanks, sweetheart.”

You slid the glass of water across the countertop towards him, leaning back against the kitchen island to sip at your own. You watched him above the rim of your glass—the way his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he took a large swig of the cool liquid, the way a stray droplet of water dribbled down his chin when he pulled the glass back, the way his hand came to wipe it away, the plush of his bottom lip supple beneath the swipe of his fingers.

She fell back against the mattress, breath temporarily stolen from her lungs as she felt the heat of his lips hungrily mouthing at any exposed skin it could reach—her jawline, her neck, her collarbone, the swell of her breasts. A soft whine fell from her mouth and Marc swiftly lifted himself back to her face to swallow the sound, tongue sinking into her mouth to taste her.

Her fingers clawed at the fabric of his t-shirt, twisting and yanking him impossibly closer, legs lifting to wrap around his waist to press the heat of her core against the growing tent in his pants. A low groan escaped his chest as he rutted against her, pulling back to take stock of the hazy fog of lust that clouded her eyes and the O-shape of her lips as she let out a shaky exhale.

“Fuck, Marc.”

She whispered, arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders, fingers digging into his shoulderblades.

“Want you—need you so bad.”

“You’re doing it again.”

You blinked once, then twice, finding Marc's dark gaze staring straight at you as his voice pulled you back to reality. Your brows lifted in horror when you realized you’d shamelessly been ogling at him, too engrossed in your thoughts to notice how long you’d been standing there.

“Shit, I—sorry.”

You rubbed at your eyes with your fingers, hoping that maybe if you pressed hard enough, the image of Marc’s body hovering above you would erase itself from your mind. It didn’t work.

You heard the clank of his now-empty glass as he set it down on the granite countertop, his arms crossing over his chest.

“Are you gonna tell me what’s wrong?”

You should be used to the rush of heat to your face by now—just being in Marc’s company caused you to blush uncontrollably, but still, the discomfort of your ruddy cheeks made your pulse quicken. Your gaze flickered down to your feet, eyes meeting the stupid fucking bunny slippers that you wore to accompany your fleece pajama bottoms. Fucking embarrassing.

“It’s nothing, Marc.”

You whispered quietly in response, although nausea was beginning to settle in the pit of your stomach. You were out of control—this man was driving you insane.

He studied you for a moment longer, eyes narrowed in suspicion, but when you didn’t look back up at him, he just sighed.

“Okay. I’ll just—leave you alone, then. Goodnight.”

There were tears pricking the back of your eyes. You wanted to ask him to stay, to come share your bed instead of the one in your guest room, to kiss his stupidly handsome face.

“Towels are folded in the bathroom for you, and there’s clothes in the wardrobe if you want to change.”

You said instead, turning to refill your glass of water in the sink behind you. If he heard you, he didn’t respond—you listened to his footsteps disappear down the hall before the door to the guest bedroom creaked shut with a quiet click. Your shoulders immediately slumped forward, eyes squeezed shut tightly in an effort to combat the desperate urge to break down.

Her eyes were full of detestation as she glared down at him, nostrils flared with rage. He wanted to shrink beneath her disapproval.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?”

The woman started, and in spite of her towering figure looking down at him, he couldn’t help but gawk at the way the moonlight framed her, her silhouette outlined by the subtle glow of the night sky behind her. She offered him a hand and he took it, allowing her to yank him to his feet without an ounce of gentleness.

“You’re lucky I was here, Lockley, or things would’ve ended differently.”

She hissed, dusting herself off as if to showcase the strenuous effort she had put into saving his ass. He scowled behind his mask, the blood from the wound on his forearm beginning to soak through the bandages of his suit, tingeing the cream-colored fabric a dark crimson.

“I don’t need your help, estrellita. I was handling it.”

She scoffed as he turned on his heel to stomp away, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.

“Yeah, sure looked like you were handling it—why didn’t you call me? Nut had to drag me out of bed so you didn’t get yourself killed. Didn’t the old bird tell you we were together on this?”

He scowled, eyes narrowed in contempt.

“Yeah, he did, and I said no. We are not partners. We’re hardly even friends.”

He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, the way her face fell and her brows creased causing a pang of guilt to stab through his already-sore chest. He sighed.

“Estrellita, I didn’t mean—”

“Why do you push me away?”

She interrupted, and Jake was taken aback by the question.

“What do you mean?”

“You need me, Jake. We need each other. I’m just—I just want to help you, why won’t you let me help you?”

He didn’t respond, just stared at her as her eyes flooded with tears. At his silence, she shook her head, turning away to stare up into the star-filled sky.

“We’re supposed to be a team, Moon Knight. The stars and the moon—you can’t have one without the other.”

He could see the reflection of the crescent-shaped moon in her glassy eyes, the soft glow painting her face with silvery beams of light.

You’d left the balcony door wide open—your routine was fairly habitual, now. A mug of warm tea was cradled in your fingers as you curled up in the wicker chair, eyes flitting across the scattered stars that were visible from your tiny apartment complex.

You watched him sit down beside you in your periphery, the movement to your left pulling you from your reverie. He reached for the glass of bourbon you'd set out on the table in front of him.

You sat in silence for awhile, finding comfort in the man’s quiet presence. You liked that about Jake—you never felt like you had to fill the air with meaningless conversation. He was perfectly content to just enjoy your company, the same as you enjoyed his.

You heard the ice in his glass clink against the side as he took a sip.

“Are you going to tell them?”

Neither of you looked at each other when he spoke—the question was spoken out into the world, not really directed towards you, although you knew what he meant.

Jake was too fucking perceptive for his own good. Even when he was silent, he was always there, watching, listening, observing—even if the other alters were oblivious to the yearning that was thinly veiled within your eyes, he certainly wasn’t. You sighed.

“No.”

He hummed in acknowledgement, but something about his lack of verbal response bothered you, itching at the back of your brain. You turned to scowl at him.

“What?”

Jake hardly spared you a glance, barely quirking a brow at your emotionally-charged reaction as he shook his head.

“Nothing. I didn’t say anything.”

“Exactly.”

You glared, fingers anxiously tapping at the rim of your mug. The contours of Jake’s face were sharp in the dim light of the moon, features accentuated by the shadows. He finally turned to look at you.

“You know what I think, nena. You’re only hurting yourself. And your constant...daydreaming. It’s not as subtle as it once was. You—You should talk to them. Or me.”

The last bit of his proposal caught you off guard. His eyes had already drifted elsewhere when he said it, staring into his half-empty glass of liquor, but your brows lifted in surprise.

“I—you?”

He glowered playfully.

“Don’t sound so surprised, nena. I always listen to you.”

That was true. Some of your fondest memories with Jake were of late nights spent out on your balcony, getting drunk on cheap wine and sharing stories.

“Yeah, you’re good at listening, but not so much the talking part.”

Jake shrugged, although he nodded in understanding. He was all too aware of his own weaknesses.

You took a sip of your chamomile tea, letting its warmth combat the chill of the evening air.

“Why won’t you tell me?”

You asked quietly, and even without elaborating, Jake knew what you were referring to. He sighed, tossing back the last of his bourbon before setting it on the small table between you, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

“I’ve told you before. It’s not my place. I know what they think, but not what they feel.”

You huffed quietly, although deep down, you knew he was right. It wasn’t his place to share how Marc or Steven felt about you. You sort of admired the way he was so strict in his moral obligations—especially considering the lengths you were willing to go in order to change his mind.

Jake stiffened when he felt your hand rest on his bicep, fingers wrapping around it and squeezing lightly.

“But what about how you feel?”

His jaw rippled, and you felt the muscle beneath your fingers tense at your coy words. You could feel the restraint within him as he sat up abruptly, pulling away so his arm fell from your grasp. He still didn’t look at you.

“It doesn’t matter how I feel, nena. Not until you talk to Marc. He—you were his first. I’m not going jeopardize your relationship with him until he knows the truth.”

Anger flared within you.

“I’m not his. I don’t belong to anyone. My choices are my own.”

Jake flinched, eyes softening as they flickered over to you.

“You’re right, I’m sorry—I didn’t mean it like that. I just—you have to understand. He—I can’t go behind his back like this. Yo no sería capaz de vivir conmigo mismo.”

“But you can’t even tell me if he feels the same way?”

You asked, and he could hear the pain in your voice as your tone wavered slightly. You’d had this conversation many times before, but things had been escalating recently—perhaps because it was getting increasingly difficult for you to be content in the reality you lived in.

Jake’s eyes were full of sympathy as he regarded you.

“No, nena. I’m sorry.”

You turned away.

“But you need to tell him. And Steven, too. They deserve to know. And so do you.”

You heard his weight shift as he stood to head back to bed, having spent too much time keeping the body awake—he didn’t want his alters to grow suspicious at the exhaustion when they woke in the morning.

“What if he breaks my heart?”

He paused in the threshold on the doorway, glancing back at you when he heard the thickness in your throat as your eyes welled with tears.

“What if he doesn’t feel the same way?”

Jake pursed his lips, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides as he pondered his response. Finally, he released a long sigh.

“I don’t think you have to worry about that, nena. He’d be crazy not to.”

The smell of cinnamon wafted down the hallway as Steven rose from his slumber. There was a gentle melody floating in the air as he pulled himself from the bed, rubbing sleep from his eyes, his bare feet padding along the tiled floor towards the source of the noise.

She was singing quietly to herself, back towards him as she chopped the fresh strawberries into fourths. He couldn’t help but smile at the domesticity of it all—the woman he loved, that he fought beside, making breakfast for them to share. His heart felt whole.

He sidled up behind her, arms wrapping around her waist and his body pressing flush against her back. He placed a kiss to the exposed skin of her neck, her hair pulled up in a sloppy updo.

“G’mornin’, darling.”

He hummed sleepily, and he felt her chest rumble with an airy giggle as she leaned into his touch.

“Hi, handsome. Sleep okay?”

He reached over her shoulder to steal a strawberry from the cutting board, taking a bite of the succulent fruit before offering the other half to her by pressing it to her lips. She smiled and happily accepted his offering.

“Would’ve slept even better if I’d woken up to your face beside me.”

She threw her head back, leaning against his chest as she laughed brightly—his favorite sound.

“Oh, boohoo. Sorry for getting up early to make you breakfast.”

She teased, and Steven pressed his face into her hair, the smell of her coconut shampoo enticing him. His arms reached to rest on the countertop to either side of her, successfully caging her in. He heard her breath hitch as the movement of the knife in her hand stalled, his body pressing up more firmly against her—enough so that she could feel the hardness of his manhood against the flesh of her ass.

“The strawberries are sweet, darling, but I’d rather have something even sweeter for breakfast this mornin’, yeah?”

“G’mornin’, darling.”

The knife fumbled in your grasp and the blade slipped across your fingers, slicing a divot in the tender flesh between your thumb and forefinger.

“Steven! Shit!”

You immediately dropped the knife and rushed towards the sink, rinsing your wound under the cold water to inspect the damage and dilute the blood.

“Oh, Gods, m’so sorry, love—are you alright?”

You could feel his body creeping up behind you, an arm reaching around to grab yours in an attempt to investigate the source of your discomfort. The warmth of his presence against your back startled you, a fierce blush rising to your cheeks as you reached for a towel and sidestepped, trying to put as much distance between the two of you as possible.

“It’s—I’m fine. It’s just a tiny cut, it’s no big deal.”

You brushed it off, although your palm was beginning to throb. You pulled the washcloth away from the afflicted area, finding it soaked with a generous amount of your blood.

“Looks like it hurts. Can I—may I help you with it?”

There was trepidation in his big brown eyes, obviously put off by the hastiness with which you’d pulled away from him. You surrendered yourself, offering a sigh and a slow nod.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

You found yourself in a similar position to the previous night, although this time, the roles were reversed—and your wound was from an unfortunate kitchen incident, not a scuffle with a group of evil antique smugglers.

Steven’s bottom lip was pulled between his teeth as he secured a piece of gauze on the injury with medical tape, winding it around your palm so it fit snugly against the area. His hands were nimble and his touch was painfully gentle, the pads of his fingers just barely skimming over your skin in an effort to prevent you from more discomfort. A chill crept up your spine at the close proximity.

He looked rather satisfied with himself when he’d finished, shoving the medical supplies back into the bin beneath your sink that you had specially packed for him.

“There we are—good as new.”

He smiled cheerily at you, and it was so contagious that you couldn’t help but grin back at him. Your mind briefly darted back to your conversation with Jake the night before; then the unholy thoughts you’d been having this morning when Steven had snuck up on you. Gods, you really were getting out of control...

Steven led you from the bathroom and you returned to your post, rinsing the knife and the sliced strawberries to ensure they weren’t contaminated. You stepped over to the stove to check the steel-cut oatmeal that had been simmering—Steven’s favorite. You gave it a few good stirs before deciding that it was finished, filling up two bowls with generous servings and sprinkling the top with strawberries, brown sugar, and a pinch of cinnamon. Steven was already seated at you breakfast bar when you turned to offer him his meal.

“Bon apétit.”

You flourished playfully, passing the bowl in front of him as you seated yourself on the stool across the way. His eyes crinkled with appreciation when he smiled.

“Oh, it smells bloody lovely. Thank you, darling.”

He always called you that, you rationalized. It was nothing more than a term of endearment—a friendly pet name.

You ate in silence for awhile, save for the sound of silverware clinking against porcelain and the birds chirping from your open window. Your eyes couldn’t help but follow him as he slipped a strawberry past his lips, something reminiscent of a moan escaping him as he savored the flavor of the fruit. Your face flushed bright red.

“Yes, darling—just like that, please.”

He was whimpering beneath her, pupils blown wide as he gazed up at her from where she straddled him, sliding her naked and exposed core over his boxer-clad erection.

“You wanna be inside me, Steven?”

She cooed, leaning forward to kiss along his stubbled jawline, and he moaned wantonly, hips rutting up against her.

“Gods, yes, love, please, I can’t—”

“S’there somethin’ on my face?”

Panic flooded you at the bewildered expression on Steven’s face, his hand coming up to wipe at his mouth in case you'd been gawking at some remnants of food on the corners of his lips.

You shook your head, eyes wide and cheeks already turning pink.

“I—No, no, there’s not, I—sorry. I was just—just thinking.”

He gave you a brief scrutinizing look before shrugging and diving back into the remainder of his oatmeal.

“What were you thinkin’ about?”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“Oh, it’s—nothing, really. Sometimes I just—space out, I guess.”

You offered sheepishly, toying with the last few bites of your food with your spoon—your appetite was suddenly gone.

“You seem to do that a lot, yeah? S’everything alright?”

“Yes.”

You answered him a bit too quickly, hastily jumping to end the conversation before it even began. His brows furrowed, watching as you quickly grabbed both bowls to busy yourself with cleaning up.

He wasn’t quite satisfied with your answer—in fact, it only served to startle him more. He watched you carefully as you began to viciously scrub at the blue porcelain bowls with a sponge.

“Are you...sure? I’m just—you’re worryin’ me a bit, yeah? And with last night, with Marc—if somethin’s the matter, you know you can always talk to us, ‘lright?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, forcing yourself to take in a slow, careful breath in an effort to soothe your frazzled nerves.

“Yeah, I know, Steven—thank you. But—but everything’s just fine, really.”

She’s lying.

Steven was surprised to hear Jake’s voice echo from the back of the headspace—it wasn’t often that he offered internal commentary to any conversations outside of when he was fronting.

And how do you know that?

Marc quipped back in his mind—Steven hated when they argued in the headspace, especially when he was the one in control of the body. His brain felt too full and it was easy for him to get overstimulated.

What—you think she’s telling the truth, jefe?

Marc didn’t respond, and Steven was silently grateful that their quarrel had ended quickly. Still, he knew his alters were correct—you definitely weren’t ‘just fine.’

But the last thing he wanted to do was push you away, especially since it already felt like you were putting up a wall between you, keeping him at arm’s length.

He let out a long sigh, standing up from the bar to get ready to depart for his shift at the museum.

“Well, thank you for brekky, love, and for—everything else.”

You startled when you turned, finding him standing directly behind you, pulling you into his warm embrace without any due warning. God, why was he so fucking sweet? Guilt gnawed away are your insides—Jake was right. He really did deserve to know the truth, why you were spending more time living in your fantasyland than grounded in reality—but surely it’d scare him off. Marc, too.

Perhaps it was just better to keep imagining what it would be like to be loved by them—at least without being outright rejected, there would always be that small sliver of hope gleaming in the back of your mind, that tiny semblance of ‘what if’ that you let linger.

You melted into his arms, face pressed into his shoulder.

“Anytime, Steven, really. It’s my pleasure.”

There was always a smile on her face when they departed—even if their time away from each other was difficult, she knew she could look forward to the next time they'd see each other. The way his big brown eyes would light up with elation when he saw her, like an overexcited puppy reuniting with its owner.

The grin remained on her face, still, after he’d kissed her goodbye and they parted ways. She hummed softly to herself as she journeyed down the hallway to remake the bed and tidy up the room.

He never did remember to tuck in the blankets. She laughed quietly to herself and she entered the room, filled with the distinctive cypress scent of him. She reached to fluff the pillows—

Oh. That shouldn’t be there, should it?

Your fingers wrapped around the small white trinket, strung along on a leather braided band. You lifted it up to your face to inspect it more closely—it was an pendant carved from ivory, shaped like a cross with a loop at the top. An ankh—the key of life—you recalled, as Steven had once taught you. There was a certain texture that ran along the sides, and only when you brought the object right up to your nose were you able to see that there was a teeny tiny pattern etched into the surface. Hieroglyphics.

Shit, you realized. This looked like something that would be in the museum Steven worked at—although it looked a bit too high quality to be sold in the gift shop. Nonetheless, you realized that it must’ve slipped from his pocket while he was getting dressed. What if it was important?

You wandered back to the kitchen and tried calling his cell, once, then twice, without receiving an answer. He was probably already being berated by Donna—oh, well. The museum was on your way to work anyhow, just one bus stop before the café that you worked at. You could swing by and give it to him before your shift.

You glanced down at your phone to shoot him a quick text.

hey, you forgot something here i’ll drop it off for you in a bit x

It was only when you were strolling down the street with the pendant strung around your neck that a thrill of excitement ran up your spine.

What if this was from his latest mission?

It wasn’t something you’d considered before, but now that you thought about it, it seemed like the likeliest explanation. The boys didn’t tell you much about their escapades as the masked lunar vigilante, save for the vague explanations about the injuries they asked you to patch up—but you knew enough to be two-and-two together. This must be the ancient artifact he had been sent to retrieve on Khonshu’s behalf the previous night.

You suppressed a smile by sucking your bottom lip between your teeth, filled with giddiness. You were actually helping.

“Where is it?”

A venomous voice seethed, peering down at the crumpled form of the man at his feet. Marc was hunched over, arms chained behind his back, blood from his abdomen beginning to soak through the white fabric of his suit. His mouth tasted like copper, teeth coated in the sticky red substance as a gruff hand came to harshly grip his jaw, forcing his eyes upward. He sneered.

“I told you. I don’t know.”

Another punch collided with his face, this time connecting with the bridge of his nose and sending him careening backwards, landing against the concrete with a grunt.

“You’re full of shit. We know it was you at the burial site, Spector. We have eyewitnesses. You’re the only person in the world who could have possibly taken it.”

To the man's utter surprise, Marc Spector began to laugh. It was a wet sound, his mask receding so he could spit out a wad of crimson-tinted bile as he chuckled wolfishly, his lips curling up into a snarl. The perpetrator felt fear shoot through him at the look on his face.

“You’re wrong, actually. See, I was there.”

He clarified, eyes glinting dangerously. His attacker stumbled backwards as a harsh silver light blinded him briefly, and when his vision cleared, the Moon Knight had risen to his feet, freed from his shackles.

“I just wasn’t alone.”

The hair on the back of his neck prickled as he slowly turned around, met face to face with intense glare of a woman, her eyes still glowing with residual power. She tilted her head at him condescendingly, before lifting her right hand—the white ankh charm was dangling from her fingertips as she smiled coyly up at him.

“Looking for this?”

She cooed, smirking innocently, and before the man could even blink, she had pounced, wrestling him to the floor and pressing his face down against the cold flooring, cheek smushed against the pavement. She straddled his back, using her weight to hold him still while her fingers made a curling motion in the air—a rope of pure silvery light materialized with the sweep of her hand, binding the man’s hands behind his back with tendrils of starlight.

Her partner was dealing with the other two lackeys, one already laid out on the ground and the other lifted in the air by his neck, one of Marc’s gloved hands raising him up with his fingers pressing beneath his jaw.

When he stopped resisting, Marc let his body collapse to the floor in a heap before he turned back to face the woman, whose chest was rising and falling with heavy breaths. Even after a fight, she somehow appeared graceful and collected—she reached upward and pulled a stray hair from her eyes, tucking it back into it’s place beneath her star-laden headdress. Their eyes met briefly.

“Thanks.”

Marc swallowed, his head bowed low in embarrassment. He waited for the jab to come—‘I told you so.’ He deserved it, really. It was stupid to come in alone.

Instead, he was startled when she approached him softly, her eyes glittering as she lifted her hand to gently brush over his cheekbone, her smile gentle and kind.

“I’ll always have your back. You know that, right?”

He looked away, ridden with guilt and remorse, but she urged his eyes back to her with the nudge of her fingers.

“Marc. I mean it.”

He felt tears stinging the back of his eyes as he sniffed, trying to play off his emotions with fabricated nonchalance.

“Yeah, I know.”

She nodded once, withdrawing her hand from his face before lifting the ancient artifact up to his face, waving it for emphasis.

“We should probably get this to the old bird, then, huh?”

Her head snapped to the side at the gust of wind that abruptly passed them, her eyes trailing up the heavenly form of the aforementioned deity, the slope of his ivory beak towering above her. She swallowed—she’d never actually seen him before, only heard of him in passing from his Avatar. Khonshu.

Time seemed to freeze, briefly, as her breath slowly made its way back to her lungs. The skeletal bird tilted his domineering skull downward, staring her down with intensity.

“Wake up, little star.”

Her brows furrowed, her jaw dropping to reply, but he interrupted.

“You are not a part of this. You’re going to get yourself killed.”

Her head started to swim, the image in front of her turning hazy as her vision began to blur. She blinked profusely. This isn’t a part of the script, this isn’t supposed to happen—

“Wake up!”

With a jolt, you were pulled from your daydream—just in time for a hand to slip over your mouth to muffle your scream before everything went dark.

When your eyes blinked open, heavy with exhaustion, you were staring up at the white ceiling of your bedroom. You made a move to sit up, but the movement caused a throbbing pain to bloom in the back of your skull, forcing you back down against the pillows as a groan of discomfort fell from your lips. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to regain your bearings, when a set of heavy footsteps grabbed your attention from the hallway.

He faltered in the doorway when he made eye contact with you, his dark brows furrowed heavily with concern, dark purple bags settled beneath his lower lashes. When his initial shock wore off, his jaw set as he approached you slowly, a glass of tap water clutched in his left hand. He perched carefully on the edge of the bed, mindful not the nudge you.

“Marc?”

You croaked, your throat hoarse and dry, and he wordlessly reached forward, propping you further up onto the pillows before lifting the glass to your lips.

“Drink.”

He said sternly, pressing the rim to your mouth, and you obliged blindly, letting him tip the contents of the cup back into your mouth as you took slow, tentative sips. When he was satisfied with your water intake, he pulled the glass away and set it on the bedside table, the movement punctuated by a heavy sigh. Your eyes followed him carefully, brows knit together in confusion.

“I—what happened?”

You asked slowly, sitting yourself upward just a bit more. The pain in your head was lessening, although their was still a dull ache lingering at the back of your neck. You could see his jaw ripple again as he clenched his teeth, his body facing the door and his eyes focused on the wall across from him. You studied his profile carefully before he ran a tired hand down his face, rubbing at his eyes with his fingers.

“What do you remember?”

He prompted, and you hesitated, thinking back on the last thing you recalled. You remembered leaving for work, and finding the little white pendant you were planning on returning—and you remember getting lost in another fantasy before a hand clamped around your mouth and—

“Was I kidnapped?”

You asked incredulously, eyes blowing wide with realization as you recalled the sensation of a strong grasp around your face and neck before your fell unconscious. You watched his lip twitch with frustration.

“No. Well—yes. But you, I mean—what the fuck were you thinking?”

He finally turned to look at you, and when he did, you immediately wanted to shrink away and evaporate. His eyes were fiery, burning red hot with fury, the disapproving expression on his face striking something deep in your chest.

“What do you mean?”

You asked quietly, feeling tears begin to prick at your eyes, and Marc stood up, running a hand through his unruly curls as he took in a deep breath, obviously attempting to maintain some semblance of composure.

“You almost got yourself killed—bringing that charm with you, parading it around like a trophy.”

“I didn’t know, Marc, I just—”

“It doesn’t matter. I can’t let you get wrapped up in all of this—fuck, if I hadn’t been there...”

His back was towards you, but you could see the tension in his shoulders, his body heaving with heavy panting breaths. You felt small, like a child being reprimanded. You felt your eyes flood with tears.

“I was just trying to help.”

“Yeah, well, don’t.”

His voice was firm and harsh as he snapped over his shoulder at you, glaring.

“You can’t help. You’re not a part of this.”

You felt your heart hammering in your chest, desperation clawing inside of you as you threw back the blankets, swinging your legs off the side of the mattress so you could approach him.

“But maybe I can, Marc, if you’d just give me a chance, if you’d let me—”

“Stop!”

He whipped around to face you, voice louder than you'd ever heard it before. He was yelling, towering over you as he snarled, fuming.

“Just stop. If you keep this up, you’re gonna get yourself and a lot of other people hurt. You’re not a fucking Avatar—”

“You don’t think I know that?”

Marc flinched when you matched his intensity, the tears falling down your cheeks a stark contrast from the sheer anger that dominated your expression.

“You don’t think I realize that? Or think about it every goddamn night when I have to sit here, alone, wondering if you’re gonna show up, or if you’re somewhere dead and I can’t do anything but wait.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, attempting to swallow your tears down as you broke down in front of the man, your internal conflict reaching a boiling point and spewing out of you without warning.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve wished I could be out there with you, doing something, helping, anything—how often I imagine what it would be like if I wasn’t fucking useless, if I was actually a part of—”

“What did you just say?”

Your eyes snapped open, and your anger faltered when you saw the look of pure horror on Marc’s face, his skin looking several shades paler than it had before. Your mind was reeling, trying to look back on what you said, what your mistake had been, but he quickly clarified for you.

“Did you just—are you saying you wish you were an Avatar?”

His body was rigid, his expression suddenly stony and impenetrable as he looked down at you, offering a barely perceptible shake of his head as he grimaced.

“How could you—how could you possibly want that? Why would you ever—”

You could see his eyes turn glassy as he turned away, his chest beginning to heave again as he ran both of his hands through his hair anxiously, his gaze suddenly appearing frenzied. His words were laced with something adjacent to betrayal.

“You have no idea what—what I wouldn’t give to go back to my life before all of this, to—to not carry this weight, to not—I fucking kill people, do you not understand that? I’m a monster, because my life is fucking controlled by a monster, and you wish you were like me? You wanna suffer like this?”

“At least we’d be suffering together.”

It was barely more than a whisper, your addition, but Marc caught it. You couldn’t bear to look at him anymore—you turned and sat back on the bed, folding your hands in your lap and staring down at your fingers as your heart finally poured out of your chest.

“I don’t know what else I could do, Marc. I don’t know any other way to get you to actually see me.”

“See you?”

He asked incredulously, face marred with confusion, and your lip quivered as you looked anywhere but at him, awaiting his rejection as you spoke.

“I just—all I’ve ever wanted was to be able to help you. To—for you to trust me, for you to—to care about me, and—and the only scenario I can actually imagine you wanting me is if I’m not myself, I’m a version of myself that’s actually strong and capable and—”

You stifled a sob, your face scrunching up as your arms wrapped around yourself in a protective stance, huddling inward as you cried.

“—I don’t know what I’m trying to say, but I just—I want to be more than I am because—because I want to matter to you, Marc, but I know that won’t happen because I’m just—I’m just me.”

Marc fell silent. Your heart was hammering in your chest as you squeezed your bleary eyes shut, forcing yourself to take slow, deliberate inhales despite your desire to hyperventilate. You felt like the room was closing in on you, the walls shrinking and shrinking and you wished the space would swallow you whole.

“What have I done to ever make you think you don’t matter to me?”

His voice was soft and quiet, and when you blinked your tear-filled eyes open, he was staring at you, a look of genuine hurt on his chiseled features. You stuttered.

“I—what?”

“I—”

You watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed thickly.

“Why would you ever think that I don’t care about you? That you have to—to be someone else for that to happen?”

He sounded broken, his big brown eyes wide and imploring, and the sight made your chest feel tight. You pressed the butts of your palms into your eyes.

“I don’t know, Marc. You’re—you’re a fuckin’ superpowered badass who was chosen by an ancient Egyptian god to beat up monsters and go on these epic missions, and—and how can I even compete with that? I don’t even understand why you waste your time with me.”

“Why do you keep saying things like that?”

You startled when he took a few hulking steps towards you, his brows creasing in a look of frustration.

“If you’re so convinced that I’m some superior being to you—which I’m not—then rationalize that, for me. Why would I keep coming back if I didn’t care about you?”

Confusion flashed across your face as you contemplated his question.

“Because—because I patch you up when you get hurt, and I—and I take care of you. You only come here when you need something—”

“But that’s not true.”

He insisted, sounding exasperated with your obstinance.

“I have a magic suit of armor that heals me, I don’t even need you to stitch me back together—”

“But you told me—”

“Well, I lied.”

He snapped, his arms crossing over his chest, and you felt a foreign feeling flutter in the pit of your stomach as his hands came up to rub at his jaw—a nervous habit.

“It was an excuse, and honestly, not even a very convincing one. An excuse to see you.”

Your head was starting to pound again, a dull ache blooming behind your eyes as your mind continued to reel. It didn’t make any sense.

“But you—you never needed an excuse. I would’ve dropped everything for you, Marc—for all three of you.”

“I know.”

He nodded sadly, his face pained as he flinched at your words.

“And that’s what’s so bad about all of this. I shouldn’t have—you shouldn’t feel that way about me. I’m—it’s dangerous. I’ve been trying so hard to push you away because if something happens to you, if you get hurt—that’s on me. And I don’t know what I’d do with myself if—”

“I’m a big girl, Marc.”

You defended, and he seemed impressed with the conviction of your tone.

“You’ve never been anything but honest about the kind of life you live, the kind of things you do—if that scared me, you wouldn’t be standing here right now. I made that choice for myself.”

He looked like he wanted to argue, his lips parting to scold you or deny your claims, but there was resolve in his eyes. You watched as he slowly walked towards the bed, slumping into a seated position beside you, utterly defeated.

“I know.”

It was difficult for you to focus with the proximity of your bodies. He’d left a generous gap between the two of you, but his legs were spread wide as he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, and your legs were almost touching. It was unbearable.

“I always thought you were taking advantage of me.”

You spoke smally, a bit ashamed and hesitant to admit the truth, and you saw Marc’s shoulders tense before he hung his head low, a deep sigh coming from his chest.

“Yeah. Jake told me that you might be feeling that way.”

Your eyes darted to his face, taken completely by surprise.

“He—he did?”

Marc chuckled ruefully, scoffing a bit at his alter.

“And I never fuckin’ listened. Told me I needed to come clean—be honest about how I feel, or else I’ll just keep hurting you more—”

“I didn’t realize he’d actually tried to talk to you about it.”

Marc’s brows furrowed.

“Wait, are you—did you tell him that?”

You blushed, feeling somewhat guilty as you nodded. You weren’t proud of the fact that you’d been talking about Marc and Steven behind their backs to their other alter.

“Why did—why didn’t you just talk to me?”

Marc leaned towards you, trying to catch your gaze with his, but you quickly looked forward again, eyes focusing in on your shaky hands.

“I didn’t know if—I never had to question things with Jake. He’s never been shy about how he feels about me.”

“Jake’s never been shy about anything in his entire goddamn life.”

You actually giggled at that, Marc’s tone sour and somewhat envious, but a soft smile easily curled on his lips at the sound of your laughter. When your amusement faded slightly, your breath caught in your throat when you felt a warm hand fall atop your knee, thumb rubbing over the flesh gently. You stared at the place where his skin met yours, heat flushing your cheeks.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. If I would’ve known sooner—if he’d have told me—”

You shook your head quickly, dismissing his apology.

“No, don’t. I made him promise me he wouldn’t tell you. And—and the reason I didn’t say anything is, well—he would never tell me if you felt the same, so I didn’t—I just kind of assumed you didn’t.”

“I don’t understand why you think so little of yourself.”

His fingers gripped your knee a bit more firmly, the heat of his hand traveling upwards despite your attempts to stop it.

“You really think—thought the only way I’d want you is if you were an Avatar?”

You laughed wetly, swiping the last of your tears from beneath your eyes as you shook your head abashedly.

“When you say it out loud, it sounds so fucking stupid.”

“Hey, it’s not stupid.”

He corrected, and you froze when you felt his hand lift from your knee to reach towards your face, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear so he could see you more clearly. His fingers slipped beneath your jaw and gently coaxed your head to face him. You forgot how to breathe.

“It’s just not true.”

“Baby, I’ve wanted you since the day I met you, Avatar or not.”

She let out a quiet gasp at his confession, face lighting up with delight as he surged forward and captured her lips with his own, whimpering against her mouth as his arms encircled her body. He guided her back towards the bed, laying her out beneath him, looking absolutely heavenly, truly ravishing, and the sight made him ravenous as he worshipped her, starting by dragging his tongue—

“Hey. Where’d you go?”

It was only a brief moment of wistfulness, your daydream, but Marc saw the way your eyes misted and filled with a faraway look. He let his fingers dance across the softness of your neck before reaching to cradle your jaw in his hand, fingers threading into the hair behind your left ear.

You blinked away your reverie, trying to ground yourself in the present regardless of how desperately you wanted to fantasize about how much you craved him, how much you just wished he wanted you—

“Sorry.”

You uttered, voice barely above a whisper, and you blinked up at him through your wet lashes, doe-eyed. Your shame quickly melted away into something entirely different when you saw the ghost of a smile flicker over his lips.

“What were you thinking about?”

Your breathing stuttered, and you opened your mouth to speak but he cut you off quickly, the timbre of his voice low and gravelly.

“You can tell me, sweetheart. Whatever it was, whatever you want—I’ll give it to you.”

It all became too much too quickly—the swirling heat of desire coiling lowly in your abdomen, the warmth of his exhales across your face, the roughness of his hands against the soft skin of your cheek, the almost taunting gleam in his dark eyes. His promise emboldened you, and without much thought, you surged forward and captured his lips in your own, whimpering against his mouth as your arms encircled his body.

He was quick to meet your pace, his free arm twisting to wrap around your lower back so he could pull you into his lap, one of your hands sinking into his brown curls and the other digging into his right shoulder. You heard him groan into your lips and you took the opportunity to sink your tongue into his mouth, deepening the kiss as you pressed your body flush against him, desperately seeking as much closeness as possible.

When his lips left yours and began to trail down your jaw and throat, you were pulled out of your stupor.

“Wait—wait.”

You whispered, fingers tugging at his curls so you could see his face. His brows furrowed in concern as he looked at you with worried eyes, his lips dewy and kiss-swollen.

“What’s wrong?”

He asked carefully, his voice gruff but still attentive, and you lifted both hands to cradle his face, thumbs sweeping over his cheekbones as you drank in his features, studying his face carefully.

“I just—”

You let out a shaky exhale, leaning forward to rest your forehead against his.

“I need to know that this is real. That you’re—that this is all real.”

He pulled away from you slightly, grinning somewhat wolfishly at you.

“This is real, baby—does it feel real?”

You nodded eagerly, your lips still tingling from the severity of his kisses, and he pulled you in for another one, his touch deliciously bruising.

When he pulled away again, you felt his fingers trace down your arm before he grabbed your hand in his. Your brows furrowed in confusion as he guided your grasp between your bodies, but your hips jolted when he pressed your hand into the hardness of his bulge in his jeans. You whimpered at the feeling, fingers curling around his length to squeeze him. His lashes fluttered.

“Yeah, baby—you feel what you do to me? That’s fuckin’ real.”

You felt yourself grow increasingly desperate at his words, fingers curling into the hem of his shirt and yanking it over his head with abandon. He seemed in tune with your own neediness because pretty soon, clothes were being ripped off and haphazardly tossed around the room, lips meeting newly-exposed skin at every opportunity.

You were laid out beneath him, his body slotted between your parted legs as he hovered over you, pumping his cock languidly as he gazed down at you with hooded eyes.

“I’ve pictured this, too, you know.”

You felt a small smile find your face.

“Really?”

He bit his lip, the pace of his hand jerking his length speeding up just slightly.

“Oh, fuck yeah, baby. You’re even more beautiful than I ever imagined.”

His sweet compliment was a stark contrast to the depravity of the current situation, but you could hear the sincerity in his words. You smiled up at him, reaching forward to take his cock in your grasp and line him up with your awaiting entrance.

“And you’re even bigger than I ever imagined.”

You purred, watching his eyes flash with pride as he leaned forward to brush the tip of his cock through your sopping folds, causing you to mewl unsurepetitiously.

“Please, Marc, shit—I can’t wait anymore, please.”

He grinned wickedly down at you, and before you could even take a breath, he was plunging into you with force, his cock sheathing itself fully within the softness of your cunt.

He choked above you, his arm slamming down on the mattress beside your head for support, his fist curling into the sheets.

“Jesus fuck, you’re tight.”

He breathed out, his expression almost pained with just how perfectly your walls were squeezing him.

The sudden intrusion was a startling sensation, but the burn of the stretch was quickly evolving into an addictive sting of pleasure.

“Oh, God, yes—move, Marc, please.”

You begged, brows furrowed deeply, and Marc quickly obliged, starting a rapid pace as he hammered into you, his hips snapping forward with jarring strength. The sound of slapping skin echoed within the room and only served to add to your arousal, the noises leaving your lips sinful and completely involuntary.

“Fuck yeah, baby—is this what you wanted? This what you’ve been daydreaming about, huh? My cock filling you up?”

You moaned wantonly, back arching at Marc’s words. His curls were falling across his forehead, dampened with sweat, and you reached up to grip his shoulders for support, fingernails digging into the carved muscle.

“Yes, fuck, yes—so good, Marc, so fucking good—”

He reached down and lifted your legs to wrap around his waist, forcing his cock even deeper inside of you, the new angle earning a sharp cry. Your walls were fluttering around him.

“Yeah, you wanna cum, baby? You wanna cum on my cock?” He hand reached between your bodies to thumb at your clit, and the added stimulation sent you suddenly toppling over the edge into your orgasm, your eyes rolling back into your head as you let out a long, drawn-out moan.

“Yeah, attagirl—fuck yeah.”

Your walls were clamping down on him, pulsing rhythmically over the ridges of his cock, and he felt his release rapidly approaching.

“You want my cum, baby?”

You nodded frantically at him, eyes wild with desperation, and Marc groaned as his pace began to stutter.

“Where, baby? Where do you want it?”

You fingers sank further into the flesh of his shoulders.

“Mouth—want you to cum in my mouth.”

Your request alone was enough to send him hurtling over the edge.

“Oh, shit, gonna cum—”

He pulled out of you quickly, hand reaching down to fervidly fist at his cock as he crawled forward to straddle your stomach on his knees—you eagerly leaned forward just in time as his balls drew up tight, his cum shooting straight across your awaiting tongue as you opened your mouth wide for him.

“Oh, baby—fuuuuckkk—”

His hips thrusted into his fist with each pump of cum that escaped him, some shooting above your lip and dribbling down your chin. He grunted harshly as he tapped the tip of his cock over your tongue, coating the head in his release that had pooled within your mouth. You quickly closed your lips around him and suckled the tip into your mouth, swallowing all of his seed as you swirled your tongue around his length.

He let out a low groan before he finally reached forward to tug you off of him, collapsing onto the mattress beside you heavily.

You both caught your breath for a few moments, coming back down to Earth after your intense climaxes.

It was Marc who broke the silence first, a deep chuckle coming from his chest.

“If this is what you’re constantly daydreaming about, then fuck—you gotta tell me. I will make every goddamned one come true.”

Your laughter matched his own as he reached over to wrap an arm around you, pulling you towards the warmth of his body comfortingly. Your smile quickly faded as the heat of the moment made way for reality.

“Was this—I mean, this wasn’t just—just a one-time thing... right?”

Marc pressed a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering along your hairline.

“No, baby. Besides—Jake and Steven haven’t even gotten their turns with you.”

His attempt at a joke fell flat.

“That’s not what I mean.”

You said quietly, and Marc sighed, letting his head rest atop yours as he held you close.

“Sorry. I know what you meant, but still, the answer’s no. Kinda hoping this is an all-the-time thing.”

Now, you laughed, and he swore it was his favorite sound in the entire world.

You had a brief conversation with Steven about your mutual feelings, later—although he was a stuttering mess, his smile was wide and eyes were bright with elation when he finally kissed you. He fell asleep holding you close to him, and you listened to his breathing slow as you began to doze off beside him.

Just when you were about to fall asleep, his arms around you squeezed tighter.

“Told you so.”

Jake’s voice taunted jokingly, and you lifted a fist to punch his shoulder at his teasing. He chuckled, and you tilted your head so you could see his face—he looked relaxed, truly at ease, and you practically melted into his touch.

“Yeah, I guess you did.”

You admitted defeat, and Jake gave you a cheeky lopsided grin before he leaned down and gave you a soft, chaste kiss that left you breathless.

You rested your head back against his chest, but he interrupted your peace yet again.

“Can I ask you somethin, nena?”

You nodded.

“You told Marc you imagined being an Avatar. ’m just curious—what kind of things do you think about?”

You felt your face flush with embarrassment, still feeling silly and insecure about admitting to your daydreaming habits, but Jake gently encouraged you enough until you relented, explaining how you’d always had an infatuation with the deity Nut and liked the poeticism of the pairing of the moon and the stars.

“And you called me estrellita.”

You informed shyly, nuzzling into the crook of his neck, but you could hear the way his breath caught in his throat, his muscles tensing just slightly.

“Estrellita?”

He questioned, and you lifted your head to look at him, his brows furrowed in confusion.

“Yeah, it—it means ‘little star.’”

You explained, and he shook his head.

“I know that, but I—hmm.”

His lips pursed, and you nudged him, his confusion worrying you.

“What? What’s wrong?”

He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye before staring back up at the ceiling, his expression contemplative

“No, it’s nothing. It’s just—today, when Khonshu came to tell us that you were in trouble, he—he called you that. Little star.”

You bolted upright, the color quickly draining from your face.

“He fucking what?”

Jake shrugged uneasily, but you felt your heart begin to hammer in your chest, recalling the bizarre intrusion Khonshu had made in your fantasy today, interrupting your own train of thought. Was that—actually him?

Little did you know, Khonshu had been eavesdropping on your daily mental escapes for some time, entertained by both your active imagination and the elaborate stories you seemed to conjure up on a whim. As a matter of fact, both he and Nut found great amusement in your investment in the life of the Egyptian deities, and should something happen to the Goddess of the Sky’s current Avatar—she knew exactly where to find her next candidate.

[lightsofthe-living-gvf]

Eucalyptus

18+ minors DNI

Sam Kiszka/Reader

Summary: A movie night with Sam takes a pleasant turn.

Warnings: smut, dare I say porn with plot? koalas and koala facts mentioned but not in like a weird way I just feel it needs a warning, moving on… unprotected penetrative sex (don’t do that!), dom/sub undertones, Sam has a praise kink, he’s also quite needy (have y’all noticed a trend yet), a tiny bit of overstimulation, dirty talk-ish things, teasing, marking, pet names, let me know if I missed any!

Word Count: 3.7k

A/N: Hello, all! Thanks for tuning in! I thought since Sam’s birthday is coming up, I’d post a fic I’ve been working on for what feels like forever. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

It was Sam's turn to choose the movie that night. He made sure you knew it, too, with a sing-song reminder as you both made your way into the living room, pillows and blankets from your bed bunched up in your arms. You situated yourselves on the couch after an unnecessarily tumultuous few minutes, during which you'd managed to be only centimeters from driving your knee into the small of his back and he'd accidentally jabbed one of his bony elbows into the soft part of your side. He had also totally crushed your fingers beneath that same elbow and when you told him he had better watch it, he defended himself vehemently, claiming that your fingers "crushed themselves, why would you put them under my elbow?" Eventually, you wound up on your back with Sam at your side, his head on your shoulder and your arms tangled together across your torsos.

"Sammy," you murmured, as a harrowing--and kind of humorous--realization set in.

"Hm?"

"We forgot to grab the remote..."

"What? You think I'm gonna get it?"

He huffed and nuzzled further into the warm skin of your neck, as if he were trying to ignore the consequences of you both having forgotten the damned T.V remote... Those consequences being that one of you was going to have to move out of your comfy, cozy position to retrieve it. And you knew--fully well--that Sam would not be moving from his spot until the credits of whatever movie he chose were rolling. So, it was up to you.

Still, you decided to press his buttons a little. "Could you...?"

"Pfft- you're dreaming. And you're closer," his reply came an adorable snark, muffled into your skin.

With a giggle, you shimmied over to the edge of the couch and ignored the pouty look Sam shot in your direction, as if it were your fault the remote was still on the coffee table. You stretched your arm out and in what was an amazing feat of strength and balance, managed to grab the remote without tumbling to the floor. When you returned to your spot, Sam latched onto you, pulling you back into his arms. The act made your heart swell with adoration, and you couldn't help but to let out a quiet, fond laugh.

"What?" Sam sounded softly.

"It's nothing, Sammy. I love you."

He popped his head up and looked at you with narrowed eyes. "No, no, what is it?"

"Nothing!"

"Y/N, I swear if you don't tell me--"

"Alright, alright! It's just--" you couldn't even finish, you cut yourself off with another laugh.

"Babyyy,"

"It's just- I love it when you get so cuddly. You're like... a little koala bear."

"A koala?"

"Yeah!"

He made a face. "Koalas are kinda ugly." Then, he gasped in mock-offense, "Do you think I'm ugly?"

"No, Sam!" you laughed. "They're not ugly, and neither are you."

"I mean, they're pretty ugly."

"No, they're not! They're cute!"

You and Sam spent the next few minutes looking at 'ugly koala pictures'--as he had typed into the search bar on his phone--and you had to admit it: koala bears could be pretty foul-looking sometimes.

"So," Sam said after he'd finished proving his point and set his phone on the side table. "If I'm a koala, what does that make you? My tree?"

"Oh, so you're fine with being a koala, now?"

"Yeah, as long as you're like, my eucalyptus tree, or something."

You raised your brows in amusement. "Why do I have to be a tree?"

"Well, what else are you gonna be?"

"I don't know, maybe you koala-girlfriend?"

"Nah," he shook his head with a playful grin. "I like you better as a tree."

You poked a finger into the ticklish spot on his side, just to see him squirm. "What's that supposed to mean, huh?"

"Whatever you want it to mean, my darling eucalyptus tree. Will you pass me the remote?"

With a roll of your eyes, you dropped the remote on his chest. "What do you wanna watch?"

Moments later, a koala bear documentary popped up on the television screen.

"You think you can stay awake for a whole documentary?" you prodded, and Sam gave an annoyed huff.

"I'm not gonna fall asleep."

You knew that Sam was definitely going to fall asleep. Something about watching a movie--especially at night--always put him right out. Maybe, it was the coziness of the soft lamplight and the plush couch cushions. Or maybe, it was just being snuggled up together. It didn't matter and besides, you'd never tire of turning off whatever old, corny movie he had put on and watching your show while he dozed soundly in your arms.

"Whatever you say, koala boy."

He grumbled rather cutely for a few seconds--things like, "I'm not gonna fall asleep this time" and "that's not even a cute nickname"--before settling at your side once again with a few gentle kisses to the side of your neck. You let one of your hands move upwards and into his soft hair to rub delicately at his scalp and smiles when he voiced his appreciation with a hum.

Though you wouldn't ever admit it to Sam, the koala bear documentary was actually pretty engaging. You learned things that you never would've known about the not-so-adorable marsupial you compared your boyfriend to, such as the fact that the majority of them have chlamydia. Did you really need to know that? Probably not.

The documentary was a little more than half-way through when you began to assume that your Sammy had fallen asleep. You hadn't heard a single word from him, not even when the narrator revealed that koala bears have incredibly small brains, and you were sure that if he were awake, he would have some more words about being called a koala. You decided to leave the documentary on, anyway, as grossly informative as it was. Maybe, you could fall asleep to the drone of the narrator's voice, too.

And, you were just beginning to feel drowsy when Sam shifted from where he had pressed himself into your side and jolted you from your spot. You resituated yourself, snuggling in close to him and resting your cheek comfortably against the top of his head. Then, he moved again, and in turn, moved you again.

"What are you doing?"

"Sorry," came his murmured reply.

"Do you want me to scoot over or something?"

He shook his head, then tightened his arms around your waist. You felt yourself beginning to relax in his hold once again, and you were so so sure you were going to doze off. Until he squirmed again, that is.

You pushed yourself up and out of his arms with an annoyed huff, "Sam, what--"

That's when you felt the brush of his cock against your thigh, half-hard and just beginning to strain against the flimsy fabric of his shorts. His brows furrowed upwards just a touch and he made a sound so pretty and so soft you almost didn't hear it. At once, your body warmed with arousal.

"Oh," you sounded, smirking a little as you watched a flush color Sam's cheeks. "What's got you all worked up, baby? It wasn't the koala thing, was it?"

"No, you sicko! Just--" he huffed. "--touch me?"

You sat up straighter, then let your hand rest on Sam's collarbone for a moment, before dragging your fingertips downwards. You moved leisurely and kept the pressure feather-light, until you reached the delightfully exposed skin of his hip. Then, toyed with the waistband of his shorts and he bucked his hips upwards, as if to plead with you. So, you tore your hand away.

"Come on, baby," he whined. "Don't tease."

"Don't whine," you countered with a chuckle. "I've hardly even touched you."

"That's the fucking problem..." he muttered.

You rolled your eyes at his complaining. It was useless, really. He always got whatever he wanted.

Sam opened his mouth to complain even further, so you surged forward and captured his lips in a kiss before he had the chance to actually get any words out. He reached up and held your face in the palm of his hands and when he deepened the kiss with a tilt of his head, you had no choice but to follow. You basked in the moment, melting against the warmth of his fingers on your cheeks and the sweetness of his lips on yours. Sam always kissed you like he needed you; he breathed in every drift of you essence and left nothing behind.

When he broke away with a quiet gasp for air, you took the chance to slip your hands beneath his shirt and smooth them up his chest. His skin was soft and a little warm and completely addicting. You wanted to take your time and kiss every inch of it, but you knew that Sam wouldn't have the patience for that. So, you raked your blunt nails down his side and watched him shudder, just to give yourself a little rush of satisfaction.

With grabby hands, Sam tugged at your waist until you were seated in his lap.

"You're so lovely, Sammy. The sweetest man I know and the prettiest thing I've ever seen," praise feathered unrestrained from your lips. He was so lovely, and outstandingly so when he was looking up at you with sweet eyes and lips just a little swollen and parted slightly. You wanted to snap a thousand pictures of that very moment and hoard every single one of them like gold stolen from the sea.

And it just came so naturally to you to praise him. It was damn-near impossible not to voice the thoughts whenever they made themselves known. He soaked it in, too; he never denied any of what you said and always put a little quirk to his brow that said tell me more, please, if you were to see fit. And, of course, you would always acquiesce to his desire. How could you ever deny him, anyway?

"Thank you," he returned in a whisper, giving your hips a little squeeze.

"How often do you think I tell you that?"

"Every day, maybe," he answered with a shrug. "Don't stop, though."

You giggled, "I won't. Couldn't if I tried, actually."

He connected your lips again, before moving downwards and pressing soft, urgent kisses to the skin of your jaw and throat. You tilted your head, giving his lips more flesh to rove over and then, you selfishly tangled your fingers in his hair to keep him from moving from where you wanted him. He was quick to make his way to your collar bones, kissing and nipping and tugging at your top to reveal more skin to his wandering lips.

"Lemme take this off," he huffed, adorably displeased with the fact that your shirt--his shirt, actually; you'd stolen it from the dryer--was hindering him from getting what he wanted. The moment you nodded in affirmation, he tugged the garment over your head and tossed it aside. He then continued his work with an pleased hum and a playful bite to the skin just above your breast. He had always liked to mark you up a little; you didn't mind.

Before Sam could get much further than that, however, you took his face in your hand and created a distance between his lips and your chest. You slanted his chin and guided him to look at you. He stuck that plush bottom lip of his out and you chuckled. Truthfully, seeing him pout just because he couldn't kiss you was flattering, and it went straight to your head.

You spoke with a sultry edge to your tone, tucking a loose strand of hair behind Sam's ear as you did, "So, really... What's got you all needy, sweet boy?"

"You just look so pretty," he said softly, his cheeks flushed a lovely shade of pink. "And you're wearing my shirt, you know that?"

"Yeah, I know." You punctuated your words with a kiss to his jaw. "Do you think it looks good on me?"

"So good," he agreed, still with that pouty look on his face, as if he were trying to garner your pity, or something- how cute. "It looks better on you than it does on me."

Sam's hands began to roam, then, grabbing at your hips and your thighs and pulling you so close you might have been able to feel his heartbeat if you were to sit still enough. He blinked up at you as he voiced a request, his eyes so sweet you nearly lost your sense of control. "Ride me."

You were tempted to just take him right then and there. It would be so easy to just free his cock from his shorts, slip your panties to the side, and-- No. You forced yourself to take a steadying breath. If there was anything you loved more than indulging Sam, it was making him beg a little. You wanted to tease him some, you wanted to dangle his treat in front of his face and yank it out of reach when his fingers got too close, just to hear him whine like a spoiled brat.

"Hm," you said, dropping your fingers from his face and crossing your arms over your chest. "Ask me nicely, first."

He let out a displeased huff that had you biting back a smirk. "Please, ride me?"

"You just want me to do all the work, don't you?"

"Come on, baby," he complained. His fingers tightening their hold on you, and petulantly so. "You know I could flip you over and fuck you, right now. And you know you wouldn't have to lift a damn finger."

"Why are you asking me to ride you, then?"

He gave an over-exaggerated groan of frustration and kissed you again. After a few moments, you pulled away to speak, "It's okay, Sammy. I know it's just because you're a little pillow princess who likes being treated."

His cheeks colored and his mouth dropped open in faux-offense. "I am not!"

You laughed. "I'm not saying it like it's a bad thing." You pressed a kiss to his chin, then another to the corner of his mouth, as if to make up for your words. You weren't sorry, though, not truly. You continued on, "I love when you get all pretty and willing for me."

His eyes went a little moony then, but he didn't reply. A rush of desire swelled in your stomach, and you knew you had him right where you wanted him: under your thumb and desperate to come, though you'd barely just started.

You chose then to reach up and unclasp your bra. Sam watched with a bitten lip as you slid the straps from your shoulders and dropped the garment to the floor. Your fingers were at his waistband, next, and you were motioning for him to lift his hips and shoving his shorts down his thighs. His cock sprang free almost instantly, apparently unrestrained by anything other by the silken fabric of his bottoms. You glanced up at him with a quirked brow.

"No underwear?"

"Nah, why would I need it?"

You laughed a little as you brought your hand downwards, your fingers appreciatively stroking the skin of his inner thigh. He was so, so soft there, and the thought of leaning down and nipping at that flesh until he squirmed briefly crossed your mind. If he wasn't already so impatient, you would have. But you knew that it would be cruel to prolong his wait much further.

So, you lifted your hand back up, slowly and lightly dragging the pad of your thumb along the length of his shaft. You stopped once you reached the head, rubbing at the velvet-like skin beneath the swell for just a moment before pulling away. You were going to give him what he wanted soon enough, anyway, so why not make him just a little more desperate? In response, Sam bucked his hips and sucked in a sharp, shuddering breath.

"Stop being mean," he voiced, whiny and alluringly desolate. "I'm so hard it hurts."

"Awe, baby, I know," you cooed, rubbing at his hip as soothingly as you could while also not making any move to give him what he needed. "You've been so patient, haven't you?" He nodded at you, and you could feel your panties grow damp as you praised him, "That's right, Sammy. You've been so good for me."

He whimpered, holding your cheeks in the palms of his hands and kissing the noise right into your mouth. Those hands didn't stay still for long, however; they never did. He let them roam your body, reminding himself of every curve and revisiting the spots that made you shiver. Though a little distracted by his fervent lips and hands, you reached down and pulled your panties to the side.

"Before I sit on that lovely, needy cock of yours, I want you to tell me what you are." It wasn't a question, it was a demand, spoken with a voice as desperate as Sam's as you shifted your hips and ground your core softly against his shaft.

He laughed, shaking off his poutiness for just a moment. "Are you really going to make me say it?"

"Tell me," you reiterated firmly, rolling your hips once more.

"Fuck-" he huffed, his brows tipping upwards. "I'm a pillow princess- no, yours. Your princess."

"Good," you lauded, pleased with his response. And as a reward, you raised your hips and finally sank down on his cock.

His reaction was instant: a sweet moan as he tossed his head back onto the arm of the couch. You worked up to a steady pace rather quickly; no longer could you make Sam or yourself wait. His hands found their rightful place on your hips, his fingers digging into the flesh their, all desperate and rough. You reveled in the sting of the pressure.

"Fuck, baby- that's it," he sputtered with a gasp.

"Yeah?" you implored with a sharp pant, your fingers grasping his chin and tilting his head so that you were facing each other. When he gazed at you with those eyes as sweet as caramel candy, you could feel your core give a pathetic throb. Why did he have to look at you like that? Like you'd hung the moon and painted the stars and breathed life into the sun? To keep yourself from faltering over the rush of adoration you felt for your lover, you continued on, "Tell me about it, sweet boy. I wanna know just how good I'm making you feel."

"Feels so fucking good. You're so tight- and soft. So soft and warm. Like-" he cut himself off with a sob as you began to move your hips at a punishing pace. You couldn't fucking take it, anymore. You needed to make him come, perhaps more than you even wanted to come yourself. He began to moan in earnest, then, depraved sounds broken by curses and sharp intakes of breath.

You knew he had to be close. He was shaking and he couldn't even keep his eyes open, even as you planted your palm at the base of his throat and requested he keep his gaze on you. And his cheeks were so red, too- Fuck, you were close, you could feel it rising inside of you sooner than you would have expected it. Well, you supposed you should've expected it. Sam just had that unbelievable, irreversible effect on you.

"I need-" he panted brokenly, his hands moving to claw at your ass and pull you in closer. "Harder, sweetheart. Please- need it harder."

Without a word, you complied, rising and falling and grinding with an increased force. Your thighs were burning and you knew your skin had a sheen of sweat, but it didn't matter. The only thing you could think about was Sam: the warmth of his fingers on your skin, the debauched sounds tumbling from his lips, and the furrow of his brow as he came with hardly any warning.

The sensation of it warmed you to your core, and your slowed your heavy movements to just slow, steady rolls of your hips, aiming to hit that electric spot deep inside. You knew you weren't going to last much longer- he fit you so well. Every pronounced ridge of his pretty cock rubbed against your walls so pleasingly that it was enough to drive you mad.

"You were fucking made for this," you voiced raggedly. "Made for me."

"Uh-huh," he whined in agreement.

You moaned, your head falling forward as warm sparks began to shoot up your spine and dance along the tips of your fingers and your toes. "I'm so close."

"Come, baby. Need it- it's too much, please."

"Get me there, Sammy," you urged brokenly.

Sam's fingers tightened around you with a force, then, as he flexed his thighs and plunged into you. He looked like the most divine picture of beauty beneath you, with his hair all strewn about and his lips parted ever so slightly. It was that, alongside his sweet pleas, that made you come undone with a gasp and a curse.

You worked yourself through it, slowly and surely coming to a stop. Your breath was coming in heaves; you couldn't help it. You noticed that Sam's fingers had ceased up on their relentless hold, and were instead lovingly stroking at your hips.

"That was so good, baby," he murmured. "Always so good."

With a flush on your cheeks, you leaned down and pressed a sweet kiss to his plush lips. When you parted, you replied, "So are you, my love."

Smiling, Sam glanced over to the television, only for his brows to furrow. "What the fuck?"

"What?" you pulled away, confused.

"That stupid koala documentary is still going!"

You looked over and sure enough, the koala bear documentary was still playing, and seemed to be nowhere near its end. You smirked. "Do you wanna finish it?"

"Nope," Sam replied with a pop on the 'p', sitting up and jostling you from where you were still sat in his lap. "I just put that on so I could fall asleep."

"I knew it!"

[theriverbeyond]

Eat My Words and Then Swallow your Pride by silverapples (18+)

+ its sequel fic, Denial Ain't Just a River in Egypt (18+)

Gideon prides herself on being able to get anyone she wants in bed. But when it comes to Harrow, she’ll have to do some giving first.

I'm SO excited to have bound this series as part of @renegadeguild's Fanfic Writer's Appreciation Day (August 21) event, it is one of my absolute favorite fics and such a love letter to butch subs/bottoms everywhere.

Fandom: The Locked Tomb

Pairing: Gideon Nav/Harrowhark Nonagesimus

Title font: Engravers MT

Body font: Garamond

Pages: 128

Size: Octavo letter

Case: Arrestox Bookcloth Black with hand-embossed silver foil, featuring cover art by me!

some rambling under the cut

i forgot to take good progress pics here because besides cutting the pages/the octavo size, this bind felt very standard/nothing much new was tried, construction wise -- but I DID draw the cover art with my mouse in photoshop because i couldn't find good royalty free art that fit the Vibe and this fic deserves a bangin cover.

I went with Gideon being collared by Harrow for the design because like, yeah. Of course I did. She deserves this.

I think one of the main artistic things I would change in the future (besides photographing it against a more contrasting background OOPS) is I think I'd want a thinner tip for the foiling, I think the summary on the back turned out okay but the spine text was a bit small for the tip I had, so it is a bit hard to read.

I really like the octavo size for shorter fics, especially for fics in the 5k-15k range depending on font size/art/etc. I wouldn't want to do a standard folio or even quarto with something this short just due to like... it would turn out magazine thin, but it looks cute as hell when turned pocket sized so I'm excited to have opened up a new realm of fics to bind!

[brayneworms]

c'mon, baby, you're my best fix | sampo koski

kinktober day three: dry humping

word count: 2.4k

content: dry humping, gender-neutral reader, silvermane guard!reader, hatesex elements, sex as stress relief, semi-public (alleyway), reader has been drinking but isn't implied to be intoxicated, dom!reader + sub!sampo (but he's implied to be a switch), elements of sadism + masochism, degradation, coming untouched.

♪ love in a trashcan - the ravenettes.

kinktober mlist | regular mlist

The biggest fucking lie anyone had told, ever, had come out of Sampo Koski's mouth that afternoon:

C'mooon. I can be good.

You know for a fact that this is a lie, because through no will of your own you have become quite well-acquainted with Sampo Koski, and if there's one thing you're sure of is that he has a physical aversion to doing what he's told.

He had been told, for example, the following many times: Leave me alone, Koski. You're a fucking creep, Koski. Stop conveniently walking by my workplace the very minute I finish my shift, Koski. No, you can't buy me a drink, Koski.

And yet he shows up anyway, like a bad penny, like a dog someone hadn't reprimanded harshly enough and had come sniffing around looking for scraps. Maybe you're too nice, but you sort of doubt it. You think it's more likely that Sampo likes when you talk down to him, which is a whole other can of worms that you're not remotely interested in opening.

"I get the feeling you're mad at me," comes that familiar simpering voice, sliding home into the booth opposite you. Sampo slumps forwards against the table with his face squished against his open palm, grinning that ever-present crescent-moon smile. Cut-jade eyes glimmer out at you through the half-light of the tavern. They always seem to be glittering, despite the absence of any real light. "It's this nagging feeling!" he continues gleefully, even when you glare at him. "This annoying but rather persistent voice in the back of my head keeps telling me that when you tell me to leave you alone, you actually mean it!" He gives a hearty laugh, toying with his flask of ale, and peers up at you through his stupidly thick lashes. "Still, I know it can't be true, considering what happened the other night."

Stupid alcohol. Stupid Sampo. Stupid, stupid you.

One day of weakness. Being a Silvermane Guard was never exactly easy work, but most days tended to be less harrowing than the one you'd had. Every lead you'd chased had slipped through your fingers, and your shift had ended abruptly when the brother of a victim you were seeking justice for had elbowed you to the ground in frustration and spat on you. Your superior wrestled him off you and told you to clock off early.

You supposed she was being kind, but it just made you feel more useless than ever. Boiling with anger and with nowhere to put it, you stormed to the nearest tavern with the intention of drowning your sorrows. Two cups of mead in, you'd gone outside to clear your head, and there he had been, lurking around like an alley cat, sharp eyes lingering on everyone who walked past. No doubt looking for his next easy target. You clear your throat pointedly, and he spins around. Surprise quickly melts into familiar delight.

"Captain, my Captain!" he trills, slinking over as he was wont to slink everywhere.

"Not a captain," you remind him for the fortieth time. "Why are you loitering around here, Koski?"

An affronted hand to his chest, as though clutching imaginary pearls. "Oh! Did they outlaw that, too? Going to cuff me and sling me in jail, hm?"

"Don't fuckin' tempt me," you grumble, tipping your head back against the wall of the tavern. "Can you hurry up and commit a crime in front of me, or something?"

Sampo grins. "Rough day?"

"You're not helping," you snip back, slightly unfairly. He isn't really doing anything more than hanging around being irritating. He slinks closer, slinks like he always does, like it's the only way he knows how to move. Oozing around like a toxic slime, draping himself against the wall just in front of you, arm braced against the brick behind your head.

"I could, though."

His forwardness is hardly a surprise. There isn't any danger of missing his meaning in the sleepy droop of his eyes, the lazy smile curling at his lips. Sampo is an incurable flirt to each and everyone—the thing is that most of the time it's part of the con. You know a few Silvermane Guards who have fallen into his charm and his bed that cut him a lot of slack where they really, really shouldn't.

Sampo Koski has friends everywhere, and that's what makes him so dangerous.

You know this. You have done for a while, especially because he'd been trying to worm his way into your bed for about as long as you'd known him. You resent the thought of him having any sort of power over you, though. There's no denying that he's attractive, and you've often wondered if he would be able to put his money where his mouth is, for lack of a better phrase. But handing over that amount of control to someone like Koski is just incurably stupid.

Because then you're trapped. Every time he'd catch your eye afterwards, they'd glimmer, and you'd know he was remembering your moment of weakness, inviting you to remember it too. Every time his eyes would rake down your body you'd know he'd be recalling when he'd seen it devoid of clothing, sweating, trembling. Every time he'd look at you, he'd know he'd already won.

Really, there's a very simple solution. Don't let him win.

"I bet," you breathe, meeting his eyes for once. You can see them widen slightly, his lips part in surprise before he makes a recovery from this most minuscule slip of his mask.

"Ohoho?" He lets out an irritating little laugh. "Gosh. Must have been a really rough day."

"I'd prefer it to get rougher."

Sampo's mouth splits into a wide grin, one almost fanatical in nature. "I should've pegged you as the type!" he gushes. "Why would anyone be nonsensical enough to join the Silvermane Guards unless they secretly enjoyed a little pain? Between you and me, Captain, I don't mind it either."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" you sigh. "Only a real masochist would so frequently try to get under my skin."

His lashes flutter. "I'm trying to get under much more than that, Captain."

You grab him by the front of his shirt and drag him down the alley beside the tavern. In the dusk light, the two of you slip into the shadows almost immediately, and you follow the narrow path down to the back of the tavern, where the noise of the street outside is quietened to a whisper. Sampo giggles behind you.

"What an exhibitionist you are," he says slyly. "I should've expected it from you, I guess. I guess—"

You plant two hands on his chest, shoving him back into the brick wall, and kiss him. His words flutter to a halt and he stifles a yelp of surprise against your mouth before his eyes squinch shut. His hands aren't shy, flying up to grip your waist, and you press yourself flush against him. He makes a whimpery noise into your mouth as your knee slots itself between his legs, pushing up. He runs hot, you can feel it even through his clothes, and it's a welcome immersion from the perpetual algidity of Belobog.

He grunts as he pulls away, and you take in the slightly glazed look in his eyes and the high colour in his cheeks with a tinge of gratification. "We don't have an awful lot of time," he says pseudo-apologetically. His hands fly to his belt, fingers working nimbly at the buckle. "I'm due somewhere in twenty—"

His voice stammers to a halt when your hand clamps down over his, stilling his fingers. Sampo blinks up at you, puzzled; the penny hasn't yet dropped, you suppose, even as you patiently pry his fingers away from his belt.

"What are you doing?" you ask bluntly. Sampo's lips part and he looks at you as though you're quite delusional.

"Ah... ahem?" He laughs nervously. "Is that a trick question?"

"No," you answer easily. "What are you doing?" Off his bewildered look—which you take the time to enjoy, considering how little you get to see anything but smug ostentation on his face—you shrug. "Oh, I see. That's what you thought this was? I take you into some... secluded little alley, and I get you off?"

Sampo's mouth drops open. "I—I would've—"

"Let's not delude ourselves," you interrupt, and push your knee up between his thighs again. He makes a high, shaky noise in the back of his throat, tipping his head back against the brick wall. "D'you really think you've earned that?"

"Hm?" Sampo swallows hard, the juts in his throat flexing. "I—"

"All you do is hang around bothering me," you hiss. "And you think... what, one well-timed innuendo is all it took for me to change my mind? If you want to get off, then get off." Your knee slides against him, the stiffening in his trousers, and he makes a rather pathetic noise.

"You're not serious," he gasps, cheeks flushed scarlet. His sleepy eyes are wider than you've ever seen them and trained frantically on you. "Come on, Captain, you can't mean that. W-what would you get out of it, even?" He tries for a smirk. "I promise, if you let the reliable Sampo get his hands on you, you won't regret—mmfph?"

Your fingers slip under the stupid windows flaring over his hips, gliding over the skin there. He runs so warm, and it's ridiculous considering Belobog's perpetual winter, as you curl your fingernails into the skin of the small of his back 'till it dimples and drag his hips painstakingly over the flat of your thigh.

This time, sweet as music, he doesn't talk. His mouth drops open and he lets out a shivering moan, gloved hands scrabbling on the brick wall behind him. "You really are serious," he says in disbelief even as his hips roll absently against your leg. A strained laugh escapes him as—finally—a painfully scarlet flush starts bleeding into his cheekbones. "I always knew you Silvermanes were crazy."

"Mm. Not all of them," you say quietly. "But I am. I'm pretty crazy."

Sampo shudders, one that worms its way slowly through his whole body, and then he drops his head against your shoulder. He smells nice, like smoke and mint, his hair soft as it brushes your skin. His hips move languidly against you, stuttering occasionally, unsure—until you flex the muscle of your thigh against him. A whimper breaks free, high and whiny like shattered glass.

"You're so cruel," he groans even as his body drags against your leg. You underestimated how overwhelming it would be; his breath in the hollow of your neck makes the skin there hot and clammy, and when he moans it goes right in your ear. You're certain he's exaggerating to get your resolve to weaken. Nobody actually sounds like that.

And you can feel him, hard and hot as a brand, pushing up against your leg. You shudder almost imperceptibly, because yes, yeah, you're wondering how he would feel inside you, but you can't—not tonight, you promise yourself as your teeth grit. Tonight isn't about that.

It's about winning.

"Please," Sampo grits out, turning his head so you can see slices of his moonstone eyes through the sweaty locks of hair. "I—nngh, oh—I want inside of you."

"Take it or leave it, Koski," you say, a bit too breathlessly for your liking. He shivers with a sulky noise, and the whole time, even as he talks his hips are rolling against your leg. He picks up speed as sweat starts rolling down his skin, as his hands scrabble over the brick and then fly out to grab your waist and haul you closer. His strength is ridiculous—but so is yours. You let yourself be pulled, feeling his mouth and teeth against your ear, the breathy noises spilled across your jaw.

"Oh—please, I'm close." His eyes blink up at you, wet and deceptively innocent. The look on his face is almost heartwrending. "I need you, anything—your hand, mouth, anything, I don't care, please—"

"You're going to cum in your pants against my leg like the dog you are," you spit, your hand fisting in the hair at the nape of his neck. He yelps, the flush on his cheeks darkening, eyes fluttering shut. "And you're gonna be grateful you even got that much."

Sampo moans, broken and high; his hips stutter against your leg as his hands curl into your waist so hard you're sure they'll leave bruises. But under the pleasure is a certain frustration, a sobbing sound as he cums and it sets your blood alight. You shiver with the delight of it.

The seconds that follow feel like victory.

Sampo peels away from you, stumbling back against the brick wall behind him. He's scarlet all the way down to his chest, his mouth agape and eyes wide and glittering with unshed tears as he uncomfortably adjusts his pants. They're dark and it's night, so he can probably get away with them until he gets the chance to go home and change, but the thought of him walking around in soiled underwear thrills you.

You probably are actually crazy. Sampo's annoying, but he's quite perceptive.

He clears his throat, shifts his weight from one foot to the other. "Well. Erm. That was..." He swallows. "The great Sampo really got himself in a rather sticky situation this time, didn't I?"

"Poor choice of words," you supply, and he winces, flushing harder.

He clears his throat. "Like I said, I, erm, have somewhere to be. Nice catching up, though." He puts two fingers to his temple and flicks them into the air in a mock salute. You watch as he spins lazily on his heel, rolling his shoulders as he starts his walk back down the alleyway.

"By the way," he added, pausing a few feet away. "I certainly hope that wasn't your way of trying to dissuade me." Your eyebrows raise, and he grins; his canines are sharp, and you can see them flash when his lips peel back. "Well, be serious: once you feed a starving dog, it doesn't leave you alone, does it? It comes back for more. Maybe it even follows you home."

He leaves you with that, one last lingering look and an implication that has you burning more than anything that transpired in the last ten minutes.

You get the altogether not unpleasant feeling that this will be far from the last you see of Sampo Koski.

[best-nun-tournament]

Round 3, Match 1

The Reverend Daughter Harrowhark Nonagesimus (The Locked Tomb) vs Mercedes von Martritz (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)

Harrow is a nun of the Ninth House. She's been described as a space goth necromancer fantasy sci-fi bone nun.

Mercedes von Martritz is a nun of the Church of Saint Seiros at Garreg Mach Monastery.

The Reverend Daughter Harrowhark Nonagesimus

She’s great. She has so many fucking problems. She’s been running the goth space convent since she was 10. She’s puppeting her dead parents around. She doesn’t like tastes. She is extremely passionate about bones. She’s locked in a twisted bond of love and violence and devotion and sacrifice with her childhood best enemy. She lobotomized herself to preserve the best enemy’s soul. She’s been in love with the corpse of the Devil all her life. She goes around in bone jewelry and skull face paint. She’s a sad wet cat who was born in a cardboard box all alone, etc. She chopped another woman’s arm off and regrew a skeleton arm, in a sexual way. She has awkward little fireside chats with God where he makes millennia-old meme references at her and she does not drink the proffered tea. She saw God make a your mom joke and it “destroyed some cavern of her reverence”. She’s even gay. She’s everything.

Mercedes von Martritz

Mercedes was born to the fallen House Martritz and bore a minor Crest of Lamine, a special type of blood that gave it's bearer enhanced abilities. Her father died shortly afterwards and Mercedes' mother remarried into House Bartels, giving birth to Emile von Bartels, who also had a minor Crest of Lamine. Mercie's stepfather was uncaring and only married for his new wife's crest which led to said wife's departure from House Bartels. She ran away with only her eldest child to the Kingdom, where Mercedes would really start her own life as a student of Fhirdiad's Royal School of Sorcery. There, she befriended Annette Fantine Dominic and both girls would later attend Garreg Mach Monastery together. Mercedes is a kind soul with a soft voice and the ability to speak her mind. She's the eldest student attending the Officer's Accademy and takes it upon herself to be a shoulder of support for her classmates, no matter their origin. When the timeskip hits, Mercie returns in a nun's garb and expresses reinforced belief in the Church, even in the route where you fight against the Archbishop. I find her extremely fascinating due to her sub-plot with her brother, Emile. Mercedes held deep regret for leaving her brother behind in House Bartels despite not knowing that he had chosen to stay behind to protect her and her mother. Emile later returns as The Death Knight, a general under the Flame Emperor's command and his story with his sister changes depending on the player's route. Should the player oppose the Flame Emperor, Emile and Mercie can reunite briefly, with The Death Knight granting Mercedes a relic that can only be operated by their Crest before dying in her arms in a later battle, happy to be with his family once again. In the event that the player does side with the Flame Emperor, The Death Knight becomes playable alongside his sister, revealing thatthe years spent in House Bartels changed him, giving rise to two distinct personalities: Jeritza von Hyrm and The Death Knight. Jeritza had been a teacher at Garreg Mach, serving as a spy to the Flame Emperor while The Death Knight quelled his bloodlust under the Flame Emperor's orders. In this route, Mercedes reaches out to both Jeritza and The Death Knight as their elder sister and the exchanges they have are some of my favorites in Fire Emblem history. Also Mercie is bisexual and both M!player and F!player can marry her in the end, regardless of route. Love her for that

[redeyerhaenyra]

Steven's been bad...

Summary: Steven's been a bad boy. You punish him. And then take care of him afterwards :)

Warnings: Smut, fem reader, mommy/mummy kink, sub/bratty Steven, reader doesn't cum, meandom!reader, cbt, spanking with a riding crop, usage of the words "manwhore" "slut", Steven gets his balls spanked, yeah reader is very mean in this one, but dw there is some BOMB aftercare, subspace Steven, separation anxiety Steven, no beta we die like harrow, let me know if I've missed anything!

Notes: I really needed to get some anger off my chest can you tell? Lmao.

Wc: 2.5k

Steven’s eyes were wide. "Darlin' 'm sorry, shouldn't have said that I know, please love-" A glare from you cut him off, and he whimpered. You were fuming.

He had been such a fucking brat, you were through with it. The fire in your eyes was clear that begging for mercy would not work this time...

Seething was your gaze, it forced Steven to stare at the floor. "Oh you're sorry? You're sorry??" You brought your hand forward, and dug your nails into Steven's cheeks;

"Get on your knees and open your fucking mouth."

His eyes go wide, and you can see the fear pool in his pupils. The feeling of your nails digging into his cheeks stings almost delightfully. A part of him wants to do as he's told.

And so he does. Steven does as he's told, lowers himself to his knees in front of you and obediently opens his mouth. Patiently he waits, for whatever punishment you have in store for him.

You gather up saliva in your mouth, roughly spitting into Steven's open one, in a show of possession and dominance.

"Swallow it all."

Steven does as he's told and swallows immediately. He's trembling slightly, and moans as he feel it go down his throat. He's not used to you being this dominant, but then again... he's never been this much of a brat before. He likes it. He feels his jeans become a little too tight.

You hum at the sight, somewhat satisfied by Steven's obedience.

"I would call you a good boy, but you're not very good, are you?"

Suddenly, you push one of your stiletto heels into Steven's groin He gasps in pain when the stiletto heel is pushed into his groin. It hurts, but there's something about it that's pleasing, and Steven finds himself grinding up into the pressure of it. "No...I'm not...momma." He whimpers, but he's still being brave and not crying.

"Ohohoh, you think you'll impress me by not crying? Huh? Want me to think your mummy's brave boy?"

You cruelly press your heel down further. "Cry for me, come on, fucking cry, filthy little boy."

He cries out, and sniffles. Tears fill in his eyes so cutely, but he bit his lip in an effort to halt himself from breaking down into tears. "M...momma...your heel hurts...so good," he whimpers. Steven's body is trembling, and his dick twitches in his pants, you feel the heat of it through your shoe. "I-I'm...I don' wanna cry...I'm not a baby...I'm your man," he says, scared, but it feels so good.

You laugh in his face. "Oh really? Men don't argue with their girlfriends like that. You really hurt my feelings, yeah? Only baby boy's do that. And mummy is going to treat you like her baby boy until you learn to behave."

You finally withdraw your heel from his crotch, he sighs in relief, but also whines pathetically from the loss of pressure.

"S-sorry, 'm sorry," he whimpers. Steven would never have considered you dominating him in such a way would feel so good. Being treated like a naughty boy, who needs to be disciplined by momma.. it drove him wild.

You sigh, looking down upon the mess of which you've made of your boyfriend. As Steven looks back up at you, he thinks to himself how angelic you look. In a soft show of affection, letting him know he was still safe and loved, you extend your hand and help Steven up to his feet, walking him to the nearest table.

"Bend over for me."

He whimpers and does as he's told, bending over the nearest table and waiting, not knowing what's coming. But he'll do anything for you. He's your baby boy.

"Stay." You command, exiting the room to fetch something Steven can't see, and even though you return soon enough, with Steven falling deeper into subspace, he feels a sense of anxiousness of you not being with him. He doesn't disobey, staying right where you left him, but he finds himself whining quietly for your return.

Once you do, you quickly pull down Steven's jeans and boxers down his legs in one go, exposing his cute bum to the cold air. A lithe, leather thing was ran slowly up his skin. A riding crop. "How many do you think you deserve, hm?"

He's shaking. His body is ecstatic and his mind is filled with thoughts of you and the pleasure that he knows he's about to feel. Steven’s cock is already leaking in anticipation, dribbling pre onto the floor. You were right, he was not a good boy. He looks back at you, eyes big and shiny; "I deserve everything, momma...please hurt me...I've been awful," he whimpers, but he's smiling at you. Little fucking brat. He wants it to hurt? He wants pain? He'll get it.

You hum, disguising your annoyance. Once, you spank him with riding crop.

"That's true... how about I spank you until I feel better, yes?"

Steven shivers and whines when you spank him. The pain is harsh, and hot, but it feels just so good. He wants more. "Y-yes! Please...just as much as you want to give me," he moans. He bites his lip, as pain-filled as the spankings are, they twist inside him, transforming into pleasure that runs deep to his cock, throbbing with every hit. You free hand rests on the small of his back, a small comfort as you continue to spank him, making sure none of his rear end was spared. You even spanked his tight rim, and his balls. You really were pissed.

He moans loud with each, swift stroke. Each one pushes him further and further toward climax. It hurts, so much, but it's just so damn good. He begs for more hits, each one feeling just as spine-tingling as the last. "More...please, mummy', more."

"You fucking manwhore- it's not supposed to he enjoyable." You hit his balls harder with the riding crop, only now noticing how hard Steven's cock had gotten.

"Slut. Is this supposed to make mummy feel that you're taking your punishment? Huh? Getting hard? Your little tiny dick all red and leaky, huh?"

Steven isn't sure what to feel. Half of him is full of shame, hoping you wouldn't have noticed. The other half is just so bubbly with pleasure, that he doesn't even care. The brattiness in him wants to smirk and piss you off, so that you'll spank him even harder. Instead, he choses the route he thinks will sate your lusting anger. Steven is nothing if not a people pleaser. "I...mumma, I'm sorry...I really didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, 'm sorry-" He just keeps whimpering, poor thing. It's so embarrassing to be turned on by this. But he loves it at the same time.

You growl. But, you become more willing to forgive him. Finishing your spanks, Steven's rear now red and raw, as well as his hole, and his balls. You leans forward to kiss each of his buttcheeks, wrapping your arms around him from behind, teasingly inching your hands closer to his leaking member.

"Have you learned your lesson?"

Steven whimpers and moans as you kiss him. He can never escape your love, and he doesn't want to. His eyes roll back and he lets out a little shriek of excitement when your hands draw near to his now painfully hard dick.

"M...mummy',felt so good. I've learned, I promise I've learned," he says, trembling uncontrollably, but he's still smiling.

You hum, once again, still not yet gracing him by touching his cock.

"And what lesson was that? What did you learn not to do?"

"I'm...sorry for what I said. I hurt your feelings...I won't ever do it again," he mumbles. He's happy to apologize for anything if it means that you will keep holding him in your arms. He feels so lucky.

You nod slowly. Finally grasping his length, thumbing the sensitive tip and dragging your hand up and down to create pleasurable friction. Steven keened, leaning into your hand, revelling in the feeling of your thumb teasing his length. You're so gentle now, so sweet with him. His tears flow freely this time, and you lean around him to kiss them away, secure in knowing that they are tears of finally having his sensitive cock touched properly. You kissed his cheek, and your grip got tighter and faster, and due to already being so sensitive, Steven reached his climax quickly, spurting himself all over the floor, simpering and moaning, knees almost bucking underneath him. It took a few moments longer for him to finish cumming, and there was so much of it! Shining wetly on the floor. What a messy little boy. You gently coax him through it though, knowing that at this point he'd be too far gone into subspace to look after himself properly.

Your voice was soft now, your eyes weren't firey anymore, only warm and soothing. "Let's get you into bed baby boy, yeah?"

His face is soaked with tears. You're right, he's deep in subspace. But he's never felt so loved, and so thankful to be loved.

He nods up at you. "Yes mama.." Poor steven can barely even stand on his own two feet. He's so exhausted and worn out now.

"Please, take me," he whimpers. "I need you, mama.."

You can't help smiling at him. "Come on baby, you did so well. Mummy's so proud of you." Gently, you lead Steven to your shared bed, laying him down. Quickly, you grab some wet wipes and rash cream from the bathroom, trying your hardest to not drop everything and return to him when you hear his pained whines for you to come back. You do come back as fast as you can, cleaning up his messy cock, and apologising for how cold it the wet wipe was, then turning him over, and rubbing a thin layer of sudocrem onto his sore bum, to sooth the pain the riding crop had inflicted. Soon you'd removed Steven's sweat covered shirt aswell, and replaced it with some comfy pajamas for him to wear. Finally, you tucked him into bed, kissing his forehead.

He had moaned when the cold wet wipe ran across his length, but your touch felt so nice, he's able to overlook the coldness. You make sure he's comfortable, that he's clean and safe. And when you tuck him in and kiss his forehead, a whimper of relief exits his body. You're going to take care of him and love him forever, and that just makes him so happy.

You sit on the bed next to him, and he looks up you softly, his eyes filled with adoration. "Baby, I need to go clean the kitchen for a moment, okay? But mumma's gonna be right back, okay honey?"

He whimpers out a positive response... but then his mind races.. what if you just disappeared? What if you never come back? Afterall, he's just a little baby, who needs his mumma.

"W-Will you come right back, mummy?" He mumbles quietly, his voice filled with desperation and anxiousness.

"Of course baby boy, in fact-" You reach under the bed, "I got my baby boy a little something for just such an occasion."

In your hands you now hold a cute, fluffy Teddy bear. "He's for you, baby. You can name him whatever you like, and whenever you need mummy, and she's not there, you can hold him instead, ok baby?"

Steven's sparkly eyes go wide. You got him a teddy bear? Just for him? He's such a lucky little boy! He's wants to say "thank you so much," but all that comes out is a happy whine. You've given him the best gift. He's going to be okay. Even when you're not here, he'll be okay. Because he's got his teddy bear.

You kiss Steven's head again. "Good boy baby, I'll be right back."

Before you go, you hear a soft noise from Steven. He cuddles his new teddy bear tightly, trying very hard to stay calm and not cry for you to stay. He's still in subspace, but he's trying. As he waits patiently for you return, steven stares up at the ceiling. He wonders where you are... but he still doesn't leave the bed. He wants to stay where you put him. That's what a good little boy does. He waits, and he's patient. And he's so very, very happy to have his teddy bear.

It's hard for you to leave him, but you do, letting Steven snuggle up with his new toy. It only took a couple minutes to wipe up Steven's spend from the floor- but you had another thing planned, inadvertently leaving Steven alone for longer than you intended.

Luckily you weren't gone for too many minutes more. You returned, bearing a tray of soothing warm tea and biscuits, and you set it on the bedside table. "Come here baby, you don't have to drink it all but have a little sip of tea for Mummy, ok?"

Steven sits up, and he takes the smallest sips of his tea. His teddy bear sits next to him, and he pets it as he drinks. He makes sure to obey you and drink his tea. He doesn't want to be a bad boy, not now at least.

You didn't expect him to, but finishes all of his tea, and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "I-I drank the tea for you. Was that good, mummy?"

You stroke his dark curls. "Yes, good boy. I'll leave the biscuits here on the side, you can some whenever you like okay? But if you want to have a little nap now, that's ok too."

Finally, you climb into bed next to him, Steven noting how tired you looked aswell. Domming could be tiring too.

He nods happily at you, and he looks to the tray of biscuits. He'd like some, but not right now. He lays back down, and gets comfortable, cuddling his teddy bear.

"Mmm...mummy, can I keep my teddy bear in bed with me? You know...so I don't get lonely or anythin'," he murmurs, his voice soft. Poor baby doesn't want to be difficult, but a teddy bear is a very important thing for a little boy.

You chuckle. "Of course you can baby boy," you say, wrapping your arms around Steven as he nuzzled himself into your breasts.

"Mumma's so proud of you baby boy."

"Thank you, mummy," he says, nuzzling in to you further, his face buried in your chest. " 'm glad you're proud of me..."

Steven makes himself as comfortable as possible, and as he does, he relaxes. He's exhausted. All of the spanking, and the tea, and the comfort...it's finally starting to catch up with him. "I'm so..." He starts to drift off. "So...tired."

"Go to sleep then, baby." You smile, and kiss his head.

"Mummy loves you."

He's too tired to fully grasp what you say, but he hears the words "mummy loves you," and that makes him feel so warm and fuzzy, so loved. And subsequently the thought of being so loved by you, makes him a little emotional. He looks up at you, and for a second, you can see the glimmer of tears in his eyes. But then, he drifts off, softly snoring in your arms...

[czolgusszy]

the plot of harrow the ninth as an aita post. my subs (10,043 m, 10,037 f, 10,028 m, 22 f, 18 f) tried to unionize and so i disintegrated one of them and fought another to the death. am i the asshole?

[cerastes]

I love Kazemaru, man, she’s so funny conceptually.

Kazemaru is a former Higashi ninja, now Rhodes Island Operator, and she specializes in espionage and intelligence work, but is also a capable combatant. Nothing out of the ordinary so far, and her reason for joining Rhodes Island? “A clash between her own views and the new head's business goals”. Here’s where a little elaboration is necessary:

Kazemaru is a ninja, with all that entails: Espionage, assassination, sabotage, bodyguarding, you name it, Kazemaru did it, she did it with pride, she did it with professionalism. When serving her old lord, Kazemaru was right at home, having been trained since she was a child by her ninja parents to be one of the lord’s ninja. Now, here’s where you may think “Oh, but the constant ninja business, the espionage, the assassinations, the harrowing life of the underworld... It got to her, and she moved to a place where she could use her skills to help people instead, Rhodes Island, like some of the other repentant assassins, right?”

Nope! She fucking loved being a ninja! She REALLY REALLY liked that lifestyle!

Head covered in mud, tailing a target for days on end, sabotaging an enemy organization, making them lose everything... It was her life. Kazemaru truthfully thrived in this environment. For instance, when she just started at Rhodes Island, she’d beeline for the conference room to regurgitate mountains of information for Kal’tsit and others.

But what Kazemaru didn’t consider was the power of the children of Rhodes Island:

By chance, they found out that Kazemaru has the power to make origami constructs move (which is how she makes her clones) and they thought it was the dopest shit ever, so they were like “PLEASE TEACH US” and battle-hardened ninja veteran Kazemaru was like “oh damn I can’t just leave them hanging, that would complicate the workplace situation maybe, that’s SUB-OPTIMAL, I will just act friendly a bit and then move on”, except OOPS she ends up really loving these children so now she legitimately is smiling and having fun with them.

So then... Why DID she come to Rhodes Island in the first place?

Well, her old lord passed away, presumably due to old age and illness, and then the young lord succeeded him. Kazemaru was ready to ninja her heart out for her lord’s successor, ready to give it her ALL. Instead, the young lord, well, went legit and turned the underworld organization into a legitimate business. He hit Kazemaru with the You Are Now An OL Beam.

And she hated every last second of it.

Day in and day out, office work, meetings, cordialities, idle smiles, plastic hearts. Her skills dulled to the point where a flower pot fell from a window and landed square on her head. So Kazemaru stood there, owned in front of the girls, bits of the pot and soil and some of her blood all trickling down from her head, and she said “ENOUGH”. She went to her young lord and said “hey this fucking sucks dude I HATE being an OL. RELEASE me.”

Because Kazemaru is that kind of person.

And she got her freedom.

And she couldn’t be happier to be back where one mistake can be the end of it all. Because Kazemaru simply is that kind of person.

And you couldn’t possibly tell at first glance! She is legitimately a very nice, sweet, stylish girl! But the moment there is some semblance of peace, of stability in her life, it gnaws at her. Is she becoming dull? Is that thrilling danger truly gone? Is this right? And the answer is always, no, this isn’t right. The stillness of peace can’t sate her. The clashing of bone and sinew, the embrace of the shadows, and thrill of espionage... That’s what Kazemaru lives for. Hell, she even offers Doctor to gather intel for them almost for funsies:

It’s just delightfully ironic that the person whose job is to be secretive and a shadow is so immensely open, so transparent, so easy to understand, she doesn’t even particularly keep it a secret.

“Yeah, the new lord tore up the oaths and made us sign regular contracts instead, then gave us office work. I hated every single second of it.”

The only real question is... Why Rhodes Island? We actually don’t know. Her Module elaborates just a bit further into this turn of events: When her young lord eventually approved of her release, he specifically told her “alright, sure, you can go, BUT you should consider Rhodes Island.”

It might be that this young lord is a business partner/ally of Rhodes Island to some capacity and we might learn more of him and the company when we eventually cover Higashi.

So Kazemaru is really, really good at her job, really enjoys living in the jaws of danger, and when her young lord, possibly with good intentions, thrusts her and her colleagues into a peaceful life where they don’t need to risk their lives in dangerous missions anymore, she hates it so much she can’t bear it anymore, because some people simply are born to be steeped in danger and shadows, and you can’t take that away from them. And it doesn’t stop them from being very nice, sweet people! But when all is said and done, where Kazemaru belongs is in the shadow, mere inches away from a mistake that could end her life, at the border of life and death.

And she wouldn’t have it any other way.

Kazemaru and Mlynar should have a conversation in which they complain about HATING being OLs. 4 uninterrupted cutscenes in which they just shit talk office work nonstop, in a Rhodes Island hallway, making it REALLY awkward for a bunch of characters that just wanna go to the other side of the hallway.