#suck on 'at lord virgin

[m4rs-ex3]

will never stop thinking about viren calling callum "an impudent little mongrel who was spoiled and given everything." especially when the 14 year old (who might i add has been half-orphaned 2 [essentially 3] times now and who is evidently maladapted and ridiculed for the position he never asked to be in yuh uh) rose to the exact same position as him with monumentally less shortcuts and significantly higher morals within the span of like a month

[gojorgeous]

"creature of myth."

pairing: vampire!gojo x fem!human!reader summary: when you receive an offer of marriage from a mysterious wealthy lord, it’s too good a deal for your family to turn down. but nothing could be so perfect... right? content: MDNI (18+  ONLY), dark content, nsfw, gets dubcon/noncon in some spots, yandere behavior from gojo, implied death/k*lling of a character (not reader or gojo), arranged marriage, victorian au, plot that ends with porn lmao, spooky dooky vibes, blood, blood sucking/eating, praise, biting, unprotected sex, creampie, virgin!reader, discussion of virginity, cherry popping, pain, pet names (princess/love), reader is highkey clueless about sex, discussion of masturbation, ideas of masturbation as “sinful”, very minor religious themes, fated “mates”, gojo is highkey insane, coercion and manipulation, like SO much neck kissing, ooc gojo??? (had to alter his character to match a victorian vampire lord LMAO). a/n: PLEASE READ THE CONTENT WARNINGS. THERE IS DARK CONTENT AHEAD. is this a gojo fic or a twilight fic?? Going back to my roots fr fr. straight down to the “SAY IT, SAY IT”. this fic is also way too long my apologies bbs. i hope you like a hefty side of plot with your porn. parts of this fic feel way too cheesy to me but sometimes i eat that up, yk?? this fic was inspired by this amazing work by @rice5x ! and, finally, thank you all for the support on my most recent fics. i'm just getting back into being active on this blog and it's been amazing reading each and every comment/reblog/ask. they genuinely fill me with so much joy. keep them coming hehe. anyway, i hope you enjoy and remember, ALL AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED. credits: dividers by @cafekitsune. banner art by @ndsoda on twitter. wc: 11.6k (sowwy)

You remember perfectly the way your mother’s jaw dropped when Satoru Gojo proposed to you. You’d never seen the man, and you still hadn’t. He’d asked to marry you via messenger, a simple letter delivered by hand with a list of all the things he’d be willing to pay for your hand. Offers of money, land, protection, connection- anything so long as he got you. You’d thought it was a joke. Your father nearly took a shovel to the head of the poor messenger, thinking the letter was some kind of cruel prank, some sort of targeted disrespect. You’d only started to believe when you really looked- saw the Gojo crest embroidered on the man’s suit, the fine leather of his boots. If it was a prank, somebody had spent a great deal of money and effort to pull it off. 

You’d asked for proof nonetheless, and you’d gotten it. Documents signed and sealed with a well-known waxen crest, gifts that could only have been purchased by a wealthy lord. The one thing you never got was the lord himself. He refused to see you, to come down from his mysterious castle on the hill. It didn’t surprise you. He rarely deemed town worthy of his presence. He had a reputation as a recluse, as a man who only ever liked to see and never be seen. What little glimpses people got of him were usually through the dark window of his carriage. Still, his appearance preceded him. White hair, light eyes… “haunting” said those who had the luck to see him. Those who went to work for the lord tended to return… changed— if they returned at all. 

You accepted, of course. How could you not? You were a peasant family with no status or wealth to your name. The promises Lord Gojo had made would make your parents into aristocrats all on their own. But that left you wondering… why did he want you? You offered him no benefit. If anything, you sullied his bloodline. The question scratched at the back of your mind. It came to you while you ate breakfast, while you washed your clothes, while you weeded in the garden. Some part of you told you that you needed the answer before you ever stepped foot in that castle. You needed that answer, but you’d never get it. 

Your wedding wasn’t even a wedding- just a piece of paper that had already been signed and witnessed, once again delivered by a familiar messenger. You signed at your dining room table and… that was that. You were married. 

Later that night the carriages arrive. Men flood your home, all dressed in blue velvet, the Gojo crest embroidered on their chests. They seem puzzled when you tell them you’ve packed all your belongings into a measly three bags. 

You say a quick goodbye to your parents, drawing them into stiff embraces. You love them, and they love you, but you can’t bear to see their faces as they send you away to a man who couldn’t even show his face for your wedding. 

The carriage ride is somehow longer than you’d thought it would be- apparently, the castle’s size makes it seem deceptively close. The trip is rocky and twisty and altogether unpleasant as you steadily make your way toward the castle gates. By the time you reach them you think you’ve probably dozed in and out of consciousness at least half a dozen times. 

The castle is even more intimidating up close. Spires that swirl into the clouds, sculptures that stare, doors that look more suited to being locked than opened. It’s… terrifying. 

When you finally roll to a stop, you move for the door. When you swing it open you get your fair share of strange looks from your attendants and remember that you should have waited for the footman. Your face heats as you climb out anyway, unwilling to subject yourself to the further humiliation of waiting for assistance. 

Your feet hit gravel and all you can do is stare- up, up, up, to where the castle’s peaks disappear into the fog. When your eye flashes to a window on the east side of the manor you think you see a swaying curtain. You tuck your arms around yourself and shiver, but it’s not from the cold. 

You nearly stumble over your feet on your first step inside. The entrance hall is larger than your former house, with ceilings that stretch so high you can hardly make out the figures on the frescoes that adorn it. Silver and blue drape everywhere, the Gojo family colors. You swallow when you see a chair that is most definitely worth more than your family’s annual income. 

The floors are marble and when your worn heels clack against it, you only feel reminded that you don’t belong here. That question pricks in your mind again as you pass portraits of every Gojo heir to have lived in the last three hundred years. Why me? Why me? Why me? 

Your footman deposits you in your room, a place more lavish than you’ve ever seen. You have a four poster bed with a canopy of blue velvet, a window that overlooks a sprawling estate, and more square footage than you’ve ever dreamed of. 

“Pull this if you need any sort of assistance, ma’am.” 

You turn to see your footman referencing a silver cord at your bedside. You assume it’s one of those contraptions that rings a bell in the servants’ quarters. You try to hide your amazement- you’ve never seen one in real life before. 

You clear your throat and give your most ladylike nod. “Thank you, um-” you pause, your brow furrowing. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I asked your name.” 

Your footman appears stunned to silence, like he’d never expected you to care about his existence, much less his name. He recovers quickly, though, and forces a small smile. “Thomas, ma’am.”

You smile and it’s genuine. “Thank you, Thomas.”He bows and makes a beeline for the door, but you have one more question. “Oh, um, Thomas-” He freezes, turning slowly on his heel to face you. 

“Yes, my lady?” 

You cringe at the title. The sound of it creeps across your skin, foreign and… wrong. Why me? Why me? Why me?

You clear your throat again. “Do you know, um, well-” You shift, trying to word your question properly. “Do you know when I might see the Lord?” 

There is a pause, a moment of tension and silence, and then an answer. “No, my lady.”

Thomas does not stick around for more questioning. The door clicks shut behind him and then you're left with only the sound of retreating footsteps. 

You’re stunned to say the least, mouth still halfway open, more questions on the tip of your tongue. Should you seek him out? Was that proper? Would he come to you? Would he meet you for dinner, perhaps? Surely he would come to your room tonight to… consummate. Would that be the first time you lay eyes on him? When he’s over you? 

You sigh. There’s nothing much to be done about it now. You find your way to the bed and sit down hesitantly. It feels like a crime to rumple such primped and polished cotton. You do it anyway- it’s going to happen sometime, right? You fall back against the mattress and don’t fail to notice how utterly comfortable it is. The silvery patterns on your canopy swirl and bend together. You’re tired. You didn’t sleep much last night, anxious for the morning… and it’s only mid-afternoon now. You had time for a nap, right? Your eyes are closing before you can convince yourself it’s a bad idea and then you’re swept away into a world of warm darkness. 

You wake with a start. Your first thought is that it’s dark now. Your room is pitch black except for the stream of moonlight passing through your stupidly large window. Your mouth feels dry and your skin is cold, like you’ve just woken from a nightmare. If you have, you don’t remember it. Perhaps that’s a blessing. 

You sit up, combing a finger through your hair and laughing pitifully when you realize that you left your shoes on as you slept. You hope Thomas didn’t walk in to find you in yet another unladylike position. A glance at the foot of the bed reveals he might have. Your bags have arrived- all three of them. You eye them with a combination of longing and contempt. They don't match this place. They’re worn and used- everything here is shiny and new. Still, they’re all you have, and all you have left of your life before. All you have left of home. 

You stretch your arms above your head, nearly groaning at the burn in your muscles. The carriage ride did your body no favors and you suspect you’ll be sore for many days to come. 

You rise, no longer content to lie in bed. You’ve had your rest and, from the state of darkness outside, you suspect your new husband might be joining you soon. The thought twists a certain tightness into your gut, but you push it aside. If that was the price you paid for all he gave your family… then you’d pay it gladly. 

You start with candles, finding a box of matches at your bedside. You light every candelabra you can find. The room, the castle, seems so perpetually… black- like it soaks up every ray of light it touches. Even when you’ve finished it doesn’t feel like enough. You make a note to ask Thomas for more in the morning. 

You find a meal, carefully prepared and preserved, on a table near your dresser. Judging by the fact that it’s still warm, you conclude that it can’t be much past mid-evening. You originally intend to pick at the food as you unpack, but one bite has your mouth watering. It is the most delicious thing to ever touch your lips, complete with dessert waiting on the side. You clean your plate before moving onto your bags. 

You lay your clothes out on the bed. A few dresses, riding pants, undergarments, an assortment of ribbons and bows. At one time these items had been the finest things you owned- now you owned a castle. 

You find an armoire that looks like a master sculptor carved its edges and grab a dress, intending to hang it. Instead, your dress hits the floor when you part the doors to find the hangers already full. Your lips part. Luxury dresses of silk and satin line the rack, fading into some that appear more casual outfits of cotton and linen. You stretch a hand out, curious and utterly… amazed. To think your new husband had gone to all the effort… Your hand brushes purple silk and- 

“Do you like them?” 

You screech, jumping to face the voice at your back. It takes a moment for your eyes to find him, leaning casually against one post of your bed. Your breath is stolen for a second time. Snow white hair, piercingly blue eyes, pale soft skin… you know who he is even without looking at his dress, at the air of authority he claims. He’s your husband… and he is the most devastatingly beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. 

He laughs, then, and it’s a warmer sound than you’d thought it would be- rich and full. A sound that seeps into your bones and settles in your soul. 

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, but the twinkle in his eyes makes you think that perhaps that’s a lie. 

Your heart pounds and your eyes flash to the door. It’s shut. You didn’t hear it open, nor did you hear it close behind him. You also didn’t hear footsteps, didn’t hear breaths, didn’t hear him. 

He follows your gaze and laughs again, though it sounds a bit… strained? 

“I have a habit of being unintentionally lightfooted. I apologize.” 

Your heart is still pounding but you find it in yourself to have some decorum. You snap your jaw shut and bow your head slightly in respect. “You must be Lord Gojo. Forgive me for my insolence.” 

There’s a beat, and then footsteps– ones you actually hear this time. You clench your jaw when he stops before you and then nearly gasp when he takes your hand and brings it to his lips. 

“Satoru, please,” he winks and you think you might stop breathing. “I am your husband after all.” 

You force yourself to nod, to swallow, to act normal. But how can you in the presence of a man that looks like… that? There’s something too unreal about him, too perfect. It’s almost… unsettling. 

“Of course… Satoru.” 

He straightens and shows you a close-lipped smile that digs a dimple into his left cheek. You have to look away to avoid stumbling over your own feet. 

“So, do you like them?” Your brows furrow- “The dresses,” he clarifies. 

“O-oh.” Your features relax into an easy smile. You turn back to your armoire, running a hand along another gown. You don’t think you’ve ever touched something so… finely made. “I like them very much. I don’t know how to thank you.” 

There’s a little chuckle as you turn to face him again and you have to steel yourself before you meet his eyes. He’s mesmerizing, too mesmerizing. You think you could probably lose yourself in those eyes forever… 

“No need to thank me. If they don’t fit, we’ll call for the seamstress in the morning.” 

You nod softly, still lost to the situation. There’s a beat of silence in which your husband does nothing but… look at you. His eyes roam freely and the hair on your arms stands under his gaze. He traces the lines of your nose and jaw and lingers on your pulse. Can he see just how fast your heart is pounding?

“Did you… get dinner?” It’s a stupid question, you know, but you don’t think you can bear another second of that look he’s giving you. “I fell asleep and found a plate. I hope I didn’t prevent a proper meal…” You trail off. Perhaps you shouldn’t have pointed out your own shortcoming? 

He gives you another smile and you swear he inches just a little closer. “You did no such thing. I’m… perfectly satisfied.” 

You nod, glad that he doesn’t seem upset at the very least. Your lips press together, unsure of what to do or say. You’ve never had a husband before. Wasn’t he supposed to just sort of… put you on the bed and… do it?

Your eyes flit to said bed and your husband must see because he hurries to continue. 

“Well, I’ll see you in the morning then, hm?” His eyes flit to your armoire and back again. “Wear the blue dress with the lace to breakfast, yeah? Been dying to see it on you.” He chuckles like he’s just told some sort of amusing joke.

Your brows furrow. That was… not the topic you’d been expecting. “You’re not…” You feel your cheeks heat and tighten your jaw. “Not staying the night?” 

His lashes lower a fraction and those eyes pierce you again. You don’t think you could move even if you wanted to, even with him prowling closer, each step eating up the space between you. He doesn’t stop until you’re nose to nose and you can feel his breath fanning over your cheeks. It’s cold somehow, chilling, and you shiver. He smirks. 

“Not tonight.” 

His head dips and for a moment you think he’s going to kiss you, but then he’s bypassing your mouth altogether and- his lips connect to your pulse. His mouth is cool, just like his breath, and you shiver uncontrollably under his touch. 

His touch is just a fleeting moment, just a wrinkle in time, and then he’s gone. His footsteps are quiet brushes on the hardwood and the creak of the door even seems tamed in his presence. 

“Goodnight,” is all he says, and then he’s gone. 

You climb into your bed an hour later wondering what in the world just happened. 

~  

You do wear the blue dress to breakfast and you can only gape in the mirror when you realize that it fits perfectly. It has you second-guessing yourself. Had you sent your measurements in advance and forgotten about it? No, you’d only sent a handful of pieces of information to the Lord prior to your marriage and you remembered all of them very clearly. Everything had gone through a messenger, everything had been clear and direct– you would have remembered sending your measurements– you didn’t. So had he just… guessed? 

That seemed impossible with how everything fit you like a glove, but it was the only explanation you had. The only one that made sense. 

When you join Satoru for breakfast it’s in a sitting room as lavishly decorated as the rest of the castle, but perhaps organized to be a bit more… liveable. He has no plate in front of him, only a tin cup that hides the contents of whatever he’s drinking. You assume coffee or juice. Perhaps he’s just not a breakfast person. 

“It fits!” he says. His hands clasp together in front of him and he smiles again, dimples and all. 

You nod and fight the heat that bubbles beneath your cheeks as you take your seat. “Yes, perfectly.”

A plate is set before you and a glance up reveals it’s Thomas serving your breakfast. You smile, hoping for some acknowledgement from him, for a small piece of comfort. Instead, you get his averted gaze and quick retreat. Your brows furrow, but before you can say anything, Satoru is back to speaking. 

“I hope Thomas treated you well yesterday?” 

You glance up, but Satoru’s eyes aren’t on you, they’re on your footman. His smile is bright, but it’s anything but friendly. You fight a shiver. 

You glance at Thomas. He’s perfectly still, perfectly straight, but you think you see a muscle clench in his jaw. You clear your throat. “Y-Yes. Thomas was very helpful.” When Satoru keeps staring the boy down you add, “-and very respectful.” 

That seems to satisfy. Satoru breaks his stare and some of the tension in the air instantly eases. He shoots you another dimpled smile, this one with a little more warmth. “Perfect.” 

There’s a beat and then he’s standing, draining whatever he has in his cup and then straightening his jacket. “Well, I have some work to do. I’ll see you for dinner?” He’s grinning again, like it’s so normal for a man to abandon his bride on their wedding night and then again the morning after. All you can do is nod. He chuckles. “See you then, princess.” And then he’s gone.

~

If this is to be your life you don't know how you will survive it. You spend the day milling about. Through the gardens, through the castle, through the stables. Thomas is never far behind, but any attempt at conversation is nipped in the bud by hit shortness. It’s like he fears coming too close. He’s never closer than a couple paces except when he has to bring you something, only to retreat again as soon as possible. The other servants barely pay you any mind apart from giving you a respectful greeting and then immediately averting their eyes. There is no work to be done, no guests to be had, no parties to plan… and no Satoru. You don’t see your husband once on tour around the grounds. You ask Thomas where his office is only for him to vaguely point out a window in the east tower. You don’t see so much as a ripple in the curtains. 

Dinner comes around at the pace of a snail. When it’s finally time to get dressed a lady’s maid whose name you don’t even catch arrives to help you lace your dress. As soon as your corset is deemed tight enough she’s back out the door with a curtsy. Thomas leads you to the dining room and your eyes roam the whole way. Even after having spent the whole day exploring, there are halls and corridors that you’ve yet to step foot in. 

The dining room is just as gorgeous as the rest of the place– filled with singular items that could feed entire families for years. Somehow, you think you’ve already grown accustomed to such things, since the only thing you truly care to look at is your husband. Satoru’s already seated, but he stands when you enter, looping around the table to pull a chair out for you. 

You give him your most genuine smile, accepting a kiss to your knuckles in greeting before you settle. “How was your day?” you ask as he takes his seat again. 

He chuckles. “Perfectly fine. And how was yours, princess?” Your nose crinkles. That’s the second time he’s called you that. Something about it feels wrong. You’re still getting used to being a lady. Princess feels even worse. 

“It was… good.”

You watch a perfect white brow arch in the candlelight. “Oh? Just good?” You don’t miss the way his eyes flicker to the corner– to Thomas. 

You hurry to elaborate. “Well, I just– I can’t help but feel as if there’s not much… use for me.” Servants flood in, some carrying wine, others carrying trays that hold more food than the both of you could ever possibly consume. 

That brow arches impossibly higher. “Use?” His lips crack into that smile again, but it’s tight this time. Too tight. “You have no use. You only enjoy yourself. Surely Thomas has told you that.” 

A plate of steaming food plops in front of you. Even its heavenly smell can’t quell the sudden dread in your gut. “Of course! Of course he did.” Your stomach twists and you decide that perhaps now is not the time to press the subject. “I’ll just… I’ll try riding tomorrow.” You hate riding, but it’s the first thing that comes to mind. 

Satoru’s smile thaws into something less menacing. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy that.” 

You nod eagerly. “I’m sure I will.” 

You grab your fork, eager for a new subject. From what you can tell, dinner is roast chicken and vegetables, though it’s the luxury version as everything seems to be. The spices are intoxicating and the green beans are even arranged in a pretty little pattern that makes them look too good to eat. You do anyway. The first bite nearly makes you moan, but you chew slowly, delicately, trying not to let your upbringing show.

It’s not until several bites later that you realize you’re the only one eating. A quick glance reveals your husband has no platter, no chicken or green beans. He’s only… watching you. You clear your throat, dabbing at your lips with a napkin. 

“You’re not… eating?”

That permanent smile grows a little wider and you can’t help but feel as if there’s something… menacing about it. “Ate before I came.” 

Your brows furrow. “Oh. Were you on the road?” 

You think you see something wild flash in his eyes. “No.” 

The rest of dinner passes slowly, almost painfully. Satoru doesn’t eat a bite, doesn’t even look enticed. You wonder how that’s possible when it smells like a spice bomb went off in the dining room. 

By the time you’ve cleared your plate you’ve discussed everything from the number of horses in the stables to kinds of crops grown on the estate. It’s comforting to know a little more about your new home, but it’s not enough. 

“Is there a library?” you ask. You’re on dessert now. It’s the best chocolate cake you’ve ever had and it takes everything in you to hold back a moan each time it touches your tongue. 

“Of course.” Your husband’s eyes flicker to Thomas again and you’re honestly starting to fear for the poor footman’s life. Everytime you ask a question it’s like Satoru is angry it hasn’t already been answered. “It’s yours to use as you please.” 

You smile lightly. “Perfect. Thank you.” 

He softens a bit at that. “Is there anything specific you wanted to read about?” 

You shrug. “The estate, I suppose. I should know my home’s history, no?”

His eyes get that wild look again, that sparkle that you know speaks to nothing good. “Oh, absolutely. I have some personal favorites to recommend. I’ll leave them aside for you?” 

You swallow and give him a shallow nod. “That would be perfect. Thank you.” 

He chuckles. “My pleasure.” 

When dessert is finally over, you stand slowly. Satoru’s not far behind you, saying he’ll walk you to your room. Your heart leaps at his words. Will he stay with you tonight? 

He offers you his arm in the hall and your mouth runs dry when you feel the corded muscle beneath his jacket. By the time you reach your room, you’re thinking of tugging him in behind you. His denial to stay with you last night was not only confusing, but… off putting. Nearly offensive. Did he not like how you looked? Did he think something was wrong with you? 

You muster all the courage you possess and force your lips apart. “Will you stay with me tonight?” 

His eyes spark again and you hold your breath. He presses closer. This is it, you think. His lips hover over yours, eyes glimmering in the candlelight. And then he dips his head, his mouth pressing to your pulse. 

“Not tonight,” he whispers– and then he’s gone. 

~

You wake suddenly. It’s the middle of the night, you gather. The light streaming through the window is weak enough to only be that of the moon. 

Your heart is pounding and your skin is slick with sweat despite the chill in your bones. A nightmare, you think. It must have been a nightmare. 

As you settle back into your sheets you swear you see a ripple in the darkness. You close your eyes. If your nightmare is real, you’d rather not see it coming.

~

The library is huge. It’s sprawling and smells of paper and leather and everytime Thomas lights a candle you flinch at the idea that one misplaced spark could end thousands of years of knowledge. 

The books Satoru left you are… perfect. Just what you were looking for. They’re all comprehensive volumes of the history of the estate, many of which reference each other. You’re stunned to see that several are written by very well-known authors of both the past and the present. You knew the Gojo family’s influence reached far, but not that far. You peruse the titles. The Gojos: A History, A History of the Gojo Crest, History of the Gojo Castle, Revisiting the Gojo Family: A Comprehensive History. Altogether you have well over a few thousand pages of information– but there’s one book that doesn’t fit with the rest. It’s relatively unassuming. A black cover with some sort of gold rune etched onto its front. When you flip to the title page it reads “Creatures of Myth and Where To Find Them”. Your brows furrow. You slide it to the side– must have gotten mixed in with the others, you think.

~

You ask Thomas to bring the books to your room. He does. Very respectfully. He sets them on your bedside table and then retreats like a kicked puppy with only a polite goodbye. You sigh. His behavior has only gotten stranger in the past few days. You think the servants’ coldness must have something to do with Satoru, but you can’t figure out why. Had he ordered them to stay away? Why would he? 

You decide it’s a question for another day and dive into your books. You spend hours, days, reading every chapter, page, and word. The pure amount of information is dizzying. Apparently this specific estate had been in the hands of the Gojo family since the eighth century (with several razings and consequential rebuilds). You also learn that Satoru was not only the most wealthy lord on the continent, but the most wealthy man. Even wealthier than the king apparently, though that fact was kept fairly under wraps to protect the crown’s ego. The estimates of your husband’s net worth made your head spin.

Satoru joins you for breakfast and dinner every day. You never see him eat a morsel. It’s… unsettling to say the least. It’s always just that tin cup, filled with something you could never quite see. You develop a pattern of waking in the night, too, with the overwhelming sense that something is watching you. Sometimes you could swear you feel the bed shift as you jerk awake. Each time you simply close your eyes and try your best to slow your heart, convinced your mind is playing tricks on you. 

Your days feel a little more productive with a book in your hands, but you’ve read them all three times over by the time a fortnight has passed. You find yourself packing them up to return to Thomas when a certain black cover catches your attention. You grab it from the pile and settle back into your seat. You’ve nothing better to do, right? 

You flip back the cover, revealing a familiar title. “Creatures of Myth and Where to Find Them”. You don’t recognize the author’s name. A quick scroll through the table of contents reveals nothing particularly interesting, but you pick a random chapter on ghouls and decide to start there. 

It’s fascinating. Nothing about the style is boring and the words fly by. Your silly little myth book is a page turner. By the time you notice the light has started dying you’ve read about ghosts, fairies, werewolves, and goblins– all of which have been a delightful little read. A glance at the clock reveals you have a half hour before dinner. One more chapter, you think. Your eyes skim the title. “Vampires [Vampyr]”. 

You skim the first paragraphs until your eyes settle on a line that catches your eye. 

“Contrary to popular belief, vampires are not always crazed blood-hungry monsters. Many live among humans quite comfortably and are able to avoid detection with a little well-placed effort.” 

You purse your lips. What a… terrifying thought. You skim a little further. 

“A vampire’s key characteristic is, of course, their desire and need to drink human blood as sustenance. However, a vampire can be spotted sooner if one is able to recognize their subtler traits. Vampires often have skin lacking any sort of flush. The lack of blood in their veins results in a sickly pallor, even after the most rigorous exercise. Their skin is also noticeably cold to the touch. At best, a vampire’s body will reach room temperature. Vampires can also be noted for their preternatural beauty. They will stand out as the most attractive person in any crowd. Finally, a vampire will have fangs. If one wishes to identify a vampire, one only needs a good look at their teeth”.

A chill settles over your skin. You flip ahead a few pages. 

“Vampires are unable to consume typical human food. Should they attempt to, their bodies will immediately reject any and all foreign substances.” 

Your stomach drops. You don’t want to think about why. You skip the rest of the paragraph. 

“Vampires possess several supernatural abilities that set them apart as a human’s predator rather than their equal. Vampires are known to move unnaturally fast and are notably light footed. If a vampire does not wish to be heard, they will not be. A vampire’s strength is inhuman, well over ten times that of the average man. They also have a penchant for darkness, an ability to hide away in the shadows that cannot be explained. Oftentimes they will seem to appear from thin air.”

You skip ahead again.

“Vampires have been known to take mates. Mates usually come in the form of another vampire, but in some cases a human has been chosen. Vampires are fiercely protective of their mates, bordering on obsession. Any person deemed a threat to their bond or their mate’s safety is usually disposed of quickly. Oftentimes, vampires make these decisions with haste, with little regard for whether or not the threat was real. A vampire will do everything in their power to please their mate, but have been known to forcibly restrain their mates in situations of unrequited feelings. Above all else, vampires wish to possess their mates. Two bonded vampires will sometimes spiral into gloriously destructive fits in their endless desire to protect and possess one another. A vampire bonded to a human will show an increasingly protective nature, often isolating their mate from others.”

Your heart pounds. A bead of sweat rolls down your back. You flip the pages, desperate– desperate for a piece of information that will save you from the thoughts spilling in your mind, from the thoughts you will do anything not to believe. You reach the “Where to Find Them” subsection and nearly gasp with relief. Surely, vampires do not pose as wealthy lords of Europe? 

“Vampires can be found everywhere. They do not exist in only one country or continent, but all over the world. Odds are that you have faced at least one vampire in your life, unknowingly or not. Some vampires choose to live solitary lives, surviving in the wilderness where human society will not attempt to tame their wild nature. Others choose to live among humans, some even existing in positions of very high authority.” 

No, no, no. This can’t be happening to you. It can’t be real. You’re dreaming, you’re having one of those nightmares again. You’re going to wake up any second. 

“One tale recounts a razing of the Gojo estate in the 12th century.” 

You’re panting, hyperventilating. This isn’t happening. 

“Soldiers of the enemy force recounted a singular man, the son and heir of the then Lord Gojo, taking out a minimum of 800 men. He was described as having his family’s characteristic white hair as well as blue eyes. Eyewitness accounts depict the Gojo heir as covered in blood and killing savagely and with inhuman strength.” 

No, no, no. 

“(See next page for only existing portrait)”

Your fingers tremble but you can’t stop them. There’s no way. It’s not possible. 

You flip the page and Satoru stares back at you. 

Knock! Knock! Knock!

You nearly scream. Your door rattles angrily, but you’re not sure you can answer it, not with the knowledge flooding your mind. The knocking continues. You run your hand over your face and smooth down your hair. You feel frazzled, dirty, despite not having moved from your chair all day. Another knock prompts you to set your book aside and stand. You do your best to compose yourself, to put on a straight face. You fail instantly when you pull back the door not to reveal your faithful attendant, not Thomas, but Satoru. 

You bite back a shriek and instead force a smile. You’re suddenly very aware of the blood pounding in you veins and of the fact that he most likely knows. 

“Hello,” he says, but his voice is lower than usually, more intense. 

You force a breath into your lungs. “Hello,” you answer, but it sounds more like a squeak than a greeting. 

Something flashes in his eyes, something familiar, something that is no longer interesting but rather terrifying. “Are you alright? You seem a little… flushed.” The concern on his face feels anything but genuine. 

“I’m fine,” you answer, but even you can tell that reply too quickly, too eagerly. You rush to cover it up. “Is it time for dinner? Where’s Thomas?” 

His lip twitches and you see a muscle in his jaw flex. “Thomas has… left us.” 

No. This wasn’t happening to you. There was no way this was happening to you. 

“He… what?” There’s an unmistakable wobble in your voice that only causes Satoru’s face to fall further. 

“It’s no matter. He’s gone. Now it’s just you and me, hm?” He chuckles and the sound rattles your bones. “In fact, I was thinking I’d cut down on the number of servants we have entirely…” 

You mind races with the memory of knowledge you wish you didn’t have. “Vampires are fiercely protective of their mates, bordering on obsession. Any person deemed a threat to their bond or their mate’s safety is usually disposed of quickly.”

You nearly stumble, but lean against the doorframe just in time. Your husband had disposed of a man, all because he brought you meals and books?

“What have you been up to today, princess?” The question breaks your trance just in time for you to see your husband’s eyes flicker behind you. 

You wet your lips. “Just some reading.” You plead that he doesn’t ask anything further. He does. 

“About the estate?” he asks. 

You nod and try to swallow the lump in your throat. “Yes.”

His smile returns and this time it’s not forced. “You got my books, then?” 

You try smiling back, but you’re fairly sure it looks more like a grimace. “Yes.”

“Anything interesting?” he presses.

This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening. Does he know? Does he know that you know? “Yes, of course. Lots.” 

He pauses and you see the debate and then the decision in his eyes. You think it’s the first time you’ve felt true terror when he meets your gaze again. “I think we should skip dinner tonight. It seems we have so much to discuss.”

You don’t even have the wherewithal to scream when he steps into you, forcing you back until he’s shutting your door behind him. He doesn’t stop there, though. He keeps pressing, keeps pushing until your knees hit the bed and you’re falling to the mattress. He crawls right after you.

“Who knew my little wife was such a reader? All those books in such a short time… You must be simply spilling with information.” 

You retreat across the mattress, squeaking when your back hits the headboard and his arms cage your waist. You’re trapped.

His hands find your hips and you’re all too aware of how cool his touch is. Even more so when he pulls you right into his lap.

“Satoru-” your voice is pitiful, breathless, and you’re ashamed to say it’s not just from the fear in your gut. He’s never been this close before, never touched you, held you like this. “Thomas-” 

“Don’t speak his name.” His face pulls into the first scowl you’ve ever seen and the sight is enough to root you to the spot. Never have you seen anything more frightening. A creature so beautiful, so perfectly angelic, filled with an insurmountable rage. It’s wrong. “He’s gone. He’ll never bother you again.” He’s closer now, his breath skating over your skin. It’s cool and now you know the reason why. 

You shake and tremble and you know– Thomas is dead. Your husband killed him– killed him for getting too close when all he did was stay at a distance. Satoru killed him. Killed him. 

He buries himself in your neck, his voice a near whine. “Thought I could put up with it, just so you’d have someone to take care of you…” He groans. “I was so wrong, princess. Couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t stand the way you smelled more like him than me…” 

You feel him melt against you then, relief washing over his body in a wave. “But he’s gone. And now it’s just you and me, hm? Just you and me…” He hums, like remembering that fact is all he’s ever needed.

He’s kissing your pulse again, now, and your heart is racing faster than ever. Your fingers curl into his shoulders. You should push him away, away, away. He’s a killer, of thousands no doubt. You’ve never felt at home here, never felt like you belonged. This is why. You’re not even the same species. He’s something else, something your hands were never meant to touch. 

Your mind screams at you to do go, to shove and kick at him and leave this place behind. Go, go, go your gut says… but you don’t. You can’t. It’s too… good. The feeling of his cool lips against your skin, of what you’re sure is his tongue prodding at your pulse… it’s intoxicating. He is intoxicating. How could anyone blame you for wanting more of someone, something, so divine? 

“Have you figured it out yet, love?” Your breath hitches and he chuckles, licking a long stripe up your neck, before he settles back at your pulse. Always your pulse. “I can feel those little gears turning. Tell me, what have they discovered?” 

He knows you know. But he’s going to make you say it. You swallow and feel his grip on you tighten. “You’re…” Your breaths come faster. You can’t. Not aloud. Aloud makes it too… real. 

“Yessss?” he prods. He’s licking at you again, all the way across your throat to find your other pulse-point. 

“You’re not…” Something sharps nicks at your skin and you bite your lip to hold back a whimper. 

“Go on, princess.” You think he’s just smelling you now, just burying his face as close to you as possible and taking you in. 

You close your eyes tightly, holding back tears. “Not human,” you breathe. A piece of you breaks with the admission.

He huffs a little laugh against your skin and pulls back to look you in the eye. “That’s good,” he purrs. “But I think you can be a little more specific, no?” His lips press to your chin, then the corner of your mouth, then down to your jaw… “Tell me.” 

Your lips wobble, muscles clenching tighter with each passing moment. You don’t want to say it, don’t want to speak it into existence, but you also don’t dare to disobey him. 

“You’re a…” You shake and tremble. He draws a line up your neck with the tip of his nose.

“Mhm?” 

You open your eyes, thinking this might be the last time you see. “Vampire.” 

He chuckles and you feel his teeth press to the skin of your neck. “That’s right, princess. So smart.” 

He smiles and you suddenly realize you’ve never seen his teeth before. Everytime he smiles at you it’s close-lipped and dimpled. But this… this is the smile of a predator– all white and pointy and fitted with a set of menacingly long fangs. You sob at the sight. 

“Shhhhh,” he coos. He has your chin in his hand, forcing you to truly look at him, to see him for what he is. “I won’t hurt you, love.” You want to believe him so badly it burns, but his laugh washes away any fire and turns it to ice. “Not unless you want me to.” He wiggles a brow like it’s just a little joke, like he’s not an actual fucking vampire that had his fangs over your neck just moments ago. 

“Satoru,” you beg. You’re not sure what you’re begging for. Release maybe? But, no, that’s not right. You don’t want him to let you go, not when you finally have him close after all this time. “Why did you pick me?” 

The question slips out. You hadn’t even been thinking about it, hadn’t even noticed it scratching at the walls of your mind, but it made its way out nonetheless.

His brow creases, but not in confusion. Moreso in… thoughtfulness. “Do you think about that a lot, princess?” 

You nod and you suddenly want him closer, want him to touch you everywhere, hold you like his life depends on it. You want him, no matter how horrible it might be. 

He nods and hums, kissing the tip of your nose lightly. “Well…” he says. His thumb swipes over your lips when he leans in to whisper in your ear. “At first I wanted you for this.” His head dips to your neck again and you feel the familiar brush of his lips against your throat. “You smell…” he chuckles. “Like heaven. Which is a place I’ll never get to on my own, so I had to bring my own little slice home, no?” He laughs again, a little louder this time, genuinely amused. “Went into town one day and caught your scent on the street. At first I thought I must be walking past the bakery, but, lo and behold, there was no baker in sight.” He’s still kissing at your pulse, worshiping it. “Went crazy, princess. Didn’t think I was going to be able to contain myself when I found you. Thought it might be quite the scene.” He huffs a laugh and you shiver, somehow both terrified and intoxicated. “But then I saw you–” he groans and something clenches deep at your center. “And I knew I needed more than just your blood. Needed you.” He’s rocking into you now, and your breath catches when you feel something firm against your backside. “Went to you in that little room you slept in every night. Watched you. Couldn’t stay away. Knew I had to have you.” You feel him smile against your skin. “After a week I couldn’t take it anymore. Sent you that letter, married you. Made you mine.” He groans again. “Then I met you and you were so pretty, princess. Already knew it, but hearin’ you talk to me, look at me.” Teeth graze your pulse. “Needed you more than ever. Almost took you right on the fucking floor in here while you were lookin’ at those dresses.” You whine when his hips roll into you again. “Oh, but I knew I couldn’t. You’re so fragile, love. Had to wait, had to make you feel safe, yeah? Spent all this time forcing myself to stay away, ‘fraid of what I might too if I was in your presence too long. Had to control myself. Had to make you realize you could trust me.” He panting, like he’s so pent up he can hardly sit still. “Do you trust me, princess?” 

Your brows scrunch. Say no, say no, say no a part of you screams. Run, run, run. You can’t. “Yes,” you breathe. 

You feel him smile again, feel the pleasure of submission. “Good girl.” 

You’re on your back. It happens so fast your eyes don’t even have time to gasp. You don’t see Satoru, but you feel him. Everywhere. His hands are roaming your body softly, sliding under buttons and laces and popping them off. Your dress loosens with every passing moment until Satoru reappears above you, diving straight for your neck again. “So good, princess. Let’s get you out of this dress, yeah?” 

You nod wordlessly, entranced. He finds your mouth as he rids you of your clothes. His tongue presses in and you flail against him, unsure of what to do, of how to handle the intrusion. The kiss is heavy, too heavy, but Satoru can’t seem to stop. He devours you as he gives up on laces and buttons and simply shreds your dress down the back. You tremble when the cold air hits your skin, when his cool fingers dust your collarbone. 

“I always forget how many damn layers they make you ladies wear,” he chuckles. His hands run beneath your shift, up across your bare thigh. You gasp at the touch. No one has even been so close to you before. You feel the threads of your corset snapping away, feel your breaths growing deeper. You tremble when he pulls your sleeve down past your shoulder and runs his mouth along the newly exposed skin. 

“Satoru,” you gasp, and your hand pulls at his flowing white shirt. 

He chuckles, pulling back just enough to see your face. “You wanna see me too?” You nod, lips parted and eyes glassy, and he laughs again. He lips dust over the corner of your mouth. “Alright.” 

His hands shift from you to himself, working at the laces on his chest. His movements are speedy, practiced, like he’s been lacing and unlacing shirts for hundreds of years. Your throat tightens when you realize that he has. 

You gasp when he reveals himself, when his shirt slides away to reveal an expanse of pale skin and carved muscle. You’ve never seen a man like this and seeing one this close up for the first time is nearly blinding. He’s art, you think- nothing less. 

“Touch me, princess,” he says. You can’t. You shouldn’t. He’s too beautiful, too perfect to be beneath your insignificant hands. “Need a little help?” he asks, and there’s a lilt in his voice that makes you sure he’s grinning. 

His hands find yours and bring them to his chest, running your palms over his collarbones, his pecs, down, down, down across his abs that you can feel each and every one… You whimper, watching your own fingers grope his skin. He pulls you lower, lower, lower, and you gasp when your fingertips brush the waistband of his pants. But then he’s laughing again and he’s throwing your arms over his shoulders and pulling you closer, kissing your neck like it pained him to be parted from your pulse for so long. 

“Not so fast,” he says, like he wasn’t the one nearly stuffing your hands down his pants. His hands are on your corset again. You can feel it dangling onto you by a thread, literally. All he needs is a couple more pulls and you’ll be bare. By the look he gives you, you can tell he’s 

thinking the same thing. “You touch me, now I touch you, yeah?” There’s a tug and a tear and then so much… cold. You’ve never realized how cold this castle is, not until you’re exposed to its elements fully. You’re naked. 

Satoru sits back on his knees and just watches. His gaze is searing, burning, despite the iciness of his being. It’s too much. Your hands move to cover yourself, to maintain some modicum of your dignity- 

“No.” Strong hands find your wrists and pry them apart. “Let me see you,” he says. His tongue darts out to lick his lips. 

Your jaw clenches and your frame shakes, but you do as he asks, letting your hands fall limply at your sides. There’s silence for many more moments and it seems to go on so long that you can only squeeze your eyes shut under his gaze. Surely he will turn you away now, get up and leave, tell you this was a mistake, tell you that you’re– 

“Beautiful,” he breathes. Your eyes snap open to find him already staring at you. “Beautiful,” he says again, and then he’s on you, lips at your pulse, hands on your skin. His touch is cool and you squeak at the chill that runs up your spine. You’re not sure it’s entirely from his temperature. 

His mouth seeks yours and he devours you. You feel as if he’s sucking your soul out through your lips. “Tell me you’ve never done this before,” he begs. “Tell me I’m the first to touch you.” 

You whine against his mouth, both aching for more and overwhelmed by what he’s already giving you. “Y-You’re the first,” you whisper. 

His groan is deep, primal. It rattles through your chest and you whimper when his hands dig into your waist hard enough to bruise. “Yes,” he breathes, and you shiver again. “Lie back, princess.” Your eyes widen, with anticipation or fear you’re not sure. Probably both. He chuckles. “Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle.” 

You pray he means that. “Just relax, love. Here, hold my hand.” His fingers find yours, twining them together. When you swallow, his eyes follow the bob of your throat. He leans back again and your body twitches when his free hand skims the skin of your thighs. His tongue darts out to wet his lips as he finds your knees and you gasp when he parts your legs, revealing you so completely to his gaze. The way he stares, like he’s committing you to memory, it’s nearly enough to make you snap your thighs shut, but a squeeze from his hand reminds you to relax, to trust. 

His palm skates up your thigh and settles near your hip, his fingertips inching closer to where you can feel an embarrassing throb. 

“Tell me, love. Have you ever touched yourself here?” His fingers dust low on your tummy- just low enough for you to catch his meaning, but not low enough to give you any relief. Your face heats and your teeth dig into the flesh of your cheek. You have, you have touched yourself there, but it’s the last thing you want to admit to your new husband. It’s shameful, it’s dirty, it’s- “Don’t think I’ll judge you, princess. Just wanna know.” 

You gulp down a breath. You should come clean. “Y-yes,” you stutter, and the sound of your voice so weak and helpless only makes you flush further. 

He chuckles and squeezes your hand again. “On the outside or the inside?” 

Your eyes widen. I-inside? You’d never considered that… “J-just the outside,” you answer. 

Your eyes grow even wider when his head rolls back and he moans straight up to the ceiling like your answer is heaven-sent. When he looks back to you his fangs are on full display. “Well, I think you and I are in for a little treat today, hm?” 

Your brow furrows and your lips part to ask him what he means– his fingers travel those last few inches down your tummy and find your clit. You squeak and jolt so violently that he presses a hand to your hip, holding you to the mattress. “Somebody’s sensitive,” he chuckles. He holds you still for a moment and then lets your hips go free. “Try to stay still. I promise it’ll feel good.”

You nod hopelessly, but this time you’re prepared for when he touches you again. Your muscles clench at the first touch, at the foreign sensation of a touch down there that wasn’t your own. But then it’s more. It’s languid, slow circles around a spot that you’ve never been able to pinpoint so well on your own. It’s heat building in your tummy that seeps through every vein and into every pore. It’s relaxation that you’ve never known, that has you melting into the mattress despite the chill of the touch. 

There’s a little huff of a laugh and then his voice. “Good girl. Feels nice, yeah?” You nod hesitantly and squeeze desperately at his hand, searching for an anchor. His head cocks to the side and you watch the smile slide across his lips. “It’s about to feel even nicer.” 

By the time you realize what he’s doing it’s far too late to stop him. His mouth closes around your cunt and you yelp, trying to wiggle away from the overwhelming sensation- but he’s got his freehand on your hip again and his grip is bruising, punishing, as he holds you in place. He licks a stripe through your folds and you find yourself jolting again, uselessly so against the pressure of his palm on your hip. “Stop that, princess.” Your heart drops at the admonishment until you feel his guiding touch. “Rock into me like this.” His hand rocks your hips into his mouth and the pressure of his tongue against your clit is so delicious that you whimper. “Good girl,” he says and your heart rises right back up. “Keep doing that, now.” You don’t dare defy him. You rock like he showed you, a little jerkily at first, and then you find a rhythm that has you seeing stars. “That’s it, love,” he says, and the sound is muffled against your cunt. “Here, put your hand in my hair.” He finds your wrist and guides you forward until your fingers are tangling in those snowy locks. They’re even softer than you’d imagined. “Good girl,” he whispers and suddenly he’s taking one last long lick and lifting his head to meet your eyes. “‘M gonna put my fingers in you now, princess.” Your chin wobbles. “It might hurt a little bit, but stay still, okay?” You can’t do anything but nod. 

His eyes return to your cunt and you can feel him prodding at your entrance, circling the hole as you clench in anticipation. “Relaaaaaax, love,” he says and you nod. A deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth– 

You feel the exact moment he pushes into you and a whine of pain rips from your throat. Your walls clamp down like a vice, angry at the intrusion– but it’s already too late. There’s a beat of silence, of anticipation, and then he’s– laughing? 

Your brows furrow when you hear it, your head lifting to a sight that locks your limbs in shock. Satoru’s hand is lifted in front of his face, his pointer finger coated in– blood, you realize. Your blood. And he’s a fucking vampire. 

“Oh princess,” he coos, and the manic look in his eyes makes you tremble. “You really are perfect.” 

Things seem to slow as you watch him take his blood covered finger into his mouth. You’re sure you’ve never seen an expression more blissful, more lost to sensation. His eyes roll back and his body shivers, like he’s ascending to some higher plane. Maybe he is. 

When he pulls his finger from his mouth it’s completely licked clean. You hold your breath. He’s going to go for your neck now, right? He’s had a taste and now he’ll want more of it, all of it?

“Fuck,” is all he says. His mouth is back on your cunt so fast you don’t even see him move. 

Your mouth falls wide. It hurts, the way he is so desperately licking at you. You feel his finger again, pressing in, in, in, only to pull back and suddenly be joined by another. The stretch tears at you. You thrash and jolt, but Satoru doesn’t bother telling you to stop this time. His arm wraps over your hips, holding you in place. He seems immune to how hard your legs squeeze at his head or your hands pull at his hair. He’s lost. You can feel him licking, lapping, and prodding at you like you’re a fucking gold mine. He’s lost to desperation, to the need for more, more, more. Every so often he lifts his chin and you see his mouth smudged with a mixture of your wetness and your blood. He laps at his lips like an animal, dragging his thumb across his chin and sliding it into his mouth to make sure he gets every last drop. 

You’re not quite sure when the ravenous pain turns to a ravenous pleasure, when it turns from terrifying to downright delicious. You don’t notice your moans filling the air until Satoru joins you, groaning and whining into your cunt and telling you to keep going, to keep making those sounds. The hand you have buried in his hair doesn’t fight to push him away any longer, only to pull him into those now practiced rocks of your hips. His fingers thrust deep, curling into a spot that makes you feel so good and his mouth has found your clit again. He sucks your nerves lightly between his lips, tongue swirling in little circles. Your thighs start to shake. 

“Yes. Yes. Give it to me.” 

“S-Satoru–” you breathe. Warmth and tightness pool in your tummy, and you recognize it as your approaching orgasm, though you know this one will be far different than any you’ve ever managed to give yourself. Your body shakes and your breaths tremble and then– you fall over the edge, rocking your hips senselessly, losing all form of rhythm. Warmth tingles in your spine and seeps all the way down to your toes. You think you cry out, cry for your husband, cry for more, cry for less, but if you do you don’t hear it. All you hear is the pounding of your pulse, of pleasure throbbing in your veins until the world slowly seeps back in through the corners of your vision. 

Satoru is grinning. A speck of your blood clings to his chin and his fangs peek out from behind his lips. The sight makes your blood run a little colder. If any part of you doubted what he was before… well, there was no doubt any longer. 

There’s a shift between your legs, his hips slotting between them, and you’re suddenly snapped back to reality. From the look in his eyes, you’re not done. 

Frantic hands find his pants and he undoes each button with a quickness that is almost inhuman. You wonder if he could go even faster, if he’s holding back so as not to scare you. If he is, it isn’t working very well. Fear surges in your veins right alongside anticipation. 

“S-Satoru–”

“It’s alright, love.” His hand finds yours without his eyes ever looking up. His grip is just a little too firm, a little too cold. “Just stay still.” 

You whimper, but you don’t think he’s paying attention to that, and soon enough, neither are you. His pants slide down just past his hips, just enough. You gasp. 

You’ve never seen a man in the nude, never even dared to think about what it might look like, though it seemed you no longer had to guess. His hand wrapped around his shaft, giving one long and slow stroke that made his breath hiss through his fangs. The tip was flushed, angry, and leaking something that looked clear and sticky. You couldn’t help but notice it was a lot thicker than a finger, or even two. If his fingers had hurt…

He moves with that alarming quickness again, leaning down to hover over you, chests nearly pressed together. “Gonna take you now, princess. Gonna make you mine.” His eyes bore into yours, blue and shimmering with something wild. His hand presses into the mattress beside your head. “Stay still, now.”

It’s all the warning he gives you. You feel like you’re splitting– straight up the middle. You wail, hands flying out to claw at his back. It hurts. It hurts. 

“Satoru, p-please! It’s–” 

Lips catch yours– hungry, feral. The kiss is not gentle, not soothing. It shuts you up, it keeps you quiet, it keeps you still as you feel him sinking further, deeper into you. It’s too much, you try to say, but the poke of sharp teeth against your lips keeps you silent. Your hips jolt and wiggle trying desperately to escape the stretch but it’s no use. By the time he’s fully inside you, tears are streaking down your cheeks, fat and heavy. His lips break away and his eyes reappear. You shake when you see that none of the wildness has been tamed, that you’ve only just begun.

“Good girl,” he coos, and a cool finger traces a line across your jaw. “Took me so well.” You hold back a sob when his hips shift a little, testing, prodding. He must see the pinch of your eyes, the twist of your mouth, because he’s quick to comfort. “Just hold my hand, princess.” His hips rock in earnest this time and you whimper, squeezing down on his hand with all your might. You’re panting as he chuckles. “Breathe, love. Breathe. Soon you’ll be begging for more,” he laughs. It’s not long before he’s rocking into you sincerely, setting a pace that stretches you to the brink of breaking. At first it’s all you can do to grasp onto him, to bite your lips through the whimpers and hold his hand. And then it’s… more. It’s heat and warmth despite the coolness of his body on yours. It’s sensation and… pleasure. He laughs when the first moan slides past your lips, burying his face in your neck once again. You hear him at your ear, panting his hot breath across your skin. 

“Feel good, princess?” You nod, letting your hips rock against his as he showed you before. It feels good– it feels right. He chuckles, but there’s nothing light about the sound. “Wanna feel even better?” Something sharp pokes at the skin of your neck, hard enough to make you squeak, to make you freeze at what you know he wants. 

He pulls himself back, pressing his forehead to yours, searching your eyes with his. Something like a cruel smile dances on his mouth. “Just a taste, love. I promise it won’ hurt.” His tongue darts out and licks across your lips, his thrusts rocking just a bit faster. “You’ll feel s’ good an’ I’ll only take a little.” He laughs again and it sends a chill through your bones. “Promise.” He sounds breathless, like he’s struggling to restrain himself. The increase of his pace makes you whine and you squeeze his hand again. He buries himself back in your neck, panting. “Come on, love. Say yes. Say yes f’ me.” Your eyes glaze over. Your body justles with each new thrust. He’s desperate now, seeking a release that you don’t think is any kind you’re familiar with. “Yes, yes, yes,” he chants in your ear. You’re not sure when his words twist in your mind, when they settle on your tongue and push past your lips, but you know it feels so right when they do. 

“Yes,” you whisper. 

His fangs clamp around your pulse. You scream when the sting rips through you, violent and savage– but it only lasts a moment. Pain fades to… ecstasy. You feel his throat bobbing with each swallow, feel your blood seeping from your skin and onto his tongue. You’d thought it would feel slicing, draining, like the life was being sucked from you. It doesn’t. It feels wonderful. Heat spreads under your skin, emanating from your neck and down to your toes. It feels like breathing for the first time, like sugar being pumped into your veins. It feels like heaven. Your hand tangles in his hair, holding him close. You don’t want it to stop, not ever. You could die like this, have him suck every last drop of blood from your veins and thank him for it with your dying breath. 

He’s moaning now, hands curling into your hips while he fucks into you relentlessly. The pace is grueling and brutal. You know it should hurt but only feels perfect. Anything less would not be enough. Anything else would leave you wanting. You feel it building, feel that familiar twinge at your core. The ecstasy flooding through your veins has it coming faster, has you teetering on the edge in moments. 

“Satoru…” You hadn’t noticed how dizzy you felt until you tried to speak. You wonder why… “‘M gonna…” 

He fucks you harder, something menacing and deep rumbling in his chest. The sound makes you shiver, makes you whine, makes you come. 

Your body shakes and a cry rips from your throat, cunt clenching like a vice around him. Your eyes roll back, hands scraping trails down his back. Your thighs quake with the intensity, with the overwhelming senses of pleasure that erupt throughout your body. Every nerve is firing, every hair rising. It’s an unstoppable current, one that sweeps you away, helpless to its pull. 

His thrusts grow sloppy and untimed. His grip on your hips tightens, holding you in place while he makes you his. His teeth break from your neck and when you look up through blurry eyes you see his head thrown back, your blood streaming down his chin in thick little globs. You feel it when he cums, feel the thick ropes of it seeping into your womb, feel the way he keeps fucking you, pushing it deeper and deeper inside. He’s moaning, chanting your name like a prayer at the heavens. 

When the moment ends he slumps over you, eyes half lidded and tired. There’s a familiar grin on his lips, one that inspires both comfort and uneasiness in your gut. You can’t help but stare at him, at the blood that stains his chin and cheeks, that reddens his lips so beautifully. You want to reach out and touch him, touch his blood-soaked skin and see what it feels like, what it tastes like. What you taste like. 

His eyes slide to the side, finding your pulse again. You groan. Yes, you think. Please, yes. More. You don’t think you’ll ever get enough of that. Of his teeth in your flesh, of the euphoria flooding your veins. More, more, more, your mind chants. 

He chuckles lightly and shakes his head. “No, princess.” He raises a finger to trace the curve of your neck. “I took more than I should have…” His expression doesn’t tense with worry. His cheeks pull into a smile, those little dimples shining through. “But what can I say? You just taste so good.” Like he needs to emphasize his point, his tongue darts out to trace his lips, lapping up some of the remaining blood on his chin. “You taste like mine.”

You whine. More, more, more. It’s all you can think about. You lift an arm weakly. You want to pull him to your neck, to make him drink, to make him fill you with the heaven you had just moments ago. 

He catches your wrist and brings it to his lips, inhaling deeply. His lips split into another grin and you see his eyes spark again with the wildness you crave. 

“Not yet, princess.” he coos. “But soon.” His smile grows even wider, until those fangs are on full display, until you’re trembling again. “Forever,” he whispers.

taglist (dm me or send an ask to be added!): @lacheri, @la-undercover-latina, @keiva1000

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[detectivebambam]

if you ever feel overlooked, remember that Jesus Christ had brothers

[allfearstofallto]

Devout

Yandere! Childe x Fem,Nun! Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

TW: 18+ MDNI, Noncon, lots and lots of mentioning of religion, reader is a virgin, yandere, obsession, unprotected sex, finishing inside

Heavenly. What an on the nose way to describe you. Dressed head to toe in loose fitting, religious garb, your hair covered. All he could see was the skin of your hands and that heavenly face.

Such a sweet, welcoming smile and gentle voice was befitting of a nun. He could only imagine how many men you'd lured into your trap of giving donations with those assets of yours. Kindly praising them for whatever they could give like an owner to a dog. And he was another willing victim.

Your eyes went wide when he dropped the large bag of mora into your little basket. Your grip wavered a bit as the heavy coins weighed your little arms down, and all he did was smirk. He'd made himself known to you.

“What a generous donation!” You exclaimed. That pretty smile of yours, the way your eyes lit up. He resisted the urge to lick his lips while thinking about what he could do with that mouth, a lewd gesture to be doing right in front of a nun, “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

He felt himself cock an eyebrow at your words. Pleasure? He supposed he gave pleasure to receive it. He eyed you up and down, he could see so little of you. The skirt down to your ankles left plenty to the imagination and imagine he did, “I suppose I'm trying to be new to the faith.”

A little white lie, but your smile growing wider made it worth it. If all nuns were as pretty and tempting as you were, he'd join the commune immediately.

“Lord Barbatos accepts all,” You said, holding the basket back out to him and implying that you wanted him to take his money back, “Don't give because you're new to worship. All that is given is accepted, but we will still take you with open arms.”

“I want to give you this much,” he said, a firm hand pushing the basket back, “and I want to give you so much more.”

Going to the city of freedom, a city known for its drinking and partying, just for the cathedral was quite the story amongst his subordinates. But Childe didn't care. The things he wanted to do with you weren't holy, but that was much better than a glass of wine and a song. If they knew the treat that stayed praying in the church day and night, they too would take to the faith.

Walking into the chapel, the first thing he was greeted with was the sight of you on your knees, praying to the statue of that absentee god. Filling that pretty mouth of yours felt like a better use of this time, you were already on your down there after all. But he decided against it. Not yet at least. Not when you were smiling at him so sweetly, motioning him closer to pray next to you.

Childe mentally asked the Tsaritsa for forgiveness, but still kneeled next to you. The Tsaritsa was a forgiving woman, he hoped that she would understand why he was praying to a false God. The way you were sitting on your knees, your round behind pressed against the heels of your feet, it made the fabric of your skirt press against your body. The curve of your ass, it was the first time he's seen it and he sucked air in through his teeth. He truly was being tempted, wasn't he?

“It's such an honor to see you, Ajax. Wasn't it?” Even the way you tilted your head in confusion was adorable. Typically he'd be upset if someone had forgotten his name, he didn't feel forgettable, but he was going to make you remember. Those plump lips of your would be calling his name over and over again, until it would be all you could say.

“Yes, it's Ajax,” he dropped the clasps of his hands and stood again, holding out an arm for you as well, “I was in the area again and decided to stop by for a prayer.”

A look of hesitance danced across that pretty face of yours as you debated whether or not to take his hand, before deciding against it. Instead, you chose to stand by yourself, a move that made him long for you even more. So he couldn't even feel the softness of your skin? Yet another ache in his groin, you were honestly trying to get him, weren't you?

“Forgive my rudeness, but we're discouraged from touching those of the opposite sex. Especially those who haven't taken vows, better to not tempt provocation,”

Vows? He'd assumed as much, but hearing you say it his pants grow even tighter. Temptation was you. You were such a pure soul, but you were sin. That body under all those clothes, he knew that it was erotic. He knew you felt lustful thoughts, that even you had ideas and thoughts that went against your virtue.

“I understand,” he spoke in a strained whisper, gripping the legs of his pants tight, “Do you think we can go somewhere private? I have a few confessions I need to make.”

You perked up once again, large eyes filled with enthusiasm, “Our father is holding a confessional if you'd like-”

“No,” he cut you off quickly, “I want to talk to you alone, do you think that's a possibility?”

There was a look of aversion in your eyes, clearly you were thinking about it. You looked like you wanted to tell him no, but your good natured heart and kind ways were fighting against what was right and what you felt like you needed to do as a nun.

“I'm…I'm not meant to take confessions, brother Ajax,” you said sweetly.

He stepped a bit closer to you, trying not to intimidate you, but also trying to press the importance. His length was hardening even more, his pants growing tighter. If you noticed, you didn't say anything, but of course, how would you?

“Please, it'll just be for a moment,”

Fearful eyes looked around the church before you motioned for him to follow you. Going against your God while in his home, you felt like you were committing a crime. But you couldn't leave a person in need behind. You're sure Barbatos would find it in his heart to forgive you.

“Please, make yourself at home here, dear brother,” you said while leading him through the door.

It was a simple room. An altar at the other end of the room, with a few candles and offerings and dim lighting. The room was scented with incense, a sweet smell that reminded him of the dandelion wine that Mondstadt was known for.

You lowered yourself onto your knees and motioned for Childe to follow you, “Please, kneel next to me, confess whatever you feel necessary,”

He sat down next to you, close enough to where his shoulder brushed against you. You flinched from this contact, but didn't say anything. A thought crossed your mind, so much space in the room and he chose to be right against you.

“Forgive me, I have sinned,” he said, but he never closed his eyes, never clasped his hands together, never lowered his head.

“Confess to me your woes,”

He sucked air in through his teeth, trying not to jump on you. Not yet. Not while you were looking at him so hopefully. So much trust. It only made him want you more.

“I've been having sinful thoughts,” he began, his eyes not leaving you, “Sinful to the point of being debilitating. They wreck my mind constantly.”

“Are these thoughts of harming others?” You asked, this didn't seem like the question of a clergy, but rather one of genuine curiosity.

He didn't look away from you, while his hand slithered down and he began palming his length through his pants, “They used to be. But now they're more deviant in nature.”

“Br-brother Ajax, such actions are- they are unbefitting for the church,” you said quickly, turning your head away to not see him as he defiled sacred ground with his actions.

“I need you, sister,” he leaned closer to you, whispering his words right into the shell of your ear. You squirmed at the feeling of his breath, such a cute reaction it was, and the yelp you let out when his hand gripped your ankle was even cuter. He tugged at your leg, pushing your back against the ground and leaning over you.

He'd seen fear like this before. Many times before. When he plunged a weapon into someone's chest, watching the life fade from their eyes, it was similar to the one you were making now. The tears, the muttered begging, even the way your lips quivered, it was all the same. So why now did it make his cock even harder in the confines of his pants?

Where would he even begin with you? Quite honestly, he didn't even know how to take your garb off. Instead, he took to ripping it, right at the neck. Pulling it apart straight down the middle until every inch of your torso became visible to him. Your breasts were covered in a basic bra. Normally he was the type to prefer more intricate lingerie to entice his urges, yet something about the simplicity of your undergarments made him hiss air in through his teeth. It was like you knew for certain that nothing was happening, yet he still was forcing you to show him.

“Stop! You can't do this!” You cried, trying to cover yourself in what scraps of your dress you could find.

He was gentle as he touched you this time, fingertips stroking your cheek, but his words following were harsh and deathly serious, “Don't fight me, I wouldn't want to hurt you,”

“Heavenly father, I ask that you forgive me…” you began to mutter to yourself in prayer. Laying there, hands clasped and teary eyes shut as you felt him trace up and down your thigh with his tongue. The feeling of his saliva, going up to your stomach, one of his hands cupping your breast before ripping the fabric of your bra away, it made you sick to your stomach. Your pebbled nipples hitting the cold air were quickly sucked into his mouth, a pleasure never experienced before washing over your body. You shuddered, much to his approval.

He wanted to go slower. He wanted to tease you for hours before taking you. He wanted to make you cum over and over, proudly showing how lewd you truly were to your false God, but even he has grown impatient. Trying to win you the right way just wasn't working and he needed to feel you, as deeply as possible, the girl he'd fantasized about night after night.

The way your eyes widened when he dropped his pants was cute. When you tried to look away from his hard cock that was dripping precum onto your cunt, still begging with those sweet lips, it was even cuter. But the way you went silent, the way the world seemed to stop from you the second you felt the head of his cock against your opening, that was the cutest. He loved the look in your eye. The look of visceral fear. It was a look of knowing. Knowing that after he was finished with you, you'd have nowhere to go, but to him.

You only began truly fighting him off when he began pushing the head of his cock into your warmth. So tight and soft, no matter how hard you hit him, you couldn't make him leave your insides. When he bottomed out inside you, feeling your walls clench around every inch of his cock, he hissed. Face to face with you now, nestled deep within you, he kissed your wet cheeks. Childe wasn't one for love making, but he couldn't help but to be tender with you. His thrusts were slow, but deep, making sure you tasted all of him.

“Hush, little angel,” he cooed softly to you, while wiping away more of your tears. Your little sobs were agonizing to his heart, yet his cock only twitched harder, “It'll be over soon.”

And you nodded. Such a sweet thing. You nodded and let yourself go to him. He didn't take this as a sign to be rougher though. No. He couldn't. Not to you. He continued his same pace, softly humming to you and shushing you when you got too loud. He wanted to pound your insides, to fuck you brutally, but that would be for later.

Little sobs left your lips as your nails dug into the carpeted floor beneath you. He was still going slow. Thrusting in and out skillfully, his hand tenderly gripping your face and making you look him in the eye, any time you tried to look away, he'd just force your head back.

“I'm cumming soon, okay?” He muttered against your lips, kissing you gently afterwards.

With your mouth engulfed in his, you couldn't beg him to please not finish inside you. Instead, your body flailed beneath him, trying to get him off as you felt the thrust of his hips speed up and become more greedy. You felt him grip you tighter, you felt his moans grow louder against your lips. And all you could do is sit in horror as you felt his hips falter, his pace slow down, and his cock twitch even more as it pumped hot cum deep inside your.

Childe pulled away from the sloppy kiss, your lips covered in saliva and he smiled. You'd never seen such evilness until you looked into his eyes, proudly looking down at your cunt where the cum was seeping out. I'm your mind, you were saying another prayer, but you weren't sure if anyone was listening.

“Guess I have to marry you now,” he chuckled with a playful pat against your thigh. But despite the smile on his face you knew he wasn't joking.

[nisuna]

Mouth watering 🤤🤤 I'm really in the mood to turn this into a full-length fic, but my porn with plot stuff usually doesn't do that well, so here's some of my thoughts instead<3 Depending on if this does well or not I might do it! (But, tbh I might do it regardless because I love this idea and it's one of my top favourite scenarios to think about 👀👀 so who knows? Maybe some of you will find this interesting. Please lmk!)

[part 1 & part 2 of this AU]

TW: cult leader!Geto x non-sorcerer!f!reader, oral f&m receiving, period sex and oral, breeding kink, power imbalance, dumbification, public sex, mentions of pregnancy, different positions, name calling, degradation, mirror sex, virginity loss, manipulation

<3masterlist<3

--------------------18+ ONLY MDNI--------------------

cult leader!geto, who didn't pay much attention to you at first when you came to his shrine with the nasty little curse on your shoulder that's been plaguing you for the past few weeks. cl!geto who wanted to have as little to do with people like you and disposed of it with the snap of his fingers.

A weight was literally lifted off your shoulder as you smiled and reached out to grab his hands to thank him, bowing your head. Usually, he would've pulled his hands away and politely told you off not to touch him. But he allowed it this once. There was something about you he couldn't put his finger on just yet. Who would've thought that if he hadn't done that, it would've never come to this.

cl!geto, who noticed you coming back each week with a new complaint, immediately seeing right through your lies, but indulging you nonetheless. cl!geto, who grew increasingly interested in you, inviting you over to show you his organisation.

cl!geto, who made you suck his cock on the first occasion he got. you were so obediend and dumb. he got off on how naive and blinded you were by him, your lord and savior.

cl!geto, who was taken aback when you confessed you were still a virgin. cl!geto who made a religious ritual out of taking your virginity, manipulating and fucking you stupid from then on out.

cl!geto, who enjoyed you doing all the work while riding or squatting on his cock. cl!geto who fucked you mercilessly, saying it was for the greater good of the organisation. cl!geto, who started fucking and eating you out while you were on your period, saying you were his blood sacrifice. and who were you to deny your lord.

cl!geto, who started fucking you more vigurously himself. be it from behind or with him on top. any position that asserted dominance over you, he tried. and he made sure to let you know how much of a lowlife you were compared to him. and you just nodded, blinking up at him through your eyelashes as you sucked on his thick fingers.

"You're so good for me, pet. Keep going."

pet, he called you because that's all you were to him. you were his plaything, nothing more.

cl!geto whose huge hands would roam your body however they pleased. his long fingers working you open until you were ready to take him. cl!geto, who loved feeling your soft and tiny body against his massive frame. cl!geto who would relish in seeing his thick cock through your belly whenever he fucked you so deeply, you could almost feel his tip hit your cervix.

cl!geto who made a public display of fucking you in front of his followers. cl!geto who marked you up with purple marks for everyone to see. however, some didn't understand why he chose you of all people voicing their disapproval. cl!geto, who over time grew fond of a lowly human like you but kept denying his growing feelings for you.

cl!geto, who didn't think it would bother him as much as it did when someone else tried to touch you. his followers starting to see you as public property, which was meant to be shared. cl!geto who felt his blood boil when someone dared to kiss you in front of him, taunting him that he fell in love with a non-sorcerer, which only earned the person a slap across their face as he pulled you close.

"No, it can't be." he thought as the person laughed," Oh, so it is true!" cl!geto, who was shocked when you spoke up.

"Of course not, that couldn't be! Right, Geto-sama?" right, he couldn't fall for someone like you. you were the very thing he swore to destroy. this shouldn't have happened.

gl!geto who avoided kissing you and only saw sex as an act of service and obedience. cl!geto, whose eyes widened in shock when you accidentally leaned in, cradling his face in your hands when you got too overwhelmed with pleasure as he came deep inside.

when you snapped out of it, you were terrified. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. Geto-sama, please forgive me-"

as you were about to pull your hands away from his face, he stopped you. you were trembling in his grasp, expecting the worst. but you were surprised by him pressing his lips against yours and holding your hand in place on his cheek. the kiss was hungry, his tongue prying your mouth open and all you could do was moan and just take it.

"You surprised me for sure, pet. But let's continue, I quite liked it.", he mumbled.

as you were making out, you felt him harden inside of you again.

cl!geto, who thought "fuck it", abandoning his principles each time he crashed his lips against yours and made you cream on his cock over and over.

cl!geto, who got tired of hearing you moan "geto-sama" like all of his other followers and made you call him suguru whenever you two were alone.

"AH- Geto-sama"

"Try Suguru."

"Su- what? Geto-sama, I couldn't possibly, that's too-"

"Do it for me. I wish to hear you say it. But only in the bedroom, this is between you and me only.

"I-if you wish so, I will try. S-suguru..sama."

cl!geto, who soon deemed you worthy of carrying his offspring and telling you how big of an honour it was. cl!geto who filled you up over and over. and you taking it so well, always begging for more.

cl!geto who would fuck you in front of the mirror while groaning into your ear.

"Look at you, I can't wait until I can see you plump with my children."

cl!geto who didn't stop fucking you even throughout your pregnancy. cl!geto who got incredibly aroused at the sight of your body and belly plumpening up over time.

cl!geto, who massaged your aching breasts and hips religiously every night. cl!geto who stopped fucking you in front of everyone and stopped showing you off as he wanted to have you all to himself.

cl!geto, who began questioning his whole mission, when you first confessed your love for him. cl!geto, who soon gave in and said that he loved you as well for the first time.

"I'm a man of exceptional greed. If I had it my way, I would have you look and smile at me only."

cl!geto, who got incredibly protective over you. "Don't ever go anywhere without me."

"Where could I possibly want to go without you?", you mumbled, falling asleep in his arms.

cl!geto, who was overjoyed when he saw his child having your eyes and his features. cl!geto, who made his followers worship you just as much as they did him. cl!geto, who threatened and intimidated anyone who refused.

cl!geto, who made you his wife and mother of many more of his children.

cl!geto, who never stopped loving you until his final breath.

------

I'd love to hear your thoughts!!<3

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Run Away To Me (I)

AU MASTERLIST || PART II

PAIRING: Blacksmith!Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Runaway Bride!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 4.8k

WARNINGS: Blood, wounds, being hunted/chased, medieval period-esc standards, arranged marriage insinuations, toxic family insinuations, angst, protective Johnny?, etc.

A/N: This series is so Lord Huron coded

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You rush through the low-hanging branches of the reaching pines, their green arms tearing at the once perfect and virginal white dress clothing your body; waves of delicate fabric like bird’s wings. Shredded and torn, you sob in large gasps while the shouting gets louder behind you—the pound of vile hooves along cobblestone. 

“After her!” Blood was rushing down a long slice in your palm, dripping to the verdant grass as you traversed the off-trial paths, the roads of animals and bandits—monsters in the night. 

Flashes of torchlight had gone out long ago, the rain slamming the ground with ancient purpose as the storm got angrier. Tree trunks slam into your shoulders, the wedding dress ripping away in strips as pine needles pierce the bare skin of your feet. Your shoes had slipped off as soon as you had started this mad dash. 

“She went this way! Quickly!” You run faster, shuffling down a long hill as mud gets packed into your flesh; infecting wounds with its slimy make-up. 

“Please,” your voice begs lowly, hiccuping out vowels as you drop to your knees at the bottom of a ravine before you sob and grit your teeth. Wading through the stream of chilled water, you dig into the ground and shove yourself up on shaking legs as rain pelts your head. “Please, I can’t go back.”

Even your thin clothes are heavy on you—body weighed down by terror and a desperate plea. Because what you said was true. You can’t go back. Can’t go back to the search party, can’t go back to the ceremony…and you can’t go back to the man you were supposed to marry. No, you’d rather face the woods. 

Scaling up the other edge of the ravine, you slam a bloody hand down to the rocks atop, pebbles flying past your face as a flash of lightning momentarily illuminates your field of view. Noises reminiscent of an animal carve their way out of your esophagus, teeth gritted as feet slip and strain. 

You heave yourself over and fight the weakness in your arms. Coughing, you pray the storm will wash away any trace of your charge to freedom—the blood and the tracks. With any luck, the hounds won’t be able to pick up your scent even with the strips of your dress left behind in the branches. 

Pushing away the water from your forehead, you stumble onwards on unsteady feet that pound with pain. Grasping at your gushing palm, you cry out as the burning pain echoes up your forearm.

“Whatever God is out there,” You speak in gasps, slurring the words as your dry throat grates. It’s all but lost to the wind in its great bouts of staggering attacks through the trucks of the trees. “Please, offer me sanctuary.” 

Lightning is the world’s answer, more streaks of light that make your soaked body flinch and shake even more. Yet, in that tiny second of light, there had been something in the far distance—a shadow. 

Your eyes peer harder, the calls from the riders suck in the back of your mind as they taper off as the search is re-routed. 

What was…?

Wooden sides, three separate rectangular shapes that stand firm in the rampaging elements. Your feet slide over the ground as you limp in the direction you’d seen them, the flesh of your body so cold that you had gone numb in the sheets of rainfall. 

A heart fills with senseless hope.

A homestead! With no other option, you take a deep, ragged, breath and continue on as quickly as you’re able; dress hanging off one shoulder. When you reach the front door some ear-ringing minutes later you’re barely standing upright—legs teetering and thighs shaking with dying vigor. 

Panting, your first banging to the wood is weak at best, barely a sound above the thunder and the slap of rain. You strangle a sob and wrench your shoulder back, landing three hard hits that act more like punches. Pain blossoms in your hand, but you continue striking the wood. 

There’s a loud ruckus from behind the blackened barrier, a yell, and before your knuckles can make themselves bleed from fear-filled adrenaline, the door is whipped open. A dim firelight spills out from a low hearth and you find yourself staring into the narrowed eyes of a man and his exasperated expression. 

There’s the beginning of a growl, heavy with an accented voice, “Now who in the hell is—!”

A strong jaw goes slack, brunette stubble stilling. Blue eyes like cobalt instantly peel back to show the whites, words strangled away in a sharp inhale. 

The man is in his late twenties, stocky, and clothed in a loose sleep shirt made of thin linen with black pants. His shoulders were near large enough to knock on the frame of the door as he stood in it, built with the strength of a boar and then some. His large, lightly-tanned hand on the door slackens as his eyes speedily dart down your disoriented form. Biceps the size of your skull.

Heart hammering, you stare for a moment longer, rain pelting your back and looking like a wet dog. It’s as if you’ve forgotten to speak beyond gasps for air, but your eyes implore enough for you. The stranger recovers from his surprise at seeing such a beautiful lone woman at his door with a clearing of his throat.

“...Christ, Dearie, you’re soakin’ wet out here.” He shoulders the door open wider without another question. “Inside, now, quickly.” 

You wrap your arms around your waist and speed into the shelter of the home, water dripping down to the wood as you shiver and your teeth clatter. Not for a second did you think if this might be safe or not, too scared of the riders and their hounds than anything. You wouldn’t allow them to drag you back to your husband-to-be. Not in a million years. 

Your voice is hiccuping as you speak.

“I…I don’t mean to i-intrude, I’m very sorry, Sir.” The man looks around his home before he spots a large bear fur by the messy bed in the corner—he rushes over and grabs it. “I ask forgiveness for w-waking you at such an hour.”

“Jesus, is that what you’re worried about?” Blue eyes crease at you as the heavy fur over your shoulders; your hands snap to catch it, the entire thing swallowing you as gaze up in confusion. The man frowns, staring back as water drips from your nose. “Let’s just focus on gettin’ you dry, yeah? You’ll catch your death like this, Little Lady.” 

A wide hand presses to the expanse of your spine, prodding you forward as you squeak at the sudden contact. You’re guided to a small chair in front of the hearth, plopped down and the sides of the fur are hiked up to your neck quickly.

The stranger kneels down in front of you, focused, and his tired eyes alight with worry. He makes sure the fur isn’t going to fall as he blinks over the state of your hands. He pauses, his large grip stalling at the sight of spreading blood. 

Your wound—you’d almost forgotten. 

“Now what’s this, then?” The brunette's words are quiet, very in-tune with your state as you try to catch your breath and shiver. It was like coaxing a wild animal. 

Blinking, you shift your hand farther under the bear's fur, bringing it to your chest. 

“I won’t be here long, Sir. I promise,” you try to change the topic, but quickly jerk your nose into the crook of your arm as you sneeze, bending over slightly as mud and blood stain your skin. 

Lips tighten along a square face.

“It’s Johnny, Miss.” The world outside rages on, blocked out by the four walls of this nicely sized home of wooden logs and boards. It was well-made with pine and cider, the large hearth in the back wall with inlets near the shuddered windows and various crudely carved pieces of art. 

Weapon displays lined the walls, various makes and models hung on pegs. Axes and swords, spears with red-leather shafts set next to halberds of black steel. You blink at them in slight concern, not used to being around weapons. 

Johnny, as he calls himself, sees this and quickly explains as he rubs at the back of his head, eyes crinkling. 

“Ah, Johnny MacTavish, the blacksmith, that is,” a small, rough chuckle echos out. 

You ease at that. 

“Mr. MacTavish,” you give your name and offer a kind, yet still anxious, smile. “I give my thanks for allowing me shelter. A-and the fur.” 

His gaze slips down to your hidden hand once more, face swirling with an unidentified emotion before studying your torn wedding gown.

“Well, I’m not one to leave a person out on my doorstep in weather like this. Certainly not a Lady.” His brow raises, head tilting. “You going to let me clean that wound a’yours or am I going to have to fish it out myself?” 

Your body tenses slowly, bare feet shuffling over the floor. Staring at Johnny, you gaze at the strangely cut hair atop his head and the messy strands that speak to a night of shifting on his bed. His face is honest and open to you, blinking in soft question as his head angles to the side with an easy twitch of his lips. 

“It’s really not necessary,” you try to chuckle but it falls flat, eyes red and heart still speeding. 

Johnny sighs and glances at the fire, blinking before he shifts to grab another log and toss it in with no concern for the heat of the flame that lap at his fingers. You watch his muscles bunch under his shirt and quickly look at your lap. 

“I’m not the greatest doctor out there, Dearie, but I can do good with washin’ out a cut an’ wrapping it.” You study him and nervously tighten your lips. Johnny’s face seems to soften, hands going up and wrists tilting as his knee stays connected to the floor; firelight on his face. A small smile blooms. “C’mon, I’m not that scary of a bastard, am I?”

You spare a tiny chuckle, shoulders jumping as rainwater slips down your chin. Your shivering was still going on, and would until you got a change of clothes, but the warmth from the fire was helping tremendously. Already feeling was returning to your limbs. 

“Ah,” the blacksmith huffs a laugh, “there’s a smile. Now, let's have a little look-see shall we?” 

Under the fur, your hand lightly shifts, coming back into view, slit palm and all. Johnny’s eyes darken, face going serious behind his stubble. Brown brows turn in. 

“Now where in the hell did you get a—” Just as his gigantic hands were about to circle around yours, there was a violent knock at the door. 

You shoot up in an instant, jerking away from the blacksmith as he snaps his head to the front, eyes lighting. He stands up slowly as you back up a few paces, eyes frantically darting back and forth. The knocking starts up again and thunder peels from outside. 

Your form flinches.

“You can’t let them take me back,” you say quickly, breathing catching up in speed again. Fear burns your lungs and suddenly you’re ten times colder than before. “Mr. MacTavish, please, I can’t go back.”

Another round of knocking shakes the barrier. Blues eyes stare at you blankly, half-turned face pulled in visible confusion as Johnny’s jaw clenches. 

A voice echoes from under the door as the blacksmith once more lets his eyes linger down your battered frame; taking in cuts and the limp you carry. Muddy feet and water stained red. His hands twitch at his sides. 

“These are the guards of Lord Wilkin, would anyone in this home come to make him or herself known? It is of the utmost urgency!” You grow more fearful, head darting to find any other exit in this home but you land on nothing besides the windows. Your fingers shake with panic.

No, no, no.

Confusion gives way to deep concern.

A hand grasps your upper arm and you’re being hurried to the corner wall by the front door with fast feet and a firm, iron, grip. An accented voice mumbles quietly by your ear, “Keep quiet for me, Dearie. It’s alright, you let me take care of it.”

He stands you there and takes one last look at you, blinking, before grabbing the bear fur and pulling it above your head in a swift motion. There’s a quiet chuckle as you tense and slam a hand up to the brown material instinctually before Johnny darts around the corner and opens the door. You hold your breath and listen.

“Well, steamin’ Jesus, you bastards have any idea what time it is?! And in this damning weather, you show up at my door reamin’ on the wood like you’re the one who has to keep it anchored to the frame.” There’s a fast conversation of apologies and explanations that you can't catch above the yell of the rain.

“Does it look like I give a shite about a lost bride? Not my fuckin’ place to keep ‘er…I’ve seen nothing besides you…anyone out in this storm is as good as lost…” You listen and stay completely still, holding your breath as if it’s a prisoner in your lungs. 

You can hardly believe it. Why was this man…lying for you? A wounded stranger that had shown up at his doorstep in nothing but a tattered gown and babbling through tears. Anyone else would have turned you over—especially to your betrothed, Lord Wilkin. He owned these lands and held fiefs by all who lived here. Not a man to mess with, if your slit palm was anything to go by.

“Go on!” Johnny calls loudly, and the door closes a second later, the latch locking. There’s a moment of nothing, before the clearing of a throat and a soft call. “Well, they won’t be back, least.” 

He pops around the corner and smiles comfortingly. 

“Sorry about the yellin'.” You part your lips in innocent awe and you take a deep breath before speaking slowly.

“Why would you do that?” His expression tightens, crossing his arms over his chest. Under him, his large hips shift.

“Ya asked, didn’t you?” Your blank expression only serves to make him chuckle heartily, head shaking. Johnny hums, “I won’t press you about it all tonight, though I well should. You’re in no shape for it.” Cobalt eyes glance at the food before looking back up. “But I’m guessin’ you have a good enough reason to sneak off as I hear you did.” 

The very blood in your body heats with warmth.

You’re waved back over to the chair by the hearth. “Let’s get that injury looked at and I‘ll get you a change of clothes. You can take my place for the night,” eyes twinkle, “there’s no bed bugs in it, Dearie, knight’s honor.”

“What about iron shavings?” You call back softly, lips jerking up momentarily. The man’s actions had given you a large amount of trust in him. Johnny blinks in surprise at your joke, but a large grin grows moments later as you walk over delicately.

“Can’t say for certain, but I promise there’ll be no weapons under the covers. If anyone breaks in they’ll find my fists to be the first iron they get a touch of.” 

Your laugh bounces off the walls, hand coming up to cover your mouth in the picture of a cultured upbringing. Johnny chuckles in turn, looking smug. He liked your laugh, it seems.

“That was detestable, Mr. MacTavish.” You sit down, and Johnny kneels where he had been before—his hand outstretched where you carefully place your wounded limb. 

Immediately you feel the scrape of old burns and calluses, hands hardened by long hours of labor and intensive demands. You’re certain these are the hardest hands that have ever touched your skin, but it astounds you by how gently you’re being caressed and turned. People with far fairer flesh have never handled you like this. As if you would break apart with the barest of pressures.

Your breath stills as the blacksmith, with all the care of a butterfly, tilts your cut into the light and studies it, thumb absentmindedly brushing up and down your wrist. You hold back a shiver. 

“Ah,” he grumbles, still smiling yet more focused on your injury now. “It wasn’t that bad.”

You hum under your breath and try not to flinch when he wipes away a stain of mud near your wound. The blacksmith grunts to himself, gentle pressure at your flesh like the scuff of tree bark. But it wasn’t unpleasant. No, you thought, not at all. 

The two of you fall into a hole of soft silence, Johnny leaving for a moment to grab a bucket of water and bandages, saying in a mutter that he had plenty of the former to go around.

“Have a habit of burnin’ myself on my bad days, y’see,” he shimmies past, pausing before pulling back up the bear fur from where it had slightly slipped down your neck. “Comes with the job.”

Your face burns as he grabs what he needs, eyes stuck on your lap. You were astounded by the man’s ability to put away his obvious confusion for your care, how he was content to wait for answers until you were rested. It was honorable of him. 

Thinking back to Lord Wilkin’s guards at the door, your thighs shift over the chair. They’d be looking for you until they found you—be that days or months, it didn’t matter. The Lord wasn’t someone to let what he wanted get away from him. Like senseless beasts, your family would undoubtedly help. Your chest is stiff with worry. How would you get away with this?

The scene you’d made at the wedding wasn’t exactly subtle. 

Johnny comes back carrying a small bucket of fresh water, ladled from the wash basin, and a bundle of clean white cloth. 

“Alright,” he huffs, “let’s get this sorted, eh, Dearie?” The wound was very obviously a slice from a knife, anyone could see it. 

Johnny takes your hand once more and holds it in his palm, glancing up at you before dipping one of the cloths into the water and beginning to clean the cut. 

“Is it…bad, Mr. MacTavish?” You ask, worried about the likelihood of scarring. That would be the last thing you would want. The blacksmith looks up from where he pats the edges, the fabric already going red.

“Just Johnny, if it pleases you,” he smiles, hulking form seemingly all a facade to hide a cheeky and loyal Scot. “And…no, not bad. If you’re worried about a mark, don’t be—it’s deep but only at the beginning. A slight discoloration, no more.” His brows pull back, teasing, “You’ll not end up like me, at any rate.” Your shoulders ease back, and you let him work with a thankful comment and a giggle.

You watch and take in the way his jaw clenches and loosens as he works, completely focused as if he was fashioning an axe and not helping a complete stranger. 

“There’s no harm in scars,” you settle on saying, thinking over his last comment. Blues lock with your eyes, head tilting like a hound. Your face gains a slight heat to it and you stutter, “It’s just this one I’d rather not carry, Johnny.” Smiling warmly, you see the man’s lips part, his motions stalling for a moment as he looks up at you and blinks. “But yours suit you if…I’m allowed to say.”

It’s then that you realize that a slight flush has come to his cheeks, starting from under his stubble and leaking out to his cheeks like a red blaze—his gaze burrows deep with hidden fire that rivals the dancing shadows from the hearth.

Noticing, your own face burns all the hotter as the blacksmith quickly clears his throat, snapping his eyes away. Fingers once more cleaning your cut, he grunts out, neck now shifting to a blush of crimson, “...Thank you, Miss.” 

You stay in silence for the rest of the delicate process; the air heated and rolling with something. Electricity sparks when Johnny’s hands rub across yours, large enough to break you in an instant but acting like moss over a stone. You find yourself falling into a sort of comforted state you hadn’t felt in a long time—the fur over your shoulders and the tingle of skin-on-skin contact that expects nothing but offers all. 

“There,” Johnny says at last, and a part of you wants to cry when he pulls back, standing slowly. A firm but malleable wrapping is over your palm, a tiny knot tied in the middle to keep it from falling off. 

You bring it to your abdomen and blink, the other hand going to run over the material. 

“Thank you, Johnny. Truly. If I hadn’t found your homestead, I would have been lost.” The man rubs at the back of his neck, tunic bunched up by his elbows. 

“Gah,” after a second of bruising off the comment, he waves a hand while his wide chest puffs with pride. “It’s no trouble, really. Keeps me on my toes.”

Outside the storm continues to beat the walls, and the blacksmith can’t help but feel his eyes drawn to your dwarfed form under the large fur, the dripping water, and the weight of your gown. Based on the information from the guard, he had a decent story already forming in his head. 

A runaway bride and an angry Lord. By his own role as the fiefdom’s accomplished blacksmith, he should be turning you over. But your eyes had been flooded with tears when you’d pounded on his door; soaked in rain and mud—blood. No shoes. Freezing. 

You had looked so afraid, his heart had hurt for you, a strong need to shelter you stuck like a knife into his ribs. Johnny had seen much in his life, war, and death, but your desperation had stuck a cord in him. 

He’d keep you here with no charge, offer food and shelter, and do what he can to understand your situation. If not for simply hospitality sake, then because he had heard your laugh and had found it to be like a bird’s call in the wake of a dew-coated morning. Your soft skin like the wisps of fire from his forges. Your voice like a rippling spring. There was no way to describe the way he wanted to help besides to admit to himself that he was a good man. 

And, while cocky, the blacksmith had never once been self-absorbed.

He watches you rub at your damp cheek and starts out of whatever trance he had been sucked into. 

“I’ll…” Johnny rubs at his neck again, “I’ll get you that change of clothes, Bonnie. You just wait right here.” 

You stare at his back as he strides over, the fatigue washing back over you now that the adrenaline leaves in its stupendous sweep of heavy heartbeats. Anyone else would have given you up. Your face softens, seeing the quick dig of hands into the stack of clothes in the dresser. 

“Fuckin’ hell,” the man huffs, looking over his shoulder and shaking his head. “I’m sorry, Dearie, all I’ve got are my tunics and pants.” Black and pale cream linen is held up on display. 

“Oh,” you mutter, “I don’t mind,” your chuckle makes his lips twitch with care. “I would just prefer to be out of this…thing.” Your eyes glare down at the tattered gown, breathing softly. “Anything is perfect.”

“Well, then I hope you don’t mind the smell of fire,” Johnny hums. “Here you are.” As much as his insides twist to understand the story, making sure you don’t run a cold was more important. 

Your legs push you up and you walk over softly, gliding over the wooden floor to take up the articles and dig your fingers into the warm and easy texture, thin stitching, and cuffed wrists. There was a cut down the neck with a tied cord looped through, making up an ‘x’ pattern. 

“I would say thank you again,” you begin, “but I think you’ll be getting annoyed with how many times I’ve already said it.”

Johnny laughs, crossing his arms over his chest and setting his feet. 

“Ah, perhaps only a little.” Silence laps into a minute, and you study him with slow puzzlement, tilting your head. For a moment, the man wonders what he’s done. The blacksmith’s dark brows furrow, lips moving back. He looks down at the clothes again and starts with a wild blinking of his lids. 

“Oh! Hell’s bells, right,” Johnny walks to the other side of the room and swiftly turns his back to you with respect and a burning neck. He cringes. “Christ.” 

You laugh brightly, letting the fur fall to the floor as you undress and shimmy into the borrowed clothes. Your nose takes in the scents of metal and fire—fatty linseed oil used to protect a blade against corrosion. With the crackling fire, you slip the large tunic above your head and find that it falls heavily over you; far thicker than it seemed and very comfortable, ending at your lower thigh. 

But those scents make your head spin, rolling up the cuffs as you bring your nose to the collar and once more take it in with a slow breath. You hum and move, throwing the bear fur back atop your shoulders and grabbing your ruined garments from the floor before calling out to the rod-straight figure. 

“Johnny?” His arms lightly jerk, as if he’d been unfocused, but he doesn’t turn around. “Where would you like me to throw these?” 

The blacksmith delicately tilts his head to the side and utters with his eyes stuck to the side wall. “Bin by the door is just fine.” You look to the container holding scraps and other garbage to be taken out and drop the gown in before rubbing your cheek. 

Wide cobalt eyes stare at the clothes you wear heavily, jaw loose before he re-set it and averts his gaze. Johnny chuckles to ease himself and loops his thumbs into his waistband, embarrassed.

“Do you need anything else, then?” Your eyes blink with fatigue.

“No, I…I don’t think so.” Gazing at the home, your lips thin. Your family would have a heart attack if you even mentioned that you were staying the night at a complete stranger’s homestead. No protection, no way to beat off a blacksmith beyond a well-placed punch, and running from your betrothed. To say that you’d cause anything less than a heart attack would be generous. But Johnny felt different. Firmer in his emotions and intentions. Far more than the Lord. 

That was really all that matted. 

“Are you really sure this is okay,” you still ask hesitantly, gargantuan clothes atop your frame. Johnny is already nodding firmly.

“It’s my pleasure. I won’t be turnin’ you back out to the woods in a storm like this.” For whatever reason, the next words fall from his lips like an oath. “There’ll be no harm comin’ to ya as long as you stay under my roof.” 

Your hand burns with the memory of his gentle grip and your heart skips beats. You feel as if a great weight is lifted, even if only for a night. 

“Alright,” your words barely make it to air, and you grip the bear fur harder to stop yourself from kissing this man’s cheek, wanting to take him into a tight hug. 

Johnny takes a blanket from the bottom of his bed and shuffles over to the inlet below the shuddered window, sitting down while you slowly walk forward. 

“But, Little Lady,” you rest on the edge of the bed and look up to find him watching you intently, leaning back with a hand behind his head and the other on his stomach. The fire still crackles, the storm still dances outside, and the room is still tight with something you can’t put a name to. Like you’re caught in a trap of soft pillows and the scent of metal, you listen to the blacksmith with bated breath. “I’ll be needin’ answers…you hear?” 

Licking your lips, you nod tersely. “Tomorrow,” you agree. 

Johnny gazes off into your eyes, the runaway bride that had shown up on his doorstep and captured his attention like a bird made of a white wedding gown and panicked breath. He sneaks a peek down at your wrapped hand as you settle on his bed, burrowing into his furs and his covers—wearing his clothes. 

For some unknown reason, the smallest of blood stains makes his chest roll with bright anger. 

“Tomorrow,” he grunts through a tight jaw before he fights to turn his head away from you. It’s a long while before he sees any type of sleep, listening to the sound of your soft breath and the crackle of the fire.

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[wonbin-truther]

bunk 02 ♰ anton x fem! reader (2.6k words) warnings ⋆ smut, sacrilegious themes, heavy mentions of religion, anton is a pastors son, premarital sex with no protection, fingering, handjob, oral (f! and m! receiving), yn kinda degrades anton, switch! yn and anton, anton may or may not be a virgin

the sun was blistering hot as you stood with your mini fan, watching the campers as they jumped into the lake from the rickety pier. "this shit sucks," you grumbled as you walked to your friend and fellow camp counselor, yena. this had been your fifth year as a camp counselor for your church's summer program, which involved a week long retreat to the middle of nowhere. the week the pastor planned for the trip this year had coincidentally been the hottest week of the entire summer.

"ten said after the youth cabins are locked up for everyone to meet back here," yena pointed her small pink fan at you to help you cool down more. "you think he's gonna snitch us out?" you raised your eyebrow. "no he definitely will. but its too hot to be acknowledging his bullshit."

the "he" in question was the pastors son. anton lee was as straight edge as it came. he was notorious around the camp for snitching on campers and counselors alike to his father. this caused him to be alienated by everyone since most people were there for the money that came after the week ended.

"what're we talking about," your other friend, belle, walked up to the two of you. "ten said everyone meet here tonight," you told her. she let out a small laugh, "yea like anton will let that happen." "not too loud please i like my paycheck," you slapped her arm. "that kind of physical violence isn't a very good to be displaying in front of the children," the deep voice of the pastor from behind you caused all three of you to stand up straight and turn around. "i'm sorry sir," you squeaked out. you stared down anton who was stood behind his father with no emotion on his face. "god forgives. just dont let it happen again. remember we're trying to lead with kindness," he continued before leaving with anton in tow. "he thinks hes all that. god i wish i could just punch him once," you heard yena mumble under her voice. "it's too hot and hes not worth it," you sighed.

"last cabin," sunoo said as he turned the key into the door with a click. "are you going to whatever ten is inviting us to?" you asked from your seat on the steps of the cabin. he walked down and sat next to you, "are you?" you nodded, "nothing better to do." "we can walk to the pier together then," sunoo stood up, extending his hand out to help you up. sunoo walked behind you as you went up to yena and belle. "i think everyone is here. well minus one person," yena extended the joint in her hand to you and you happily took it. you took a long hit, "im so surprised." the sarcasm dripped off your words as they came out, making the 3 laugh.

you watched as some of your coworkers peeled off their clothes, jumping into the water. some had their bathing suits on underneath while others opted for more of a freeing option. you pulled the green camp shirt over your head to reveal the white lacy bra you were wearing. "nice tits," yena joked. "it's too hot and ive known everyone here for too long to be embarrassed," you took another hit of the joint. "what are you all doing?" the voice of anton seemed to echo even though everyone had been talking. everyone turned to look at him and then to ten. "just some team bonding," ten had always been quick on his feet when it came to being caught. anton obviously didn't look convinced, "then why are people skinny dipping." "so that the lord can see his people in the way he made them," you almost let out a laugh at ten's explanation. "and the drinking and smoking?" anton crossed his arms. "i guess some people had turned to sin and temptation and would like to show god their faults so he could forgive," ten shrugged his shoulders.

you knew anton didn't believe him; he was a lot smarter than that. his eyes flickered over to you for just a second scanning your semi nude chest and then back to your face. his attention was turned back to ten quick as if he never looked at you. "i'll let you guys get away with this once. next time i wont hesitate to tell my father," with those final words anton spun on his heel and walked back to the counselor cabin. "do you think he ever gets tired of having that stick up his ass," sunoo said, making your small group of friends laugh. "he thinks hes draco malfoy threatening us with telling his dad," yena spoke as she took the joint from between your fingers.

anton kept his word because the next morning the pastor wished you all a good morning with no reprimanding. "god this sucks," belle rubbed her eyes as she walked into the cafeteria that had been set up with lines of chairs instead of the usual tables. she took a seat next to you as more people filed in and took their seats. "you're really gonna use the word god to say morning service sucks," you nudged her shoulder. morning service was something that happened every other day at exactly 7:00am, however the counselors were mandated to be there at 6:30am.

"dont look now," belle mumbled as she leaned back in her chair. you turned your head slightly to see anton walking towards the row of chairs diagonal to yours. the two of you locked eyes as he glanced over but quickly took his eyes off of you. you rolled your eyes as you brought your attention back to the front. throughout the service you caught anton stealing glances at you, making you mentally question what issue he had. your perfect opportunity to strike was given to you as you watched him stand up and walk out towards the end. you stood up, your friends giving you a questioning look as you excused yourself and followed anton out. you stayed a good distance away from him as you followed him towards the cabins.

"whats your issue?" you confronted him as soon as the cabin door shut. "huh?" he jumped a little, not noticing you followed him. "your issue. you keep staring me down. why?" you pressed further, walking closer to him. "i-i have no issue with you," his face got red as you got closer and closer. he stood there not moving, "i wasnt looking at you either." "lying is a sin you know," you stared him down. anton found himself subconsciously leaning in towards you until his lips met yours. you stood frozen before he quickly pulled away. "im sorry. i-i i should get back before my dad realizes im gone," anton tried to scrabble past you but you grabbed his arm. you tugged him towards you and pulled him in for another kiss. you held the back of his head as his hands traveled down to your waist. you smiled as you pulled away, "i should go back before your dad notices im gone." you giggled as you used his words against him, turning around and leaving the stuffy cabin. "where'd you go and why are your lips swollen," sunoo whispered into your ear as you settled back into the metal chair. "dont worry about it. i'll tell you tonight."

"you did what?" yena yelled as you all sat on your bunk. it was late in the night, meaning most the other counselors were at the lake or off smoking weed somewhere. "anton? with anton?" sunoo had his hand over his mouth as he processed the information you just told them. "was he a good kisser?" belle asked. you smiled wider as you nodded and another gasp overtook the cabin. before anyone could say anything else, there was a soft knock on the wooden door.

"what if its jason voorhees," you heard sunoo say as you stood up to go to the door. "shut up," belle responded, hitting his arm. you cautiously opened the door and the only scary figure revealed was anton. "this is somehow worse," yena intended it to be a whisper but it came out louder than intended.

"can we talk," antons eyes were glued to the ground as he kicked the dirt under his feet. you turned around to face your 3 friends, "every one out now." "oh what the fuck," they complained but stood up, walking out as anton moved to the side to give them room. you moved aside, allowing anton to walk into the now empty cabin and shut the door behind him. "so what did you want to-" before you could finish your sentence anton's lips were on yours. the two of you slowly moved back, lips never leaving each other, until you tripped back. you pulled anton on top of you and let him trail his lips down to your neck.

"fuck i thought you were waiting until marriage or some bullshit," you groaned as he bit down on one part of your neck, sucking on the spot. you could feel his hard-on against your thighs as he mindlessly rubbed himself against you. "shut up," he mumbled into the skin of your neck. you laughed, reaching a hand to squish his cheeks and pull him back up for a quick kiss. "make me," your sly grin lit something in anton. he swatted your hands away from his face and pulled off your shirt. his eyes never tore away from your tits as he fumbled with the back of your bra. "wow and i was starting to believe you weren't a virgin," you reached behind and undid the clasps for him, throwing the bra into a random corner of the room.

he ignored your jab and locked his lips onto your right nipple, sucking the bulb and flicking it with his tongue. his fingers ghosted over your stomach and down to the waistband of your pants. you lifted your hips up so he had the room to slide your shorts and panties down in one go. his fingers went down to your soaked entrance. "so much talk for someone this wet," anton started kissing downwards until he was face to face with your pussy. he left open mouth kisses on your thighs as your fingers tangled into his hair. you tried to push him closer but he didn't budge. "patience," he hummed before diving in. your back arched and you didnt bother to muffle the moans that escaped your mouth as anton sucked on your folds, nose bumping into the bundle of nerves as he ate you out. the only thing that coursed through your brain was 'how the fuck is he a virgin? there was no way in christ.'

anton loved the way his name slipped from your lips as if it was the only thing you knew. "close," he heard you stutter out. he slid his tongue into you, essentially tongue fucking you. that seemed to be the thing to push you over since anton felt the gush of wet on his face. anton licked his lips before going back up to you, kneeling over you. you pulled him down by the neck into another makeout session, your tongue pushing through his swollen lips. you palmed at his bulge, feeling the small wet spot from when he was grinding against the bed. you pulled away from the kiss to tug his shirt off- and holy shit you didnt expect him to he this buff. he let out a chuckle as you gawked at his abs, "all i do is lift heavy statues all day in the church. what did you expect?" you didnt speak as you climbed off the bed and dropped to your knees. anton was quick to sit on the edge of the bed. you slid off his pants and boxers, letting his cock spring up. the tip was already an angry red with precum leaking off of it.

you spit into your hand, giving it a few pumps before letting your lips engulf his tip. anton threw his hand back. his hands set behind him in order to hold himself up. you let out small gagging noises as you took him further and further into your mouth to where he hit the back of your throat. he let out loud whines and moans as you bobbed your head. with every hit to the back of your throat, you let out a mix of a moan and a gag. the sensation stimulating anton more and bringing him closer and closer. you knees were beginning to grow sore and you could feel them bruising as you pulled off him with a pop. the wetness of your saliva giving you enough wetness to guide your hand up and down his length. anton watched down as his dick twitched in your hold and you moved faster. strings of white spat on your face and down to your chest as you continued to milk anton of whatever he had. anton smiled as he let his hand fall to cup your face and run his thumb across your cheek. "pretty girl. if only god could see you on your knees right now." he could feel himself getting hard again as you looked up at him with big doe eyes.

"come," anton moved back a little, pulling you to your feet and letting you sit yourself on his lap. you grinded against him and he threw his head back. you took the opportunity to latch your lips to his neck, leaving marks that you were sure would show under the camp t-shirt and have the pastor questioning the fathfullness of his son. you stood on your knees, taking his cock in your hold and lining it up with yourself. "ready?" you locked eyes with him and he nodded. "lord please." you sunk down onto him and both of you let out your own loud moans. you began to rise up and fall down, using antons broad shoulders to stabilize yourself. your brows furrowed in concentration as you tried your best to ride him with the aching in your knees. anton could notice your discomfort through the wobbliness of you knees and your pace slowly slowing down.

"can i help?" anton grabbed your waist for you to stop. you nodded, letting out a gasp as he turned you over and onto your back on the bed. he put your leg over his shoulder as he thrusted into you with a fast pace. the bed shook back and forth as he pounded into you, consistently hitting the spot that had your back arching and toes curling. anton leaned down and captured your lips as he felt you flutter around him. he let his thumb rub at your clit, bringing you closer and closer. a white ring soon formed around the base of anton's dick as he continued to chase his own high. "pull out?" anton pulled away from the kiss to ask. you shook your head frantically, "inside please please." you begged. that sent him over the edge because with one final thrust inside, he let himself come undone.

"the whole camp probably heard us," anton let out a small laugh as you laid in his arms with your head on his chest. "good luck covering these up tomorrow," you ran your fingers down his neck, across all the hickeys you had left. anton shuttered under your touch, "it's gonna bring you so much joy when my father yells at me tomorrow huh?" you smiled up at him, "you don't even understand how much."

[onyourhyuck]

EXCHANGE LESSONS | L.MK

Pairing: mark lee x fem!oc

Summary: You’re the top student in every subject and your classmate!mark asks for your help in science and you offer the unprecedented exchange lessons that leave him off guard.

genre: smut, tutoring, classmates, inexperienced female oc, the concept of virginity being taken (it’s a social construct but you get it) and dominant!mark. minor groping, pussy eating and penetrating sex. Releasing on stomach, unprotected sex (please use a condom irl)

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You’re at the top of the food chain in every subject. Your desolated heart and effortless mind astounds the entire community around you. Since you’re such a smart and passionate individual, people doubt you have any flaws.

But that’s not so true. You do suck at one subject; Sex. Your body and mind leave your soul every moment you tried doing the most remote action like making out — you suck at it.

Perhaps it’s because you’re not comfortable enough with the person? Or maybe the idea of being sexually active is a new concept to you. This puts you at a frustrating disadvantage. You want to experience what it is like to be held by another person, to be worshipped and loved by every curve you have. You really want to experience intimacy. Someone’s hands holding your waist with fingers scrolling circles on your bare skin. Dancing out in heavy rain? Angry makeouts. Jealousy. You want to experience those rollercoasters of emotions. But you can’t because you’re missing the second person. This was no way a one man action.

That was until an opportunity arises. The boy in your class that wasn’t so good at any of his classes, barely scraping by. He had a thick foreign accent - and he never stops boosting about how he’s from Canada. He was visibly attractive. Most girls in your class fancy him.

Mark never really spent his day alone. Ever. There will always be people surrounding him. It’s like this was his world and we’re all just living in it you know?

“Hey Y/n,” A voice strikes up from behind. The boy standing only few inches from your height with a beige cap on backwards. It gave him a real bandboyish look today.

Your eyes dart to him. At first you look visibly confused but you manage to respond with a very soft greet. “Hey what’s up?”

You guys barely talk so this was all very new. The most talks you ever did was a simple ‘good morning’ to each other and never speak again. In fact this felt very awkward on your end.

Mark’s eyes look on the very left end of the lockers. The built tone body wearing these very baggy clothing press up on the metallic doors. Voice trailing off in an obvious direction. “Uhh, you know nothin’ much. The usual you know how it is.”

‘Yikes why does he look suddenly so guilty and suspicious?’ You question in your own mind. What was this strange feeling in your stomach? Like a hollow pit about to explode.

You mumbles quietly. “Right…”

Turning around your locker slams shut. The stuff you needed was carried by your arms. You thought this conversation had ended considering Mark wasn’t spitting out anything he wanted to say but the moment your back had turned on him, the boy quickly leaps in front of your path.

“Wait!” Mark stops you with two hands urgently.

You stop now with a small shock spread on your eyebrows and a visible streak of annoyance in your eyes.

“Tutor me! I want you to tutor me,” Mark said with a little pant to those syllables he stressed out with a stretch. Those hands come down and it really looks like for a moment he was embarrassed to ask. As if he had no idea how to ask you.

That’s all he wanted from you. It was a tutoring lesson so he could boost his grade up. Because lord knows he needs a good number. Otherwise he is finished with this class.

Your eyes line themselves on the boy. “You want me to tutor you?” You repeated back, Mark gave a simple nod. “Why me? You could have asked someone else.”

He furrows those eyebrows. “You seem- cool enough.” Mark then paused and panicked. Your expression seems unhappy by that anticlimactic response. “I mean! Your notes are cool and easy to understand. You explain things well.”

Well that came out wrong, what he wanted to say is you’re cool enough and you’re the smartest in the class. He doesn’t think he ever saw you get a bad grade.

Deep in your heart you couldn’t say no. Mark seems to be desperate for your help and you technically had an alternative motive. As bad as that sounds you can actually imagine losing your first deed to Mark. He was handsome, without a doubt you maybe fantasised getting off to him before. You don’t want to admit it but you did it more than once.

He was the new boy, wild and bright. Radiant and sweet. He was respectful, popular with everyone he hardly has any enemies. No one could hate a guy like Mark. He was a foreign exchange student from Canada and what more, he was an amazing soccer player last year. He won for your school club a trophy. He’s done pretty remarkable things.

Except his classes, which he severely needs your help with.

Sitting down in your bedroom, you constantly glance over to Mark who was sitting on the other end of your bed writing down on his notebook. To which your mind was at a war between asking him if he wants to do something else or if you should leave your stupid idea behind.

You are lost on how to approach the idea to him. You can’t just say ‘Hey let’s sleep together!’ And look like a sane person. Because that’s the opposite of normal. You barely know the guy too.

Your body lifts up your sweater and you nervously laugh it off. “Ahh it’s so hot, right? I should take this off.” Your hands pull off the warm fabric off your limbs and Mark looks up from his notes to glance at you. He looks at you for good three seconds.

The good look on your visible black tank top and cleavage exposing caught his eye but not enough for him to grasp your intentions. Instead Mark continues his work like the champ he was. Unbothered and gullible.

“Yeah? I feel normal.” Mark relies obliviously. You furrow your eyebrows and feel your stomach clench. Why was it so hard to ask Mark to have sex with you? It’s like the most difficult question for you.

And you never struggled with math questions before. You can’t believe it. Why was a simple risky move harder than school work.

He went back to doing his work. Thankfully you’re an amazing tutor so far your explanations did wonders for Mark. But you’re sat there staring at him with your eyes gawking.

You’re like an eagle pouncing, but you’re hesitant at the same time.

The boy did take notice of your stares and very acknowledged presence. But he didn’t know why and he doesn’t quite want to ask you, because what if that makes you pressured and embarrassed? Mark felt however very watched. Every movement of his pen. Every step of his breathing he makes on the same bed you’re sitting with him on.

It felt discomforting almost?

You clear your voice. “Mark have you ever had…” you pause because you’re suddenly getting to know how intrusive you are being. The boy’s head lifts up and he waits for you to finish.

“Have you ever had sex?” You begin again. You bite on your inner cheek which starts to make Mark flustered. From such a smart and disciplined girl you really have a way of starting conversations.

Mark nodded. “Yeah. Did you?”

Even if it was an inappropriate comment, Mark didn’t lie about it and he answered you truthfully. The boy didn’t know what to say at first. But what’s the harm in saying yes?

You don’t reply and you move a little closer to Mark holding your knees against your chest. Wearing shorts came in handy because Mark can see a full outline of your beautiful legs.

“What was your first time like?” You ask without answering him. Mark raised up his eyebrow thinking to himself. “Uhh,” he sits up on the mattress.

Mark brushed the pen down on the notebook. “I think it was with my girlfriend at the time.” You fully expected him to say some chick at the party but knowing his ex girlfriend was his first time, made this somehow really sweet and romantic.

Mark mumbles. “But what was your like?”

Your lips fell in a thin line. In an embarrassing way you turn away your gaze when your reply hits the taller quick.

“Mark I am a virgin,” You said it with a moment of clarity. He wasn’t sure why you’re still a virgin when you’re decently attractive and hella smart.

It somehow doesn’t make any sense.

Mark’s mouth drops like an umbrella sheet. “No way.” And you nod to show its the truth. Mark laughs a bit not in a mocking way but in a sense of disbelief to lighten up your mood.

He could tell you’re almost ashamed but he didn’t think that’s anything to be ashamed of. In any case he wonders if that’s a positive more than a con.

“Hey Y/n that’s not a bad thing you know that right?” He nudges your arms with his elbow with a smile.

You sigh a little. “I know but I want to experience it. I don’t really care about my virginity that much.”

“So how come you’re still a virgin? You’re pretty and smart.” Mark chuckles, he didn’t quite understand it. If you wanted to lose your virginity card so badly how come you still have it?

Your eyes look at him, your chance to tell him how clueless you are when it comes to sex arises. A part of you don’t want to tell him you’re bad at sex because that’s really embarrassingly stupid. Or the fact that you have no idea how to do anything. You can’t even figure out how kissing goddamn works!

You swallow down your own emotions. “I have no idea how to have sex.”

Moments later your eyes have glued together in what seems to be a staring competition. Mark didn’t think you’d be completely clueless. It came so naturally to him when he was about to do it for the first time. To you this was like a big deal.

Mark comes forward mumbling nervously. “You don’t know how to kiss either?” You shake your head a no.

The boy was silent until his eyes fell down to your lips. They look pretty, they seem very red and plum. He couldn’t grasp it but the guts clench in a sudden contraction.

“Do you want me to teach you?” Mark starts to ask you. Your face fell to the ground or it rather feels like it. He read your mind.

He was so nervous about it, he didn’t want to come off like a freaking creep to you. Little does he know you were begging for this offer.

He trails. “You know — like exchange lessons? You helped me with science and I can help with sex lessons.”

That doesn’t sound too bad to you. The deal was appealing. Your eyes sparkle up and come forward to kiss his lips. When you did the first gesture this said a lot to the boy before you. You were agreeing. You didn’t back away, your eyes were glowing at the idea of him teaching you what to do during sexual encounters. And thus, he opens his mouth slipping in slowly his tongue. Caressing your soft untouched mouth was like a dream come true. You were like melting ice the moment your mouth felt the warmth of the salivas mixing in as one. The kiss was slow at the beginning but occasionally you got the hang of the pace and Mark decided to spice it up.

He had to spice it up for you. Mark wanted to show you how it really is. What it really awaits you. The kiss springs from the bottom, a sudden piercing movement shocks you causing your moans to fall off.

Did he just bite your bottom lip? He smirks at your reaction and pulls you down on the bed. Hovering above your lean shoulders those grabby hands touch on your waist to position you a little downwards to his liking.

Mark kissed your neck, your jawline, down the side to your ears and your shoulders once your top slips off leaving you in your bra.

Your bra was a pretty blue colour. Mark smiles at your chest in slight adoration. Your eyes took a glimpse of his eyes and his lips have small kisses to your chest, to the cleavage. In between your breasts he brushed his face into the softness of your pillows.

“You know I’m surprised you’re a virgin.” He begins quietly, travelling his mouth down to your stomach till your navel touches.

Your feet curl up. This was somehow nerve wrecking but it feels good? But it’s so slow and it’s like he’s bringing you to rest.

“Why?” You ask out quietly.

Mark mumbles when his fingers reach the very entrance of your panty lining. He stops at your abdomen monitoring the shorts he took off. Your panty matches the colour to your lovely bra. You feel so warm between the flat stomach, his fingers slip your panties down to your legs half way.

Eyes look up to see your face. “You strike me as someone who knows everything.” He might be right. You come across as reliable person.

But you don’t know everything unfortunately, you’re only human and you doubt that Mark knows absolutely everything too. You smile shyly and close your thighs together.

This was embarrassing. You never really went further than kissing someone badly before. He could see everything but the moment your legs shut him off Mark gave a small nudge with his hands to pull your thighs apart gently.

“No hiding Y/n come on? Open up for me.”

Your hands cover your face as your legs open up like two doors. Mark smiles in awe but you couldn’t see that. The boy kissed your entrance, like a peck to the lips until those same lips kiss the inner thighs. He loved seeing your legs trembling from nothing but nervousness.

You really are a small ball of wreck.

He quietly says. “You’re pretty down there why are you so worried?”

He didn’t quite understand what was making you this anxious and you shudder when his tongue does kitten lick motions to your pussy. You’re unable to make any sense of what just happened, but all you know is that this feels too good to stop.

Tongue traps at your nub flicking his motions in left and right directions: your pelvis subtly lifts off the bed to roll back. Mark hums against your entrance, he was devouring you as if it’s his first time too. It feels too good for you and that’s what’s making him get off the whole idea: You feeling good.

His tongue went inside your small hole giving it a few thrusts of his tongue. His nose pressed right against your clit. Your burning hot skin flushes his face and your thighs squeeze when your stomach clenches so tightly. Without a warning you slip into oblivion.

Mumbling out highly. “Fuckfuckfuck m’gonna cum.”

Striving to give you the best orgasm of your life, Mark feverishly sucks on your edging pearl, your clit was practically swollen and this pushed you right off the edge just as he wanted you to. He was watching up at you from down there seeing your spine arch and your moans hit the back of your throat, so hoarse and sore. The way your eyes shut and your hands grip at anything nearby: the bed sheets, your breasts, his thick hair.

Pulling out of your wet slimey pussy from all the coating of saliva. You take a deep breath, Mark positions him above you he saw your bright reddish cheeks and your sparkling wet eyes. You look beautiful like this.

He whispers. “Do you still want to continue?”

Your mind was a fog but you never hesitated to reply to your classmate. “Yes, please.”

It’s definitely a sight to see. You’re being so adamant about it. Mark leans down and pulls down his rock solid crotch out. Those jeans slipped off and it leaves an ugly feeling when you’re hard in jeans.

It feels like a big weight lifted from him when it comes off. The boy sits back and gave you a glance as if he is telling you to come forward.

“Do you want to take the boxers off?” You heard him ask you. Your eyes light up and with your small hands pulling off his boxers. Mark gave you a dark gaze when his large cock springs up against his stomach. Your mouth waters just looking at it.

Your stomach made a small butterfly clutch too. You look at him in panic. “Whoa wait, will that fit?” You sound so dumbfounded. But Mark grinned and he rubs your thighs reassuringly.

“It can, it will. Trust me on this I’m the teacher here.”

He was right he was the teacher here and you’re just a mere helpless virgin. You lay down on the bed sheets when Mark moves on top of you his hard tip had to do a few teasing streaks on your entrance. You were anticipating him to just ram it in — but he wasn’t.

You were just impatient and Mark was a very patient guy who didn’t want to rush a process like this. At least for now he doesn’t have anywhere to be, what’s the rush right?

The tip was pushed out and back in, it was like a car reverse and driving forward. Your entrance was locked tight so Mark wants to stretch you out with just the tip. He had a feeling he might have to use two fingers before anything else is to happen. The boy pressed his thumb and rubs your clit. You mumble out a whine, and then his singular finger goes inside you just to do a little stretch here and there. The second finger was when it starts to feel too good for you. Your eyes shut and your voice starts to feel good.

He made his hand shake a little and then come out. Only for his tip to slip in fully in you and then gradually expand his shaft inside your pussy. You feel good, Mark was addicted to the feeling of his cock buried in your velvety new walls.

He grunts, his breath shaking. “Ah fuck Y/n, you feel better than i thought you would.”

It took every ounce of his body not to rut against you like a wild fucking beast, Mark moves up against your stomach. Your hands tremble upwards to hold his forearms.

“Mh! Fuck, it kind of hurts.” Your voice murmurs and the boy had his attention all on you. He was watching only your face when his body did the moving thing. When you told him it kind of hurts, Mark had a feeling the pain will turn to pleasure soon for you. All he could do was give a small ‘shh’ and a kiss on the forehead for you.

You’re kind of glad Mark is your first. He seems to be gentle and loving enough for this. If it was anyone else you don’t think they would be as supportive as he was to you.

A simple kiss on the forehead made your worries disappear. And you let him rut against your pussy that squelches on his shape, taking every single inch of his cock until he was balls deep.

He was right, the pain did turn to pleasure real soon.

He brushed some of your hair back from your face as his thrusts connect to his pivoting muscles and hips. Mark admires your honesty expressions too, he couldn’t help himself. You were pretty even in this state.

The boy brushed down your jawline, he leans to capture a kiss on your lips. Your voice slips off like a breathy breeze. “Mark — feels too good.”

He smiles down at you. “I know,”

Your thighs wrap themselves on his waist and that brought him deeper in a whole new position when he is pushing in your loving arms. And then you feel a strong urge in the stomach, something that’s about to explode.

Your eyebrow ends connect, furrowing. “M’think I’m gonna cum…”

You didn’t exactly know but the feeling was so intense it overlaps your hearing and your brain goes back moments later after the surging sensation washes over you.

Mark feels you cumming right on his cock, he grits his teeth together jawline attached with his remaining strength.

“Me too, I’m close, hold on.” He mumbles lowly until he fucks himself just enough to pull out of you and then flick his wrist down the shaft to paint you of his cum on your bare stomach.

Deeply breathing the boy pulls back on the bed, you achingly sit up with a small groan. You never felt your body become this sore.

Your eyes watch Mark as the boy brushed back his hair with his hand. You both look like visible messes. Sweating and panting.

Your lips curve into a small smile. “So, do you need help with anything else in your classes?”

Mark gave a visible chuckle somehow it feels like you’re going to be more of a distraction when you’re going to tutor him than he likes to believe.

“Uhh, let’s see.” He replies, looking at the studying materials you guys left unattended on the floor. Scattered is the right word more like.

“I think I prefer to Exchange Lessons.” He admits, causing you to chuckle.

Mark thinks you do too, considering you’re not disagreeing.

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@onyourhyuck please refer from translating copyrighting and plagiarising my work thank you!! Follow my blog for more and reblog it helps a girl out<3 ily

[youraverageaemondsimp]

A Joyful Occasion. // Aemond Targaryen x Aegon ii Targaryen x Niece!Reader.

MDNI // slightly dark.

WARNINGS: p in v sex, breeding kink, 3some, tiddy sucking, m/m/f, poly relationship (?), aemond x aegon, virginity loss, oral (f. and m.), jealousy, manipulation, gaslighting(?), age system is according to medieval/canon standard but no sexual acts until 18, canon typical incest + not proof read.

A/N: this was something I wrote for pure self indulgence since I turned 19 today! thanks to everyone who wished me! I'm so thankful for it, here is the treat I made for myself that I'm willing to share 🤭

WC: 2.2k

It was your nameday today, a joyful occasion, your grandfather decided to throw a grand ball to celebrate it, for it was your 18th nameday, a special occasion for any young woman.

You were the centre of attention, and you did not mind it, liking it in fact, the way the Lords and Ladies alike would come and wish a good evening and an amazing day, occasionally kissing your hand as a greeting, you were having the time of your life.

Two people in particular, were not.

Aegon and Aemond.

Your relationship with Aegon and Aemond is quite a complicated one, you love both the men, they loved you and each other as well, though to others you three looked like people who never got along, if only they knew what happens behind the closed chambers, though you had only shared a few kisses, never really getting to the intimate bit yet, but you knew they both engaged in it with one another.

They were happy for you, celebrating this special occasion, at first at least, but then their mood turned sour, when they spotted multiple people eyeing you with nothing but lust, men and women alike, you however, were none the wiser.

You came down to sit in between them, tired from standing, and you felt Aegon's hand on your thigh, giving it a squeeze and you shot him a look, to which he smirked at. Aemond opened his mouth to talk, and talk he did.

This surprised everyone, you and Aemond having a civil conversation without any snarky remarks thrown at each other? That was until Aegon butted in, throwing in a crude comment which made you annoyed.

“All these meals yet my appetite seems to crave something else.” Aegon perversely comments, you shoot him a glare and Alicent says his name as a warning, but he knew you weren't angry, because the way you rubbed your thighs together told him so.

Jace, your brother, misreading the situation came up and offered you a hand, you looked at him confused but then realised he was asking you to dance and you accepted it with a smile and left to dance on the floor with him.

Aegon's gaze followed your figure, turning around in his seat to watch you dance with jace, his hands on your waist, so did Aemond's gaze.

They both observed how you laughed and how Jace's touch was lingering longer than usual, and that's when they noticed the faint blush on his cheeks, Aegon turned his attention to Aemond and Aemond looked at him as well.

They were communicating in silence and Aemond gave him a nod, and Aegon fully turned away from his attention on you and focused on the table.

That was until he got up from his chair, announcing that he was retiring to his chambers, Aemond did the same after, and you felt your beat quicken and you felt a twinge in your heart, they promised you that they would stay until the end but now they are the first ones to retire.

You lingered around for a bit, unable to keep calm.

And then you couldn't take it anymore, loudly announcing that you were tired and that you wanted to rest, and your mother and father gave you a smile before allowing you to be dismissed.

Your feet led you to your chambers, and then the secret route which connected to Aegon's room, you pushed the stone wall aside and open the door, finding Aemond inside there room as well, pouring a drink in the goblet while Aegon laid on the bed playing with whatever was in his hands.

“You guys promised.” your voice cracked and they turned their attention to you, Aegon smirked before gesturing you to come over to him, and you did, he sat up resting his neck on your shoulder, his hand holding yours.

“I did not like the way he touched you.” Aegon began and you looked at him confused, before then it finally clicked and before you could say anything, Aegon pushed you on the bed getting on top of you.

“Aegon?” you asked and he hummed, trailing kisses on your neck, his hands gripped your sides, holding your waist and he grinds himself against you. “You liked the way he touched you didn't you?” his voice suddenly became angry and you shook your head, and you watched as his lip twitched.

He got off you and you whined when the warmth he provided was gone, he went to Aemond, who was sitting on the chaise drinking, before he sat next to him, kissing him instead, making you watch.

“You do not deserve our love, niece.” Aemond said disapprovingly, you shook your head, immediately getting up and going over to him, standing in front of him. “It seems your brother is enough for you, why do you need us anyway? Do you even love us? I bet you don't” he accuses you and your lips tremble, “I do! I do! Please uncle do not accuse me of such a thing, my heart breaks.” you reply weakly.

“But earlier, you seemed to be having fun with other lords, ladies and your brother.” Aemond raises an eyebrow, and you fall to your knees in front of him, apologising and he grips your face, thumb trailing the underside of your lip.

You watch as Aegon's hand undoes Aemonds breeches, pulling out his half hard cock and giving it pumps, up and down as he kisses, your mouth salivates, you had always watched them be intimate, they never let you join, telling you that you would only be able to after your 18th nameday passes by, yet now, they are still not letting you join.

“Do you know, my niece? We planned something for you, which we thought of giving after the celebration ends, however your naughty behaviour from earlier made us rethink our decision.” Aegon coos as you sniff, rubbing your thighs together, getting aroused at the tone of their voices, and also the fact that you felt so vulnerable.

You always put an act of being tough in front of others, glaring at others and proving your point, you were the daughter of rhaenyra after all, you saw vulnerability as a weakness but then these both men happened, and since then you loved feeling vulnerable, only infront of them of course, people would call it fucked but you wanted to be submissive when it came to them, let them push you around and mock you in private, it scratched an itch.

With teary eyes your hands tried to grab Aemonds cock but Aegon slapped your hand away, tutting, “Ah, ah, ah, no touching.” and you sniff loudly, “Please- please uncle- let me join you both at last, you both have teased me too much.” you beg them and Aegon chuckles meanly. “What do you say Aemy? Should we forgive her? She looks so cute.” Aegon asks Aemond, and he seems to be in a thought for a while, he almost seems to reject the idea, but you had a plan.

And so you undid your dress, letting the sleeves fall down, exposing your breasts to them and Aemonds breath hitches in his throat. He swallows thickly, eyes roaming over your breasts before giving a quick nod.

Although Aegon was said to have an insatiable hunger, he wouldn't have melted or changed his mind because once he decides to be cruel, he is cruel. Aemond on the other hand, gets desperate, especially for his sweet niece who he had a crush on since youth, the idea of finally getting to touch you after all the waiting makes him change his mind quickly.

Aegon tuts as he notices how his brother immediately changed his mind, but he quickly accepts it and pulls you off your knees, causing the gown to fall down and pool around your knees, leaving you bare.

You shivered in the chill air of the night, goosebumps arising on your flesh as Aegon admired the view, licking his lips before he pulled you onto his lap.

Your knees were on the either side of his legs, hands on his shoulders to keep yourself balanced and steady, and he looks at you before kissing your neck, Aemond pulls your face towards his, grabbing you by the back of your neck as he moves his lips against yours, this position was awkward but arousing at the same time, your start grinding against Aegon mindlessly, gasping when he takes your nipples in his mouth, suckling and nibbling on it.

You moan into Aemonds mouth and he pulls away, the string of saliva still connecting you both.

“Take her to the bed.” Aemond commands breathily, and Aegon immediately obeys him, carrying you towards the bed, your legs wrapping around him as he stood.

He places you gently onto the bed before trailing kisses down your body, from your neck to your breasts, to your stomach, to your thighs before stopping at the most precious thing.

Your cunt.

“Fuck, look at her.” he groaned as he held your legs apart, eyes greedily devouring the way your folds glistened in the candle lights. You heard shuffling beside you and spotted Aemond, fully bare just like you, his cock out on full display, hard and almost twitching, appearing as though it had a mind of its own.

You swallowed at the sight.

“Open your mouth”

And you did, Aemond slapped the tip of his cock against your bottom lip a few times before pushing it inside, and you closed your eyes, not knowing what to do.

“Breathe darling, relax.” You heard Aegon coo and you nodded, “It's her first time, Aemy, be gentle.” Aegon adviced and Aemond simply nodded.

It was hard for Aemond to be gentle when your mouth was so warm and wet, wrapped around his touch, the way he felt your tongue move, not knowing what to do with it, where to rest it was driving him into madness.

He grabbed you by your hair, slowly thrusting in and out, you maintained the position, making sure your teeth are not biting onto him and your tongue still as he uses your mouth, your focus was entirely on Aemond that you didn't see Aegon move, only when the sudden feeling of warmth on your core reached your brain did you realise what had happened, Aegon devoured your cunt with such intensity, kissing your pearl with fervour, you gripped his hair as he licked your folds, relishing in the taste of you.

Your moans were muffled by Aemond, and he snapped because of the way your moans were causing vibrations against him, making his pleasure grow high, he grabbed your hair and fucked your face brutal and fast as Aegon continued his ministrations on your cunt.

And before you know it, you reach your peak so intensely, hips pushing into Aegon's face, practically riding it, while Aemond shot his seed down your throat and pulled out.

You panted heavily on the bed, chest heaving up and down. You saw Aegon and Aemond switch positions, Aegon coming to your side to kiss your face and Aemond lifted your hips up, making you wrap your legs around his hips as he lined up his dick against your entrance.

“I'm letting you take her virginity Aemy, you owe me head later.” Aegon winks and Aemond simply hums before prodding at your entrance. Aemond pushed in gently and you gasped at the burning stretch, Aegon hushed you, cooing at you and kissing your face as a comfort.

The painful burning sensation continued to exist as Aemond pushed more and more of his length inside you, before he was sitting inside snugly.

Luckily, Aemond gave you time to adjust and moved only a little, going slow to not hurt you, letting your pain subside and turn into pleasure before he quickened his pace.

You threw your head back as he repeatedly snapped his hips against yours, his pelvis rubbing against your pearl, Aegon latched himself on his tiddies and sucked on them, hands going down to grip his own cock and he pumped himself up and down, moaning against your tits.

Your body was overwhelmed with pleasure, extremely sensitive all throughout and then you peaked once again, crying out Aemond's name as he continued fucking you, chasing his own peak before he spilled himself deep inside of you.

“You finished inside her?” Aegon asks and Aemond nods, “Want to knock her up.” Aemond voices his thoughts and Aegon smirks, pushing Aemond away and settling between your legs, “It's my turn now.” he says cruelly and Aemond nods, taking a small break as he watched Aegon push his cock inside you, causing you whine and grip the bed sheets beneath you, Aegon gripped your hips tightly, thrusting into you at an animalistic pace causing you throw your head back and whine, Aemond was beginning to get hard again, the blood rushing to his cock.

Aegon finishes inside you with a loud moan of your name, while you finish at the same time as well, he leans down to kiss you.

“Let's see who's seed takes first.” Aegon taunts and Aemond rolls his eyes, “Mine will.” and that convo turns into bickering while you lay there, feeling the way both their combined spend leak out of you, pooling on the bed sheets beneath while you try to catch your breath.

It was the best fucking night of your life.

———

[yeonzzzn]

You're sooo amazinggg. I loveeee the last req I sent 😳🫶 I have another hope u don't mind 🥹 Enha hyung line (has breeding kink) goes to a glory hole and virgin reader who is working there for the first time. Gives her their number if ever she gets preggy.

-🪻

tbh I live for hyung line having a breeding kink I absolutely LOVE that shit‼️‼️‼️

☾ I have a feeling literally all of hyung line would just lose it at finding out you’re a virgin. because let’s be honest here, they would so have a corruption kink too. and with those two kinks combined? oh good lord.

☾ heeseung I already know would be so balls deep inside you losing his fucking brains at how tight your cunt is wrapped around him. cock twitching like never before. “fuck baby you’re so tight. fucking this virgin pussy so good huh?” heeseung would be spilling into you before he even knew it, would be so unaware of how close he was to climaxing until the feeling of his released washed over him, his body shaking from the sensation as he continued to fuck into you letting your tight cunt milk him dry, “breeding this pussy so good. sucking every last drop huh baby?” let’s just say from now on heeseung is always requesting you for now on, sliding you a paper with his phone number for a “just in case you end up pregnant” with a bunch of winky face ;) ;) ;)

☾ jay I feel has the worst corruption and breeding kink out of all hyung line and that’s not even a bad thing ;). as i’ve said before, jay is a lover boy through and through but in the terms of sex he can be a totally different person. the moment his tip is prodding your entrance bro is groaning and hissing at the tightness. Arousal filling every inch of his body, “fuck baby you’re a virgin? god that’s so hot.” jay wouldn’t even be gentle just because it was your first, fucking into you as if you’ve been fucked before not giving a damn about anything else. jay being your first gave him a MAJOR ego boost and made him so so much more horny. “gonna be the first male to ever breed this cunt,” he growls, “your pussy is MINE! understand? i’m going to ruin you.” and ruin you he does, his cum filling your cunt to the brim. like heeseung, jay is immediately sliding you his phone number right after, “call me if you get pregnant, or if you want to get pregnant. pussy is mine, remember?”

☾ jake I feel is the member with the least amount of a corruption kink, but don’t get me wrong, it still drives him up a wall that you’re a virgin, gaining an ego boost that he’s your first and gets to be the one that takes that innocence, “your virginity is mine baby, MINE.” we also all know jake has a high sex drive, and you being a virgin combined with the small corruption kink and major breeding kink he has? god he was going to fold so hard and so fast. loving the way your tight cunt is wrapped around him as he pounded into you at a primal rate to chase after the high he’s craved the minute he bottomed out. “mmm gonna cum baby, fuck, gonna breed this virgin cunt, make it all mine. forever mine.” jake is seeing stars after he cums, still bucking his hips into you to make sure every last drop of cum is shoved so deep within you, “making sure I become a daddy, can’t leave without making sure.” jake would also slip you his number right after, telling you to call him if you end up not being pregnant because home boy will be back so fast to breed you again.

☾ sunghoon I know has just as bad as a corruption kink as jay but maybe a few notches lower. but damn does finding out your a virgin while fucking into you makes him crazy, snapping his hips harder and faster, “fuck it’s so hot that i’m the first man to touch this sweet cunt. the first one to leave you completely ruined. fuck I might be in love.” sunghoon would be biting his lip so hard at how good you were taking his cock for being a virgin, at how your pussy sucked him so good, at how fucking tight you were making him fit inside you so perfectly regardless of the struggle is was to slide his long cock in. sunghoon is pounding into you for the sole purpose of actually breeding your cunt and ruining you. how could he not? the thoughts of completely tearing your pussy open and filling you balls deep with his cum was driving him into a frenzy of possessiveness, “cunt is mine, no one else can have it. mine mine mine. understand baby? going to breed the fuck out of MY cunt, get you pregnant with my child.” he’s hissing out in pleasure as he unloads into you, snapping his hips one final time, cock pressing so hard against your cervix as he cums. sunghoon is also sliding you his number and telling you to get another job because again, no one else is allowed to touch that sweet cunt of yours.

[l1tw1ck]

Please write more of the toy. PLEASE -🥚

Toy (2)

dom!bottom!ftm oc x sub!top!masc reader

wellll since you asked sooo nicely and im in the mood to write some sexy dominating men,,, | AFAB Language Used

CW: Non-Con, Dark Content

Debt Free

CW: Non-Con, Pet Play (Sort of) (puppy pet name, mention of collar and leash)

You were given the opportunity to clear your debt by dating your goddamned debt collector. He fell for you and basically ruined your life, he made you fall deeper and deeper into debt just so he could make you desperate enough to accept his offer. Now you're in his bedroom, wearing a studded collar and a leash. He likes treating you like an obedient dog and making you do things for him knowing you're not allowed to deny him. He could kill you if he wanted to.

He sits comfortably on your face, treating it like a special throne. He arches his back, shivering as he feels your tongue exploring his soft walls. "Mm...just like that, puppy~" He moans. "You've gotten better- uh~!" He gasps as your tongue finds his g-spot. He throws his head back, crying out shamelessly in pleasure as you eat him out. You're not the biggest fan of him but you can't deny the wonderful taste of his pussy and the pretty moans that come out of his mouth. "Yes- yes-" He breathes out.

"Fu- fuck~!" He squirts. "Mmh- such a good puppy.." He grinds down on your face before getting up.

ok i got lazy sorry

How to Please a Man

CW: Stepcest, Manipulation

this was lowkey difficult to write bc i have no idea how to finger someone 😭😭😭 im an autistic asexual virgin who absolutely hates masturbating with my fingers bc sticky so if anything is off ... thats why

You decided to ask your step father for relationship advice. You're a virgin and you're very nervous about asking out your crush. He was eager to give you advice and even offered to teach you some things.

"I bet you don't even know how to kiss." He climbs onto your lap. "Let me teach you." He doesn't wait for an answer and forces you into a kiss. You try to push him away but he's too strong. He grinds down on your crotch, determined to fuck you.

He finally pulls away from the kiss. "Relax, most guys don't like inexperience. I'll make sure you know what you're doing with him." He stands up and grabs your hand, pulling you into his bedroom and bringing you onto the bed with him. He manages to shimmy his shorts and boxers off, exposing his wet cunt to you. "Don't be scared, try and do what you think would feel good."

You swallow the lump in your throat. He's probably right. Your crush would appreciate it if you knew what you were doing. And this probably doesn't mean anything to him. He's just helping you out. Although you're unaware of your crush's anatomy, this'll probably be helpful for any future endeavors too. You look at his t-dick and hold it with your thumb and index finger, gently sliding it up and down. "Is...is that good?"

"Yeah, so good.." He moans. Jerking his dick is the easiest way to get him off thanks to how sensitive is. "But, you shouldn't rely on just that to please m- him."

"Oh- okay." You slide your finger down his cunt, eyeing him for a reaction. You slowly push your finger inside him, your breathing turns shallow as you take in the feeling of his warmth. You didn't know it felt like this. So warm, so plush, and so fucking wet. God. You feel weird for thinking this way about your step father but dear Lord, his pussy feels amazing. You slide in another finger and fumble around in his insides.

"Try finding my g-spot. You'll know when you find it."

You search around for it, earning a soft gasp from him when you find it. You poke it with the pads of your fingers, effectively pleasing him. You get the smart idea of sucking his dick while doing this.

"Fuck- good boy~" He throws his head back. "That's it. Keep going.."

You find yourself getting turned on by the sound of his moans and his praise. This is so wrong but oh so fucking good.

You keep going until he squirts, making a mess of the bed. You pull your mouth off his dick and lick up his slick before pulling away.

"Do you wanna learn more?" He looks at you with a lopsided smile. You nod eagerly, no longer worried about the morality of this.

part two for the second part if i remember lololol

[cephalofrog]

as god's strongest golden order hater rykard is a character I love so much. he's my third favourite of the main lore characters (behind messmer and marika) and imo he's interesting cause of how, in my opinion, he doesn't represent a relationship TO the golden order, like messmer's struggle with his own position within it, but instead represents something ABOUT it.

volcano manor is a horrific, sick area. it's a facade of finery atop an entire town built for the specific purpose of torturing those deemed deserving of it. when we arrive, at the centre of it all is the lord of blasphemy rykard, the depraved serpent, consumed by his own ambitions.

but...

the manor is not a creation of the lord of blasphemy. the manor was built by praetor rykard, demigod of the golden order, and until the shattering, the manor was in service of the golden order. every horrific torture device, every method of inflicting pain upon another human being that you can find here, was created in service of order and the grace of gold.

I think a lot of people get the wrong idea about rykard. they buy the narrative of his knights wholeheartedly - he was a good man, an honourable man, until his ambitions destroyed him and turned him into the serpent. his men were dedicated to him, which proves that he was a good person, right? people would never follow anyone who gives them the authority and legitimacy to commit horrific abuse against other people for any impure or dishonourable reason.

power doesn't corrupt. power reveals. rykard never changed. his knights just couldn't accept the truth. he just went from targeting those without grace to targeting those who he could gain power from.

volcano manor, the tormented albinaurics, the abductor virgins, the hidden routes leading into dungeons, the inquisitors and their weapons of torture - all of the golden order. the part that makes rykard depraved, dishonourable, unacceptable, is the fact that he's no longer committing atrocities against the correct people.

to clarify: lord of blasphemy rykard sucks. his aim is to gain as much power for himself as possible. but this never changed. the god-devouring serpent isn't a corruption of a once-good man -

the god-devouring serpent is what the honourable praetor rykard always was.

[just-some-random-blogger]

The Salt In My Blood

You were the beloved Jewel of the Realm, the youngest Targaryen born to Alyssa and Baelon. Though your nature resembled more a lamb rather than a dragon, you posed a threat at court, for a single word out of your mouth inspired a thousand actions from The King and The Rogue Prince. Thus, your match with the Lord of the Iron Islands.

Daemon Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader x Dalton Greyjoy | 6k+ | cw: fem!reader, targcest (sister!reader), reader has valyrian features (silver hair, violet eyes), power imbalance, graphic depictions of violence/assault/murder/death, canon divergence/inaccurate timelines, ye old misogyny, fuckedupedness of men, smut (dub con, loss of virginity, piv, biting, marking, breeding kink, corruption kink, baby trapping, cockwarming, cunnilingus), internet translated high valyrian, angst, social commentary, typos, etc.

A/N: !!mind the warnings!! This is really yucky because it is. all men do is hurt women. Also I did basic research for Dalton Greyjoy and just used him cuz I needed a character. idk what he's actually like and I'm 99% sure this timeline doesn't add up so, just roll w it ok? Ok. If my internet translated high valyrian sucks, well, it be like that. And surprise surprise i made another song for a fic because i should make use of my music degree while im jobless 💔 my heart goes out to @arabellasleopardcoat because her fic capital really poked my brain and got me fired up enough to write/create again, even if just for this fic. i love you.

Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @sloanexx @delicious-xx @deniixlovezelda @targaryenmoony @risefallrise @thebullship @sa3losa @sloanexx @azperja @happilyhertale

Father, father, shining star, save my brother from the war. Mother, mother, hold me close. I fear brother won't come home. So, I pray, night and day, I do my duty here. Find me, oh [a] husband, so fierce with not a fear. Father, father hears my prayer. Mother, mother dries my tears. All my strife ends tonight for my husband's here.

"But what if someone sees," you whisper.

Daemon clutches your hand tighter as you hurry down the hall. He looks over to you, your expression matches your shaky voice.

Perhaps, had the conditions been different, he'd be softened by your words. The ferocity of his protectiveness would have made him stop in his footsteps and clutch your cheek. Perhaps he would have promised to safeguard you.

But these conditions did not elicit such urges from him. No. It stoked the fires bacchanal in his gut. The stolen taste of your honeyed lips in the garden was not enough.

Daemon finally brings his darling sister into his bedroom, and there, he answers you, "who would dare spy on the king's heir, the prince of the realm?"

Your breath quickens at the sound of your brother locking the door.

The prince of the realm stalks over to you, a dragon gazing upon a meek lamb.

Again, you whisper, "what if someone finds out?"

Daemon could growl. He almost did as he grabs your waist and sinks his head into the crook of your tender neck. You don't even react when he does this, save for your gasp.

Oh, how like you, how docile and doe-like, never one to raise your voice, or fight back, especially not with him.

"Let them find out, sister," he claws your clothing, "then they will not steal you from me."

You are so pliant as he squeezes you, so soft as he roughs you back to his bed. You let him handle you like he did your dolls growing up. He treated them with less than a quarter of the gentleness you would; they'd end up tattered and broken because of him by the end of your playing session, much to your heartbreak.

Though you cried about it, you never once held it against him, because each time, Daemon would wipe your tears and apologize. He liked breaking your dolls. He liked being your comfort.

He knew without a sliver of doubt you'd let him do the same to your body. You'd let him break you, then kiss the tears off your cheeks. You'd let him, for he was your star, and you were his doll.

Daemon presses you beneath him. He lays you down where he sleeps. He kisses you, the way he has sometimes imagined he would while touching himself, or while in the arms of another. His long, silver hair cascades down his shoulder, joining your long, silver hair that's spilled on his pillows.

For so long, he's denied himself of you, because you were too pure, too darling to be tainted.

You whimper as he pushes your skirts up, bunching them by your ribs.

But now, it's all different.

His mouth suckles its way to your neck.

"Daemon."

Now, it's not about denial. It's about what's right. It's about what you deserve.

"Daemon-" you whimper when he reaches into the waistband of your smallclothes, "-wait."

He breathes hotly against your jaw. He grabs your knees and parts them for himself.

You push his shoulders back, catching his attention. He is displeased, and not even your glassy eyes could quell it. He warns you with an annoyed sound.

You gulp but mutter anyway, "this is wrong."

"Wrong?!" snaps he.

You tense at his anger, yet even then, you caress his cheek gently, "I am to be married to Lord Dalton Greyjoy."

"And you would have me believe you want him?" Daemon quips, "that you do not want me?"

You push yourself up on your elbows. Tears begin to spill from the corner of your eyes, "Daem-"

"Why do you think I am doing this?" He pushes himself against your core.

You whimper at the contact. He is hard.

He grabs your wrists and pins them to your sides, "I do this for your sake, little girl. To save you from your prison."

You gulp and blink rapidly, your silver lashes lace with tears.

The slightest semblance of remorse flashes on your brother's face.

With your head lifted, you watch as Daemon brings his hands to your ankles instead. He rids you of your shoes and chucks them over his shoulder.

Slowly, he strips you naked until you are left in nothing but the jewelry and the stockings he bought you once before.

You cover your breasts, and he lets you while he kneads at your slightly parted thighs.

His eyes are glued on your womanhood, on the curls that don't see the light of day and the flesh that's never been touched by a man.

Daemon clenches his jaw as his fingers inspect the heat there. The two digits find molten wetness flooding your entrance. You make a breathless sound and squeeze your thighs, trying, with pointless effort, to stop him. His eyes flick to your face, the look of embarrassment, of shock, of pleasure visible to him. He debates forcing your legs.

He licks his you-coated fingers and tuts instead, "open."

You look at him, your Daemon, with a faint line between his brows. You close your mouth and lick your lips. Your hands find their way back to your breasts.

The sight is maddening, especially with how the jewel of your necklace looks between the squished mount of flesh.

"Open," he commands with less patience.

Daemon watches his darling princess part her legs for him. His trousers strain more than it did already.

He watches you closely and motions with a finger to your chest, "those too."

You do not immediately comply. In fact, you look at Daemon with pleading eyes. He raises his brows at your bratty demeanor, and shakes his head, "are you disobeying me?"

You see the threat in his eyes.

"Kessa nyke mazverdagon ao rūnagon aōha dīnagon?" Shall I make you remember your place?

You shake your head and pipe softly, "daor." No.

Finally, you reveal your breasts to him.

He smirks, "good girl."

Your brother kneads your delicate flesh and grinds his clothed groin against your weeping cunt. The sound you emit makes the feel of the clothes on his skin unbearable.

He grabs your hands and places them on his waistband. He looks down at you as he rids himself of his top. By the time his burning chest is free, you've gotten half the wits to undo his breeches.

His eyes don't leave you as he takes off his shoes.

You timidly pull his pants down, sitting up slightly as you do. You make a soft sound when his manhood flings free. Daemon shoves you back and does the rest himself.

"Daemon. I don't think-"

Your voice is crushed by the feel of his cock sliding into you. A rush of heat ripples through your body. He leans down and kisses your shoulder as you whine.

"Enough," he pants. He uses all his restraint not to fuck you dumb then and there. He grabs your thighs, pressing them into your chest. He can feel your tension. If he fucks you now, he could leave you unable to walk straight. But as sweet as that sounds, he doesn't actually want to hurt you, not that way.

Daemon sinks down to your jugular and kisses you there before he brings his hungry mouth to your breast. He sucks and nips, imagining it being heavy with milk for his babe, the babe he'd put into your belly.

The thought makes his moan and rut his hips.

You make a strained sound and your hands push at his arms. You call his name again, soft and shaky.

Daemon tries to ignore you, his palm coming to your lonely breast on the other side, but the persistent call of his name makes him sigh.

He lightly grazes your nipple before he releases your flesh. He trails kisses up your skin until he lands on your face, your face, which was now wet with salt.

"You need to relax. Mmm?" he coos, kissing your lips, "skoro syt gaomagon ao limagon? Hm?" Why do you cry?

You adjust beneath him, repositioning your thighs, digging your fingers into his nape. You whimper, "lēkia."

Daemon's belly burns. Look at you, crying for your older brother.

"Kessa, ñuha hāedar?" Yes, my little sister?

"Iksan zūgagon," you mutter, tears streaming down your temples. Your nails scratch up his scalp. I am afraid.

Daemon, selfish as he is, does not like the fact that leaves your lips. His brows furrow. He rubs your thighs in an attempt to comfort you. He kisses the corner of your lips, "hen lēkia?" Of your older brother?

You shake your head quickly, rubbing your thumb on his jaw.

His brows furrow tighter. His hold on your thigh tightens, "hen bona Āegenka Āzma?" Of that Iron Born?

You stay still. You take a moment before mumbling, "Viserys said I should marry him for my own good-"

"Fuck that cunt Viserys," he spits angrily.

Your lips quiver.

The anger in Daemon's chest dissipates as you rub the deep line between his brows. He props himself up, sinking a hand by the side of your head. He looks down at you.

"You cannot protect me forever," you whisper, finally relaxing beneath him.

Daemon watches as you lick your lips.

You gulp, "I am a Targaryen princess. I have duties to the realm, to my family."

"Your duty is with me," he grabs your hand, bringing it to his chest.

Your violet eyes sparkle as you examine his features. You tuck the long tresses that block his face behind his ear. Your belly ignites at the fierce beauty of your beloved brother.

"I burn for you," Daemon says, "I know that you burn for me."

"But Daemon-"

The gentle thrust of his hips stifle your words.

You whimper and instinctively mold your body against him. Your legs tighten around his torso as his thrusts grow more and more confident.

"Enough," Daemon repeats this time softer, head sinking back into the crook of your neck, "you have always belonged to me, and you know it."

Daemon kisses you, delighting in the gasp you give when he plays with your pearl. He muffles the sound of your mewls with his mouth.

"They insult us all by daring to mix dragon blood with fucking sea squid," he pants, "you were meant to carry my seed, be my bride."

You moan, feeling a foreign force in your belly.

"I will not let that sewer monster be the one to make you a woman," Daemon licks a stripe up your neck.

You tangle your fingers into the roots of his hair, "Daemon."

His nails scratch up your sides, "twas I that watched you blossom into womanhood, tis I that should be the one to take it."

Neither of you speak after he says this. You both simply whimper, wordlessly agreeing your bodies were made for each other.

The prince had not a single care in the world. He urges you to scream out to him with the flick of his pelvis. He didn't care if anyone could hear, neither did he care that anyone would see the viscious marks he was leaving all over your throat.

You were better than he had ever imagined, and he was determined to make you his. He was intent on emptying his stones, over and over again, until you could take no more, until you were too exhausted to leave, until your body had no other choice but to carry him a child.

And when he finally does spill into you, coming with a grunt and a soft, "you're mine," you, the virgin princess finally understand the fuss over sex, and reply to him with an, "I love you."

Daemon fucks you until his bed is soiled with a mix of your come. He fucks you until every minute movement from him makes you shiver and whine. He fucks you until your skin is marked with tender bites. He fucks you until you beg for respite, and then he keeps himself inside you after.

You were a worn little thing, and yet you managed the energy to still cling to him as you dozed off.

He kisses your temple and sleeps soundly, knowing he's done it, he's made his claim; you were his. That was irrefutable. Only a madman would deny him of you now. He basks in the pleasure of your body, and in the knowledge his baby sister so wholeheartedly trusted in him to let him do this.

One can only imagine, then, the mortified horror you felt when you were given to Lord Greyjoy anyway.

This was not part of the plan. You were meant to meet Daemon. He told you you were going to speak to the king together, and yet here your eldest brother was, ushering you towards your captor-husband to be.

"My princess," Dalton says, reaching a hand to you.

You stare at his glimmering eyes, finding nothing but malice and lust behind them. You turn to your brother for help. You do not want to touch this man.

Viserys offers you none and looks away. It hurts when he does so, especially since he does so with such apparent scorn. He smiles at Dalton, "greet your lord. You will soon be wed to him, sister."

You muster enough artificial interest to smile. Goosebumps form on your skin when he kisses the back of your hand.

He notices and chuckles, rubbing where he kissed, "such demureness. Do not be frightened of me, my dragon. I would not hurt such a pretty thing."

You clasp your hands together after he releases you.

"Not unless you ask," he adds, bursting into a laugh.

Neither you or Viserys return the amusement. In fact, the latter's face contorts at the distasteful joke. His nostrils flare, "you dare jest such uncouth things in front of your king?"

Dalton Greyjoy is unbothered, but stifles his laughter. He clears his throat and bows, "my apologies, my king. Tis the Ironborn in me. I cannot help my nature, much like you cannot help yours."

You feel light headed the entirety of this interaction. The room feels like it was closing in on you, and you kept glancing at the door, praying that your other brother free you from this torment.

He does not. He does not come. In fact, you do not see Daemon anywhere the entire day.

Dalton keeps you by his side, taking your arm in his as he makes you stroll him around the Red Keep. You do so, of course, no matter how strong the urge to run away and hide from him was. The entire time, Dalton recounts his stories of battle, his stories at sea, his stories of life. He's sincere enough, but you are not interested in the slightest.

"I think you'd enjoy the feel of sea salt against your skin, just as much you enjoy the whip of the clouds," he grins with genuine enthusiasm.

Any response you have is put out by his next words.

"I can introduce you to my salt-wives."

"Salt-wives?"

"Aye," he says proudly, "I'd say I have about twenty, but I cannot assure you its accuracy."

You are horrified. Finally, you have the gall to pull away, "what?"

Dalton chuckles, somehow amused, but his brows furrow, as if irritated, "we Ironborn keep salt wives in our ships, to give us comfort and warmth when the sea gets too rough. Is this princess so sheltered to not know this?"

You curdle when he reaches for your neck.

"You needn't be jealous. You'd be my one and only rock wife."

You scowl at his condescending tone, "I thought that was just a wives' tale."

He laughs. It is rich, amused, and foreboding. He shakes his head, "it's about as much of a wives' tale as your dragons are, princess."

Later that night, you weep at the king's feet, begging him not to marry you off to such a man.

Viserys does not hear it, and it is only then that Daemon finally appears.

When he does, it's as if the gods themselves breathed life into you. Quickly, you run into him and sob into his chest.

Daemon holds you tightly and glares at the king, "what have you done to her?"

Viserys scoffs. The dark room, illuminated only by the fireplace and a few lit candles, feels to him like it's darkened because of Daemon. He shifts where he sits, "I? I found her a husband."

Daemon's eye twitches, "you gave her to me! You said it just this morning."

You look up at Daemon, hopeful at the sound of his words.

"I said I would think about it once you report your patrol at the City Watch to me."

Daemon releases you to impose on his brother, "I kept your city clean from crimes and safe for the people."

"And where did you go after?" Viserys narrows his eyes.

You rub your arms as you watch your brothers argue.

Daemon does not respond.

Viserys turns to you, "tell your beloved sister where you went after your patrols."

Daemon does not move.

Your chest tightens at the silence, "... Daemon."

The said man opens his mouth, "I went to get a dri-"

"A whorehouse!" Viserys blurts, rising from his seat to glare at Daemon. He turns back to you, pushing past him, "I would know. I paid every whore in Fleabottom to seduce him."

Your heart leaps into your mouth, "w-what?"

Daemon is stunned.

"See now," Viserys is close enough to clutch your cheeks, "your beloved brother is a man like all the rest. No more is the dragon righteous than the kraken."

Your eyes begin to fog with tears. Your hands begin to tremble. Why was he doing this to you?

"Greyjoy is no less a dog than the rest of us. He at least, is honoring a tradition. Daemon honors only his cock."

You turn to Daemon, hoping to find this was not the case, but his expression says it all. You let a pained whimper, "you teach me so cruelly, brother."

"I teach you," he swipes your tears with his thumbs, "for your own good."

"You fucking--"

You scream in terror as Daemon lunges at Viserys. You reel back and watch as the two crash down to the floor, the younger of them finding the upper hand. They roughly struggle against each other.

You can no longer remain simply screaming when Daemon grabs Viserys by the collar and slams him repeatedly against the ground, especially not when Viserys claws at Daemon's face to get him off. You dash forward just as the guards order the prince to stop.

It only takes another scream from you, begging them to stop, for the kingsguards to burst into the room.

You grab Daemon's arm, and out of instinct, he swats you back, hand hitting your nose with rage powered force.

You shoot back into a kingsguard, feeling your face throb in pain. You swipe your philtrum and find red on your fingers.

It takes Viserys screaming your name for Daemon to stop and realize what he's done.

The impact of hitting the armored man makes your back twinge, but it does not hurt nearly as much as the back handed hit you received from your brother.

The kingsguard catches you and stands you upright. He quickly asks if you are alright, but doesn't wait for an answer because he's then shoving Daemon back, putting himself between him and you when he tries to come near.

Daemon glares in offence.

"Throw him in the fucking dungeon," Viserys spits out as he is helped up by another guard.

Daemon fights back, but is no match against three guards.

He screams your name as he is dragged off.

You clutch your face as he tells you he didn't mean to hit you. You face throbs as he tells you he loves you, and only you.

For once, you doubt his words.

Viserys comes to your side, placing a gentle hand in your shoulder. You watch as he commands a servant to get something for your injury.

He clutches your cheek that was struck and sighs, "if you wed the Red Kraken, you will strengthen our hold on the Iron Lands. Dalton Greyjoy is a formidable warrior. I couldn't think of a more capable man to safekeep the Jewel of the Realm."

As he stroked your hair, you realized that Viserys was right. It didn't matter who it was, all men were the same. When your septa warned you of men's depravity, you believed your brothers to be the exception. Now, you knew exactly why you were called-

"Little lamb," Viserys coos, "I only want what is best for all of us."

You were too naive to believe in good things.

And so you marry Dalton Greyjoy the next day.

The haste with which the wedding is prepared is to prevent you from changing your mind, you figured. That, and to keep Daemon in prison for the least amount of time.

Part of you wanted to visit him, but part of you wanted him to suffer. In the end, you realized you were too weak to behold your brother as a prisoner.

Daemon screams and bangs at his bars, demanding he be released. But the prison guards have handled worse and throw cold water at him to shut him up.

He knew by the time he was free, he would be too late to stop your marriage, but still, he meticulously planned what he would do the moment he was.

That night, after the wedding festivities were over, Dalton takes you to your room and makes you his wife.

"It's been a while since I've had a virgin," Dalton says, caressing your cheek, "don't worry, I will be gentle."

You want to scream, you want tofight him back, but you remember you're not a virgin, and fear paralyzes you. You mumble, "m-my dragon riding."

Dalton pushes back bour silver hair and kisses your shoulder.

You can't help but think of Daemon in this moment, but it makes you feel sick, and so you will him out of your head. You mumble again, "my dragon riding may taken my womanhood."

Dalton pulls away and stares at you for a moment.

"I- I was told as a child, it happened to many Targaryen princesses."

He pulls his hands, which were on your hips, away then shoves you down on your bed. He smirks as he undoes his clothing, "then I can be rough with you, aye?"

You quiver at his gaze.

He laughs, shaking his head, "didn't I say I would not hurt you? Unless under your request?"

You inch back as he crawls over. He grabs your ankle, then the other, causing you to panic. You instinctively kick him off, but instead of being deterred, he is excited.

"Sh, sh, sh," he hushes, "it will not be unpleasant, my dragon."

Your skin pricks with gooseflesh when he removes your shoes, your socks, then sneaks his hand up your skirt.

You whimper and turn away, finding you could no longer kick back when he seizes your knees.

"Please-"

"Shhh," he hushes, giving you the first solemn look he has this entire day he's been smug, "I've had much practice from my salt wives. You, my rock wife, will taste the fruits of my practice... as I taste you."

You gasp when he suddenly rips your underwear off.

"I swear to you, your body will enjoy it, even if your mind wants you to believe otherwise."

You muffle your mouth with your palm when you feel Dalton sink in between your thighs.

He was right.

The entire time he touches you, it feels like your skin was being scorched. Your heart was not in it, but your body twisted in pleasure. You hated that you longed for Daemon, even after the fact you were not enough for him; he was still the only one you, and this moment proved it.

You were brought to tears at how pathetic it was. Tears streamed as you reached your peak, one of the many you receive from your... husband.

He handled you with carnal instinct, just as Daemon did, but unlike him, Dalton did not kiss your tears. In fact, he did not kiss your face once. It is you that initiates such a thing, amidst the throes of your lewd pleasure. He grabs your jaw when your lips connect, and quickly releases his load into you after.

Your peak is cut short because he pulls out just when you reach it.

You watch as he rolls over and goes to sleep without another word.

The next morning, the servants call you Princess Greyjoy and it haunts you.

"No need to look so sullen, wife," you hear over your shoulder.

If the cold from the early morning wasn't enough to make you shiver, the kiss on your shoulder was.

The ship rocks as you tear your gaze away from King's Landing, King's Landing that looked so tiny now from where you stood. A sea of tears laid between you and the home that will never be yours again. You turn to Dalton. He leans his elbows on the edge of the ship and looks up at you, "we can do many things to liven your mood."

You watch him as he rubs your hips. Your stomach curdles but you manage to offer a smile, "I... am flattered, but I do not want to distract the captain of this ship."

Dalton chuckles and straightens up, "trust me. The crew would appreciate it if you did."

You squeak when he yanks you into him.

"Right boys?!" he calls loudly, "shall I make a salt wife out of my rock wife?!"

The crew cheers and it makes your skin burn in mortification.

The next thing you know, you are thrown over his shoulder. He slaps your ass and takes you to his quarters. The crew laughs as he does.

You helplessly grunt when he drops you on his bed-- your shared bed. You silently peer up at him as he stares at you. You are relieved he paces across the room, towards his table. He grabs something and chucks it at you. You flinch but manage to catch it.

He sits on the table as you inspect the pouch. You open it, finding herbs inside.

"I heard you've been drinking that," he says.

You look up at him.

"Haven't you?" he asks.

You smell it and wretch. It smells exactly like-

"Moon tea," Dalton says, making your blood run cold, "for the bastard in your belly.*

You are frozen in your spot. Your stomach drops when he stands and walks over. He grabs your chin. It is not harsh, but it strikes fear in you anyway.

"I asked you a question, wife."

You open your mouth, but no words come out.

"HAVE YOU BEEN TAKING THE FUCKING TEA OR NOT?" he screams, grabbing your neck.

Your hands fly to his grip. Your fingers attempt to pry him away.

You wheeze when he squeezes you. Your flail your legs and try to kick him off. You can't. Just as your vision begins to go dark, he releases you. You fall onto the bed and frantically try to catch your breath. You cough and hear him smash things around the room.

And so you behold the man who said he would not hurt you unless you asked him, brutalize the furniture.

You think your chances are better in the sea rather than on this boat. You slowly maneuver towards the door while he is distracted. Just as you are about to sprint, he grabs you and throws you back down on his bed.

"You stupid slut!" he screams, "you think you can run?!

You try to scream for help, but the pain in your throat when you try to stops you. Not a second later, you scream anyway.

He slaps you across the face, promptly silencing you. The sting is ten times worse than what Daemon did.

"I was promised a Targaryen princess, not some whore of a dragon!" he screams, kicking the chair by his desk across the room.

You feel lightheaded. You see double.

He laughs angrily, shaking his head, "dragon riding, my arse."

Indistinguishable sounds leave your lips.

Your heart drops as he storms over.

"Who's the father of your bastard child?!"

"ANSWER ME!" he demands, grabbing your shoulders, dragging you to your feet. Your head recoils at the sheer force of it. You take a moment to steady your head.

Your eyes search Dalton's enraged features, hoping to chance upon a sliver of compassion... in vain. The sound that leaves your mouth is response to the bruising squeeze of your arms. You cannot help but whimper as tears stream down your cheeks, "you're hurting me."

He is further angered by this. He gives you a powerful shake. Your head lashes back again and you scream.

"Give me a name!" erupts the lord.

You no longer have it in you to hold your tongue, and so you confess, "Daemon!"

Dalton releases you. He is repulsed, "your brother?" He scoffs, "you revolting, little worm," he slaps you again, making you lose your balance.

Before you crash into anything, he grabs you and keeps you upright. You can feel your cheek and lips swell at his assault. You taste iron on your lips.

"And here they had me believing you were some meek lamb," he laughs dryly, brushing your hair back, "you're nothing but a whore, grown from perversion and abomination."

Your expression hardens. You glare at him and rebut, though your head was pounding, "and your sea rituals are more righteous than my family traditions?"

Without another word, Dalton shoves you back, propelling you into his desk. Your skull crashes against the edge with a horrendous thud.

You fall limp onto the floor. Dalton cares little if you were dead or unconscious. He walks out of the room right before he can witness the red staining your white hair.

Dalton is no fool. He knows better than to disfigure a Targaryen princess.

He walks towards the wheel of the ship and continues the course to what his crew believed to be a shortcut to home. In truth, he was bringing the ship to its doom, to face you with with a trail of the sea.

He would crash the ship into a chokehold of rocks, and if you survived, if he found your floating body, he would keep you, as you proved your resilience. But if you were swallowed into the depths, if he was unable to find you in the debris, he would praise the Drowned god for your riddance.

The same want with his crew.

Of course, there was a bit of this that felt like suicide, but he knew he was too vengeful to die, so he knew he had nothing to fear.

When the Greyjoy ship finally reached the rocky pass, Dalton was promptly warned of the danger by his lookout, who he obviously ignored.

He ordered to hoist the sails, and, blindly, the crew followed, even through apparent worry.

It didn't take very long after for the ship to crash into the cliffs.

The crew clamors. They scream and panic, turning to their captain that could not care less. He pretends to steer them to safety, but he actually slammed them further into their demise.

The deck begins to crumble. The mast snaps. The sails break off. Dalton calls to abandon ship.

The crew don't need any more convincing.

One by one, each man for their own, they try to escape with their life.

By the time Dalton jumps off the ship, the thing is half submerged in the water, crumbs of it on the side of a rock.

It was pure chaos.

Dalton swims far enough from the destruction, and knows his god smiled upon him and his decision when he sees a large wooden slab he can climb on.

He does just that and looks out to his crew, helping the ones that manage to swim over, commanding the others calling for help to simply swim or drown.

He looks around, trying to make out a body of a woman, a blob of a dress, a head of silver hair in the aftermath.

"My wife," he screams, "has anyone seen my wife?!"

He wasn't concerned, of course. He just wanted to know his fate as a husband, but this did make for a good alibi.

His surviving men look and swim around for you. They find no trance.

Dalton presses his lips, "little dragon couldn't fly away."

They take refuge on a cliff. Lord Greyjoy tells his crew not to bitch and panic because they will surely be found by a passing ship soon enough.

He had planned this shipwreck after all.

By the time Dalton and his remaining men were saved, a flash of red circled in the setting sky, hovering over the massive rock that held the shipwreck that bore the sigil of Greyjoy.

Caraxes screeches as his rider commands him to get closer to the scene. The dragon hesitates but eventually lands on the cliff. Waves crash upon the area, causing the beast to bleat when he is wet.

Daemon is frantic as he gazes upon the destruction. He is distressed unlike he's ever been. His voice is distinctly desperate and hysterical. He screams out your name, even though it was nothing against the roar of the splashing waves.

He heaves heavily as he erratically decides to dismount and jump into the water.

As he wades, he tries to convince himself that what he was doing was for naught-- perhaps you were not here to begin with. But the gut feeling was overwhelming; it was sickening.

He tries to believe that bottom feeder, Greyjoy, saved you before his ship crumbled. He tries to convince himself that cunt's lust for you was enough reason to keep you alive.

But he remembers the servant he threatened with a knife whilst demanding to know which route your ship would take. He thinks of how he almost shit himself while confesssing to Daemon that Greyjoy planned to pass through a rocky region as a shortcut. But Daemon's flown over that area, and knew it was out of the way to the Iron Islands.

After squeezing out what's left from that servant, Daemon's face falls when he mentions that rusted octopus had an argument with a servant girl that came to serve the princess a cup of tea.

Daemon was no fool. Dalton was a butish barbarian. If he found out you were drinking Moon Tea, he would do his worst on you for blemishing his pride.

And so he swam. Daemon swam, dove down, and searched for your body until he had to stop because Caraxes was getting restless. He commanded him to calm down, but he could only do it so many times until he, himself, was the same.

He eventually gets back on Caraxes. Daemon can't bring himself to leave just yet however, and finds himself praying to whatever god out there to return his love back to him.

Caraxes circles the area one last time before heading off. For some reason, Daemon feels the urge to check underneath a large slab of shattered wood. He commands his mount to lift it, and the dragon screeches as he does what he can with his hind legs.

The sound that leaves the prince's mouth is what could only be described as pure anguish.

A head of silver hair floats up and wafts in the water along with a tattered dress. Your body garnered a horrid tone of grey and you were missing your shoes.

Daemon cannot contain the tears that gush out of his eyes.

Caraxes carries your body in his claws all the way to the Keep.

The way in which he commands his ride to set your body down is frantic and incredibly detailed. Part of him realizes Caraxes probably recognized you, considering the way he laid on his belly and sniffed you as Daemon buckled to his knees and lamented over your frigid body.

He speaks to you in High Valyrian. His salty tears drip on your salt water drowned body. He promises he will never trick you, never argue with you, and never make you cry ever again if only you open your violet eyes.

He rocks back and forth with you in his arms, unsure which of you he was soothing by doing this.

He swears he will turn the sea red with blood and burn the whole Iron Islands to avenge you.

He is incredibly uncomfortable of the chill of your skin. He shakes his head, telling you dragons must not be kept cold. He kisses your face in an attempt to warm it up. He recounts a time where you accidentally spilled candle wax on him, burning his skin, and tells you that you still need to make up for your offence. He tells you he will forgive you if you simply hold him back.

Viserys had to account for three dragons by the time he found out what was happening, one was Daemon, whose grief morphed into murderous spite. He threatened to slay anyone who wanted to take you from him. Not again. Another was Caraxes, who refused to leave his heartbroken rider's side. The last was your dragon, who felt the loss of your connection, and went into a rabid state mourning.

It takes 5 people to secure your dragon in the pit, 5 people to subdue Caraxes, and 3 people to separate Daemon from your corpse.

The king takes a moment to clutch your hand. His face flinches. Where once your hand was so warm, no warmth now remained. He steps back and watches the maesters cover your body and take you away.

[prettyboypistol]

How mercs would react after having a wet dream

TF2 Mercs' Wet Dreams! ||TF2 x M!Reader|| +18 obviously

Scout

He imagines you shirtless and on his bed all cheesy porno style, you coax him over and pull him to the bed, kissing over his chest and murmuring about just how badly you need him.

He loves dreaming about you riding him and sucking him off, especially when you suffocate him in your chest and hold him close.

He has a recurring dream of you breathing heavily, panting out "Scout, Scout! Scout!" as you jerk yourself off as you ride.

Cums in his sleep and jerks off in the morning, sneaking away to wash the sheets early that morning.

Soldier

Solly is inspecting your dress code and orders you to attention for the formal inspection.

"Private! Will you do anything for your country?" "Sir, Yessir!" "No matter the cost, will you defend this base?!" "Sir, Yessir!" His voice a little quieter, yet slightly commanding as he leans into you. "Then show your major just how much you need his lead."

God, he loves imagining you in formal military dress as you kneel before him, praising his battle tactics and mouth full of dick.

Doesn't cum in his sleep, but it's a 70-30 shot that he'll grunt your name into his pillow as he ruts against his mattress.

Pyro

They imagine you as an angel, dawned in gloarious robes and with a halo and wings. Pyro isn't worthy- not a monster like them that can barely stay sane- yet you invite them forward and kiss their mask's forehead as you hike up your robe to expose yourself. "It's alright darling, you can touch me."

Secretly, Pyro wants to deflower you. They know you're probably not a virgin, but the idea of spoiling your virginity is so hot to them. The first one to touch your body, the first one to ruin you.

Pyro kneels and nuzzles your thighs in reverence as they touch you the way they desire. Their touches leave purple-black marks wherever they touch, actually staining you with sin. They feel so guilty about ruining an angel like you, but you're allowing them to!

Pyro does cum in their sleep, whimpering and writhing against their suit.

Demoman

Tavish's wet dreams start out like normal dreams- in a bar, drinking his heart out back in Scotland with his friends. Then he sees you from across the room. You give him a look that invites him over as you bite your bottom lip.

"Hey there sexy, you look like you could use some company." You flirt, petting Demoman's bicep. Tavish laughs and escorts you to the back of the bar, magically turned into a nicer bedroom as he lays you down.

It's a bit of a haze, but Tavish remembers thrusting into you and imagining how tight you mush be, he dreams about fingering you open with the hilt of eyelander if he's feeling a little fantasy-based rather than in the year of the lord 1971.

Sometimes he dreams of you fucking him, and those are the dreams that wake him up to stained sheets.

Heavy

In the cold russian nights, you knock on the door asking for a place to stay. Mikhail ushers you in and offers you a warm bath, which you graciously accept. Little do you know that there is a little hole in the wooden walls, where Heavy keeps an eye on you.

Mikhail touches himself to the sight of your naked back, as you seen to have the same idea in the bath, reveling in the now warm touches of your hands against your skin.

He hears you moan out his name as you masturbate, and that only fuels his fire more. He usually climaxes to a particularly loud and desperate begging from your lips.

Wakes up with a raging boner that he mostly will ignore, but will rarely take care of himself to the thought of you.

Engineer

You're kidnapped, tied up by the enemy- but you're naked and begging for someone to touch you! Engie is there to rescue you, but you look so handsome all vulnerable like that- you understand, don't you, darlin'?

Dell fucks you as you're tied up in the chair and mutters dirty things that make his sleeping body blush as he promises to fuck you in every way he can as he fucks you like a desperate man.

The feeling of your tightening around him and begging to let you cum, please don't call him daddy, he'll stain his sheets!

Is massively ashamed to touch himself when he's awake to thr thought of his coworker

Medic

You. On his operating table. Bound by the belts and struggling to escape as your dick is hard and tied with a little bow at the base. "To Medic" the gift tag says. Wouldn't it be rude to not use a gift?

He imagines you drunk on lust as he injects both you and himself with an aphrodesiac. Hazily, you two fuck on base instincts for hours as he shoves his cock deep into you over and over again, orgasm after orgasm until he was thoroughly used.

But you break your restraints, pin him against the table and fuck him from behind. It's your turn to use him like the cocksleeve he knows he is. Use him like a fleshlight, just as rough as you always imagine!

Doesn't cum in his sleep but jerks off into a test tube for research purposes later.

Spy

You and Spy are making out in his smoking room before you lay him down onto the couch, unbuttoning his suit and kissing all the skin you can reach as you undress him.

You finger him lazily with one hand, pouring him a glass of wine with the other. The glass is left on the side table as you suck hickeys into his thighs before you thrust into him.

It starts off slow- as it always does, you're always gentle at first- then you pick up the pace, drilling into him with reckless abandon as you chase your pleasure.

Spy sleepily jerks himself off from over his pyjama pants, more asleep than awake as he dreams of you absolutely wrecking him.

Sniper

He imagines you fucking yourself with your fingers in his Sniper Nest, holding his shirt close to you. You fuck yourself stupid as you moan out "Mundy, oh god, Mick- please fuck me!"

Mick loves watching, just like the creep he is. He loves the shame of watching someone through a sniper scope, even if he's not watching intimate moments like that. During missions, he likes to rub one out as he watches people do mundane things.

He fucks his fist in his sleep to the sight of you seducing him- the idea of you wanting him just as much as he wants you drives him insane.

[kisakis-boyfriend]

Taking their virginity

Pairings: Takemichi, Mikey, Hakkai, Yuzuha, and Kisaki x male reader (separately)

Warnings: Male!reader, dom/top!reader, sub/bottom for all characters, praise, dacryphilia (Takemichi, Kisaki)

Imagine virgin Takemichi who blushes at the simplest of gestures. Looking away when you hold his hand in public to hide his red cheeks, squeaking in surprise when you give him a peck on the cheek, and lord help him if you hug him from behind, he'll be stifling soft moans just from being in that position

Virgin Takemichi who wants to have sex with you, but every time he thinks about it he just gets so flustered 🥺 Any time you've tried to initiate sexy times he has to stop you, saying that he's “Just not ready yet”, though the bulge in his pants is quite obvious...

Virgin Takemichi's gasps fill the room when you finally push him down onto the couch and start fingering him, kissing his neck and telling him how good he's doing so far

Virgin Takemichi who leaves scratch marks all over your back as you pound into his pretty ass, whispering in his ear about how much he turns you on. “Fuuuck baby you're so tight, feels sooo good~ ”

Virgin Takemichi who's a sobbing mess by the time you've both reached an orgasm. You sit up and pull him against your chest, cooing praises and petting his head while he relaxes

-

Imagine virgin Mikey who doesn't mind PDA, even initiating it himself sometimes. Who'd gladly hold your hand or kiss you in public, but sex? Sex with you? The intimacy of such a thing is kinda scary...

Virgin Mikey who finds it hard to look you in the eye when you bring it up, he's just never thought about doing this before, but he trusts you, so he agrees to try it soon

Virgin Mikey who's currently laying on top of your sheets naked, he looks so small like this with his legs closed shyly and his arms resting near his head. He moans softly when you start touching him, hands exploring every inch of his body, complimenting him between kisses all over his skin

Virgin Mikey who clings to you desperately while your dick slides in and out of him, his hole squeezing your dick and sucking you in, his arms wrapped tightly around your neck and face buried in the crook of your neck, moaning about how damn good this feels. “Y-yes—!! Harder! F-feels amazing, y/n ”

Virgin Mikey who's out of breath afterwards, panting against your shoulder, looking down where some of your cum is leaking out of his hole. You rub his back soothingly while he comes down from his high, telling him how good it felt to be inside of him

-

Imagine virgin Hakkai who freezes up whenever you bring up having sex with him. It's not that he doesn't want it, he's just nervous as all hell... What if he messes up? What if he says something stupid in the middle of it? What if you realize you don't like having sex with him? What if– His thoughts are cut off by you kissing him, almost as if you knew his self-doubts were running rampant again

Virgin Hakkai who whimpers when you push him against the wall and reach into his pants to stroke his dick. He has to cover his mouth to muffle his moans when you speed up, his precum covering your hand and smearing all over his boxers

Virgin Hakkai who's currently folded in half, taking your dick so deep inside of him, grunting as you rail him with fervor. “Fuck—!! Fuck me harder...y-yeah– Aaahh—!! ”

Virgin Hakkai whose chest is heaving by the time you're done with him, cumming all over him and telling him how amazing that was, kissing him as you both start to calm down

-

Imagine virgin Yuzuha who invites you over to watch movies with her all day, with intentions to simply have a nice date night with you, not realizing that it would evolve into something intimate. You've both brought up sex before, but it was never quite the right time, and you didn't want to pressure her to do it before she was ready

Virgin Yuzuha who squirms under the blankets as the night goes on, even if you're not watching anything raunchy she still got worked up and needs relief. She tried to discreetly touch herself, slipping a hand under her panties, spreading her wetness around and fingering herself, glancing over at you to make sure you didn't notice

Virgin Yuzuha who squeals when she starts touching her clit, finally grabbing your attention when you look at her and ask if she's ok. The deep blush on her face and the movement under the blankets tells you exactly why she made that noise

Virgin Yuzuha who quickly gets pulled into your lap, you lift up her skirt and see her soaked panties, chuckling at how desperate she must be. She whines when she hears you laughing at her and you turn her head towards you to kiss her as an apology. You slide your hand into her panties and lube your fingers up with her wetness then start circling her clit, making her roll her hips to get more friction

Virgin Yuzuha who cries out as you bounce her on your dick, cursing and moaning while you fuck into her like you can't live without the feeling of her pussy clenching around you. “Aah~ Fuck that feels good... Mmph please...fuck me, y/n ”

Virgin Yuzuha who's collapsing onto your chest as soon as she cums all over you, your own cum dripping down her thighs. She sighs when she feels you hug her and tell her that she was such a good girl for you

-

Imagine virgin Kisaki who “doesn't have time for sex”, claiming that he doesn't need it or has no interest. Yet he always gets so flustered when you make the tiniest gestures or just brush against him accidentally, his breath hitching because you touched his arm or grabbed him by the hips to kiss him

Virgin Kisaki who finally breaks down and admits that he does want to get fucked by you. You pushed him down onto the couch and started kissing his neck, surprising him and causing his cheeks to become warm again. You tugged at the waistband of his pants and teased him, saying how you wanted to make him feel so good because you love him, and he finally relented, “F-fine...but you better not disappoint me”

Virgin Kisaki whose face is pushed against the mattress as your cock stretches him open, muffled moans leaving his lips with every sharp thrust into his hole. You grab his hips and pull him closer to you, now balls deep inside of him and humping into him while he whines

Virgin Kisaki who cries when you flip him over and lean down so that your chest is flush against his, burying your face in his neck and sucking marks onto his skin. You tell him how he feels amazing and that you love him and the tears fall down harder, overwhelmed by you pounding his ass and the genuine affection you're expressing

Virgin Kisaki who arches his back when you cum inside of him, whimpering as you fill him up and soothe your hands over his body, praising him for how well he can take you

[lokisgoodgirl]

A Long Shower [Loki x Fem.Reader]

A link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: You become an unwitting voyeur to Loki's post-workout routine. (w/c 2.2k) Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Voyeurism. Awkwardness. Thirst. Smuttish. M*sturbation. Language.

Shit shit shit shit shit You hurriedly crouched behind the row of lockers, hunched and contorted to an inch of your life. If you were honest, you didn’t think you were going to fit. And right now, you sort of wished you hadn’t. The air you’d sucked in felt like granite, holding your breath as Loki Laufeyson padded obliviously over the heated tiles.

Why am I such an awkward arsehole, you thought; lungs starting to burn. Can’t just say hello, excuse me; like a normal person. Need to hide behind the feckin’ lockers, Jesus.

The unmistakeable sound of his sultry singing had wafted down the hall like a hymn. 'Der ligger hun i sjøen, min elsker, Jeg hører henne rope når månen er høy' He was so absent-mindedly perfect, in every way. Fuck. You’d only come in to grab forgotten headphones, there was nothing untoward. And yet, when you’d heard his hypnotic gravelled voice– you had panicked. And now, it was too late. 'Hun kjenner ikke ledningene hun holder... som binder hennes hjerte til mitt' Silence. You opened one eye reluctantly, half expecting to see his magnificent form looming with sceptical disdain. But, no. He was bent on one knee facing the opposite wall, untying his trainers. I didn’t think he’d tie his own shoes, you frowned. That ass, though. Loki was dressed in skin-tight black workout clothes that left just enough to the imagination. And boy, had you imagined. That gym gear of his clung to every carved inch of his body like a second skin. Alongside the way that he growled and grunted through inhuman workouts, it was a miracle you had survived this long in the team. Lord above, the filthy things he had done to you in your head in the dead of night as you touched yourself beneath sweaty sheets. It might even make him blush. You bit your lip, blowing air gently, silently, through your nose. You suddenly felt twenty pounds lighter. The thought had often crossed your mind about just who Loki was behind closed doors. He was charming and polite, a bit extra – kind of an asshole sometimes. And he was always on. There had been a sign hanging in the hallway of your old high school which had read, ‘who you truly are, is the person you become when you think nobody's watching’. You thought about that sign a lot. Your gaze tracked up from Loki’s ankles, over the curve of his bulging thighs tight beneath the shorts; a sheet of damp curls hanging down past his neck. And who are you, Loki Laufeyson? He unfurled, the muscles in his calves hardening as he pushed up. The shoes were kicked aside as he ran his hands casually through that gorgeous hair with a sigh. Oh god, you realised with rising horror. Is he going to… Still facing the wall, Loki began to strip.

The damp lycra top was the first soldier to fall. It peeled away beneath crossed hands which raised achingly slowly above his head. With every inch of skin revealed, you felt the blood drain from your face. I’m going to pass out, you thought, pushing yourself back against the tiled wall and hoping it would absorb you. His broad, triangular torso was inescapable. You should close your eyes. Avert your gaze. Protect his modesty. But oh, god - Loki tugged the training top from his head with a strained grunt, wild hair falling in waves between shifting shoulder-blades. He stretched to the side, freshly pumped forearms bulging with sickening definition. A thin sheen of sweat clung to his iridescent skin. Fuck, how you wanted to lick him. Taste the virgin sweat that was gathered in every dip and valley. In the soft lighting of the changing rooms, every dented curve of his arms were visible, each breathe making the landscape of his back flex as he rolled his head from side to side. He has fucking...back-dimples. You realised you had been holding your breath again. Long fingers began to toy with the waistband of his shorts. Jesus take the wheel, not the shorts. They caught on the curve of his ass, elastic grazing sluttishly down taut skin. You pressed your lips together painfully to stop the whimper building behind your teeth as the shorts fell in a heap around his ankles. I’m fucked, you thought. He’s naked. And I’m fucked. All he had to do was turn around. But he didn’t. Loki took a step to the side, positioning himself with ceremonial purpose in front of a small square mirror. Blessedly, it was too far to the side to reveal your hiding spot. You watched as his brow furrowed, looking deep into his own eyes. If there was one thing more hypnotic than Loki’s body, it was his face. As deep and inscrutable as the galaxies themselves.

He brought a hand across his chest to the opposite shoulder, massaging the dip as he appraised what he saw against some inscrutable criteria. Loki’s endless legs widened, ass clenching. Your stomach had a heartbeat, whirring with unspent adrenaline. Of all the ways you imagined you would first see Loki naked – this was not it. The digits slid to his jaw, thumb and forefinger tipping it to either side as he inspected himself. Is he checking for wrinkles? With mild horror, you realised you couldn’t feel your legs. Loki frowned again, ropes of hard shoulder muscle rolling as he sighed deeply. It was a tired sigh. It made you wonder if a god-level workout was the only thing wearing him out in the morning. He ran a hand through his hair, turning away. Your eyes flew to the wall before firing shut, a primitive freeze response. This was it. The rumble of a shower spurting to life broke the silence, strong pressure from the fancy waterfall head pattering to the tiles below. The showers were to the far right, outside your frame of view. You let out the breath you were holding in staggered, soundless relief. Maybe I can get out while he’s distracted. Crawl out. On my fucking hands and knees like a pervert. You waited a few seconds until the water’s rhythm broke, a contented growl from Loki’s throat that made your pussy hum signalling that his ritual had begun. Like the aforementioned pervert, you craned forwards, peeking around the corner of the lockers. God, how your legs ached. Your eyes widened. Goddammm, Laufeyson.

Loki stood long and lean, water cascading from where the stream hit the back of his neck, all the way down his legs. Even in the shower, his posture was impeccable. He tilted his head back, lips parted as he let the fresh droplets soak his front. The curls you adored from afar had turned to an inky slick, tendrils winding over alabaster skin like an intricate tattoo. There was a quiet beauty about him like this. This was one of his few private moments, an oasis of calm in his otherwise simmering façade. He’s so fucking…beautiful, you pined; realising that your eyeline was dropping unforgivably down his naked body. The rounds of his ass glistened in the soft light, lucky droplets rolling over the curves of muscle which dipped in at the middle of each cheek. He shifted on his feet, the slap of water making you jump as he swivelled his midriff to the side. The baritone hum began again, a hauntingly beautiful melody. From this new angle, every ridge and valley of his abdomen came into view. Fluffs of bubbles ran down his slick skin at a snails pace, each trail lapping over the deep crevices of his adonis belt. Your breath hitched, drawing back behind the lockers so only the tiniest sliver of him was in view. Fat drips of water slid down his legs from hip to calf, relishing each second they spent grasped to his ethereal skin. The undeniable slick in your panties was becoming untenable, becoming an itch that you didn't dare scratch. Heat seeped through the fabric of your leggings as you squashed further back against the wall. Loki raked a hand through the jet mass of hair, shaking a clump as he smoothed it to one side. His eyes were closed, a dark fan of lashes pressed innocently against the delicate skin beneath. I’m going to go into cardiac arrest, you mused, making your peace as he raised one arm to brace against the tiled wall. His profile was in full view now, and for the first time, you caught a glimpse of the legendary cock which haunted your dreams. It rose against his flat stomach, hard and thick and ready to be fucked. Oh god. You swallowed, mouth drier than sand. No. No. No, this is not happening. You shook your head, trying pathetically to wake. The dull ache in your thighs had grown to a roar, muscles screaming to be released from the stress position you’d be holding for what felt like three hours. You felt your parched lips part as the god placed his palm against his obscene manhood, wrapping each straight finger singularly around the shaft with formidable intent. He licked his lips, looking down at it like prey. Like a conquest. The arm locked against the wall, fully outstretched, sliding the foot nearest you backwards a few inches. It squeaked. His bicep tensed as he pressed against the tile, running water continuing its steady beat against his perfect skin. And then, he began to pump. In slow, torturous strokes. Oh god. Loki’s pinky finger hit the sudsy patch of public hair around the base with every journey, squeezing his foreskin out at the tip as it reached the summit. This was not a man in a rush. This was a man with relaxation on his mind. What the actual fuck am I doing here. Your eyes squeezed shut again, slinking back. To be fair, you had more than enough material in the wank-bank to last you the rest of your days. So the next five minutes, then; you thought bitterly, as low moans of pleasure began to sink from the god’s lips. I will not survive this.

The sound mingled with the heavy steam filling the air, a heady scent of bergamot wafting as his erotic sighs and breathy groans reluctantly transcended you to a higher plane. Loki’s moans vibrated, rising and falling. He was shameless. Anyone could walk in, you thought incredulously; before realising the irony.

The god’s hips rocked into each swipe of his hand; fucking rhythmically against his fist as water cascaded over his neck and down chiselled abs. Clumps of soaking hair hung around his cheekbones, layered down his neck, down his shoulders. You hadn’t even realised you were staring at him again, rocking on the balls of your feet as your sweaty fingertips pressed against the floor in a trance. He was intoxicating. The way his brow creased. The way he was sighing gently from glistening lips. Droplets clung to his cheekbones, pacing downward before fainting to the porcelain below. He was completely in the moment, completely lost in himself. Who are you thinking about, Loki? Your heart was thundering, the acid collecting in your burning calves, forgotten. Loki released a ragged groan, taut obliques clenching. The muscles in his femurs tensed, his palm sliding down the wall as his whole body juddered. Long fingers that you fantasised about slipping deep inside you curled against the tiles. Please cum, you hoped ravenously; breaths quickening. Please, for the love of god please cum. “I know you’re there, Agent.” Cold dread rose with each slowly enunciated word, eyes widening as panic expanded like barbed foam in your belly. “Honestly," Loki smarmed, his head falling back with a rasping moan as he released himself with a final squeeze. “How you ever manage to conceal yourself in any undercover operation with all that heavy breathing is beyond me.” With an ungraceful gasp you fell forward, splayed on the heated tiles. Your forehead was pressed to the floor, mind racing as you carded through every possible excuse. None of them were plausible. With difficulty, you turned your cheek to the side to face him. “I’m sorry…” you mumbled, reluctantly pressing up and dusting off your leggings as your cheeks burned hot. “I didn’t mean to-I was just...and then you-” “-Look at me.” he said sternly. Your eyes fluttered up, hoping that the way you were gazing at him was penitent and seductive in equal measure. But he was smiling. Sort of. One side of Loki’s mouth twitched, the pressure from the waterfall shower bouncing outward from between his shoulder-blades as he stared you down. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back. In that standard regally panty-wetting pose that you had admired many times while you raked every inch of his leather-clad body with covetous eyes. You opened your mouth to speak, and closed it again. “I plan on having a very long shower, Agent,” he purred knowingly, the inky curls pasted to his jawline making your stomach flip. He widened his legs, reminiscent of a battle stance. Your eyes fell to his perfect cock twitching neglected against his stomach and then back to his face. The clothes on your body felt heavier with every passing second. “Would you care to join me?” he said politely, as easily as offering you a cup of tea. He already knew the answer. He had known all along. Of course he knew, you mug. Your thighs squeezed together, biting your lip. Loki did the same, before stretching to a wide smile. Mischievous fire simmered in his dilated eyes. There was a click as the lock on the door slid shut of it’s own accord while you pulled your t-shirt over your head.

In the brief cover of darkness, you heard Loki moan again.

Loki's Song (aka nonsense I made up) There she lies in the lake, my lover I hear her call when the moon is high She does not know the cords she holds That bind her heart to mine

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