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ultraintrovertedgryffindor · 12 days ago

Text

Pyrrhic

Rating: Explicit

Relationship: Baron Helmut Zemo x Female Reader

Length: 14k+

Summary: Once, HYDRA sought to create an improved version of the super soldier through breeding the Winter Soldier with another super soldier they made for that express purpose.

Now, fourteen years after escaping HYDRA's clutches, Bucky Barnes comes to you for help with the rise of super soldiers under the title Flagsmashers. Unfortunately, Barnes' feelings drive you closer to Baron Helmut Zemo, and you find yourself hoping for a future for the first time in your life.

Warnings: Unrequited Bucky Barnes/Reader, Bucky Barnes is a bit controlling, Manipulative Helmut Zemo, HYDRA comes with it's own whole bucket of warnings, HYDRA had a secret super soldier breeding program, Reader is a kidnapping victim, Reader is 3/4 Sokovian, P in V sex, oral sex (f receiving), reference to potential purity kink, loss of virginity, reader is touch-adverse, reader is also touch-starved, shower sex, ambiguous ending, consent is discussed multiple times, enthusiastic consent, Helmut Zemo is a consent king. Let me know if I missed something!

“Are you ever going to tell us about this person you’re insisting we need for this mission?” Sam asked as he stepped carefully through the thick brush of the forest around them. Bucky ducked under a large branch, shoulders tense as he practically stalked through the woods. His companions, reluctant as they may be, could tell that he didn’t want to answer the question - he was always evasive, but something about this person was making him especially tense. Sam was just happy that the Baron had kept his mouth shut so far. Considering his royal upbringing, one might think he would struggle on this mostly uphill hike through thick forest and untamed land, however Sam knew he’d been part of an elite Sokovian task force and that he had the strength and stamina to prove it.

“She was called Mat when I knew her, though she hated the title, so I wouldn’t recommend using it. Too fucking young for it anyways.” Bucky spat that last sentence, and Sam raised an eyebrow sceptically, not having the linguistic context to put two and two together. Zemo, however, huffed a breath laced with disdain and curiosity. Bucky shot him a dangerous look over his shoulder, and the Baron raised his hands placatingly, though Sam noticed him roll his eyes the moment Barnes looked away. The tension had been at a record high since Zemo was broken out of the German prison he’d been interred in, and Sam was starting to get sick of playing mediator between them.

“How did you know her?” Sam asked, and James paused mid-step, then turned to his two companions.

“She was held by an offshoot group of HYDRA scientists at a lab in the Czech Republic from the age of eight. They gave her a modified version of the super soldier serum used on the soldiers at the Siberian facility against her will, and they kept her locked in the facility until she escaped when she was eighteen.” Every word was said carefully, and while Sam took that as Bucky struggling to tell the girl’s story, Zemo observed him with open curiosity. He could tell that there was quite a bit that the former Winter Soldier wasn’t telling them.

“Modified how?” He asked, and Barnes scowled, but Sam’s equally curious gaze made him bite his cheek to stop from chewing the Baron out.

“She was… faster than any other super soldier I’ve ever seen. Not as strong physically, but her reaction time is far superior. She heals fast like the rest of us, but they did something to her pain responses. Dulled them, but didn’t remove them completely. She wasn’t as aggressive as the ones in Siberia were. The scientists made some hormonal changes as well.” Bucky shrugged, getting uncomfortable as he mentioned that last part, and Zemo tilted his head, studying his reactions.

“She didn’t want the serum, though? I mean, she was eight when they took her. How old was she when they gave it to her?” Sam asked, and Barnes closed his eyes briefly, his expression pained.

“They gave it to her shortly after she arrived at the facility. Maybe a month. She was just a kid. I could hear her screaming from the other side of the facility. They didn’t put her through the same brainwashing bullshit they did to me, but she wasn’t willing like the other soldiers, so they… they used to beat her until she started to learn to fight back like they wanted. She tried to escape, but they never let her out of the facility.” He replied, “So don’t start up your ‘I need to kill all super soldiers’ bullshit with her, Zemo. She never had a choice.”

The Baron considered his words, pursing his lips for a moment before softening ever so slightly.

“As you say, she was only a child.”

Bucky nodded, then continued his solemn march, cresting the top of the hill and sighing as a dark wood cabin came into view. Smoke trailed from the chimney, and there was a long driveway heading from the cabin to the road they’d abandoned nearly a mile back due to Bucky’s insistence that they approach on foot from the forest lest she know they were coming. An old, beat up pickup truck sat like a rusty silver beacon in the driveway with a large, newer-looking storage box hooked into the bed. There was a storage shed behind the cabin, and an old, large stump that appeared to be used as a woodcutter’s block considering the axe sunk deep into it. The firewood rack was full to the brim against the right wall of the cabin, and a full clothesline hung between the opposite side of the cabin and a sturdy nearby tree.

“You okay, man?” Sam asked, clapping Bucky on the shoulder when the other man didn’t move for over a minute, staring at the cabin trepidatiously. The hundred-and-six year old man was always tense, but his shoulders felt like iron under Sam’s hand.

“She might not be happy to see me.” Barnes admitted, and Sam hummed his acknowledgement, then started trudging down the small slope towards the house. This finally kicked Bucky into movement, and he followed swiftly, pausing only briefly when he spotted your tall frame exiting the shed behind the cabin. There was a Browning Citori against one shoulder, and blood had soaked into the dirty blue plaid shirt you wore. Your knees were muddy from kneeling in the woods. To the far left of the cabin in a clearing past a line of thick trees were two worn stones sticking out of the earth, and you approached calmly, dropping to kneel before them.

“Well, she looks real friendly.” Sam mused, clapping Bucky on the back, “Good luck.”

Five hours earlier, you had thumped a deer carcass down on the butcher table in your shed, then hung your trusty shotgun on the rack behind the door where it belonged. It had taken you a long time to perfect field dressing, and even longer to learn to get good at butchering your meat, but you had learned. You had no choice. Society and its shiny grocery stores full of pre-packaged food were far too dangerous for you. HYDRA still had a hold on the world when you first escaped, and there were still monstrous little tentacles everywhere who had escaped the punishment they deserved for what they had done. You knew how to hunt humans, so animals weren’t such a big stretch. Now, after fourteen years, you were an expert at surviving on your own. You went into town once a month at most, on a different day every time to avoid routine, to pick up the essentials you couldn’t scavenge for yourself.

With the deer butchered and packed away in your meat freezer, you made your way towards the two gravestones just out of view of your cabin. With a heavy sigh, you tucked the shotgun under your chin, sitting with it between your knees, and stared at the cold stones. Upon one, Rickard Stroud. On the other, Imogen Whitley.

“Thank you both. Thank you Imogen, for having mercy on a broken creature and freeing me from my shackles. I’m sorry that I couldn’t save you in return. I bet you’re sick of hearing it by now, but I will never forget what you sacrificed for me. Thank you Rickard, for leaving me everything I needed to survive. I wish I could have known you. I hope you wouldn’t be too mad at me for moving into your home, but I promise I’ve tried my best to maintain it with the care you clearly did.”

Bucky jerked forwards as he watched you point the shotgun at yourself, panic racing through his veins at the thought of losing you before he’d even gotten you back. Not that he’d ever had you in the first place - you were a name on his reparations list that he needed to cross off. He was responsible for what happened to you, regardless of whether he was in control of himself or not. The entire choice to upend and ruin your life was made because of him. The inability to make amends sparked every selfish fear response in his body.

“Wait-” The Baron’s gloved hand closed around Bucky’s metal bicep, not quite able to pull him back, but enough to pause his forward momentum, “Look closely, James. Her finger is not on the trigger. This is a ritual.”

Sam felt sympathy coil in his gut as he watched the woman kneel in the dirt, the cold metal against her skin as if it gave her peace. He inwardly acknowledged that if anyone might understand a grief ritual of this specific breed, it might be Zemo, though he didn’t want to give the man the credit. Bucky stared down at her, seeming to deflate before their very eyes, though his face showed some measure of relief. He shrugged Zemo’s hand off of his arm, then continued forwards at a slower pace, no longer panicking. Zemo watched for a moment before following them, noting the way the woman’s head tilted ever-so-slightly in their direction before straightening out again.

Three approached from the southwest. One stomped through the forest despite the ability to soften his steps, one walked with purpose but made a poor attempt to soften his steps, and the third walked leisurely but with an awareness to his gait. All soldiers of varying service, if you weren’t mistaken. One of them was, unfortunately, familiar.

You let out a long, laboured sigh as you laid your shotgun down in front of you, then pushed yourself up from your knees. The footsteps stopped, and you shed your plaid shirt, leaving yourself in only a black undershirt and your muddy sweatpants. If this was going to be a fight, you’d make sure it was one they regretted. You spun to face the trio with a raised eyebrow, biceps flexing, shoulders rolling as you prepared yourself.

“Soldat. Falcon. Ah, and the Baron as well, how curious. To what do I owe the pleasure?” You asked, noticing Bucky’s gaze fixed on your shotgun, “Relax, Soldat, I’m far too much of a coward.”

The former Winter Soldier scoffed, taking another step closer to you but freezing when you took a step back, “I’m not going to do anything, doll. I’m not… I’m not him anymore.”

The Falcon put his hand on Barnes’ shoulder as if to hold him back and steady him all in one shot while the former Winter Soldier processed your fear of him, guilt eating away at his guts. The Baron leaned against a tree nearby to observe, just out of the way to avoid getting in the middle of any conflict.

“I know what you are, Barnes. Better than most.” You replied, glancing from him to the Baron and taking the time to stare at him from top to bottom, curious, “You’re working with Zemo. I would assume that meant you were here to kill me, but you would have chosen an easier method, surely. Which means that there’s another super soldier or two running about, and you’ve decided to try and bring me along. Why?”

Bucky squirmed as your intense stare moved from the now slightly flushed Baron back to him, and he clenched his fists a few times to work through the nerves.

“I’ve known where you were for a while. Look, I don’t want to call you… that, so what name are you using these days? Your old name?” You don’t answer him right away, brow arched sceptically as you observe his expression. “You’re long overdue for an apology, and we need someone who can go toe-to-toe with super soldiers.”

You scoffed, turning your back on them.

“I don’t have- I’ve been going by Stroud, after the guy who owned this cabin before I found it. My old name is no one’s business but mine, Barnes. He certainly doesn’t need to know any more about me than he already does. I’d like to be offended that you brought a man to my doorstep who will no doubt want me dead, but I suppose that the greater good calls, doesn’t it?” You asked, gesturing towards Zemo, whose somewhat conflicted expression did nothing to quell your worry.

“I don’t want you dead, liebling. You did not choose your fate, and you’ve kept to yourself instead of enforcing your will on others.” The Baron said confidently, and you acknowledged him with a nod, then turned a twisted smirk towards Barnes.

“You didn’t tell them my whole story, clearly. Was that to protect me, James, or was it to protect yourself?” You asked, and both Sam and Zemo turned their concerned gazes to the former soldier. You picked up your shotgun lazily, marching towards the house.

“Why don’t we go inside and Barnes can tell you the whole story. From the beginning, since he remembers all of it. Take off your shoes - if you track mud through my house I’ll make you regret it.” You called over your shoulder, tapping off your boots on the porch then heading through the door. Once inside, you kicked them off and headed towards your bedroom to get changed. When you returned, the Baron was standing in your kitchen making tea while Barnes and Sam took up every inch of space on the small sofa. You claimed your armchair after scooting it at least a foot out of Bucky’s reach.

“Well, go ahead, James. Tell them my sordid tale. Or, at least, the parts you conveniently left out.” You encouraged him, accepting the tea that Zemo offered you with a soft ‘Danke’. He nodded, returning shortly after with a tray of tea and water for himself and the others. When he sat in the other armchair no more than a foot or two away from you, you didn’t scoot away, simply looked him up and down quickly as if assessing a threat. His demure smile did little to soothe you, but you weren’t scared of him in this situation - he was much more terrifying when he had the time and space to plan your demise.

“Stroud was eight when… when I was sent to kidnap her. She spent her summers and school breaks in Sokovia, but grew up in Canada, chosen because she had no genetic deficiencies or hereditary health issues. She was on vacation with her parents visiting her family in Sokovia when they sent me. I… I took her to the lab just outside of Prague, and HYDRA left me there for a couple of months while she settled in. They unfroze me up a couple times through the years to… to test her.” Bucky explained, watching Sam and Zemo’s faces to see their reactions.

“Your family is Sokovian?” The Baron asked, and you shrugged your shoulders but nodded.

“My father, and my mother’s maternal side. They were in Novigrad.” You explained, and he gave you a sympathetic nod, “Tell them the rest, James. I don’t believe the news will make my Baron want to kill me any more, now that he knows I’m one of his citizens.”

It was said teasingly, but from the way Zemo shifted in his seat and pursed his lips, you didn’t think you were far off. You could understand - he had lost his homeland, and you were a relic of that, using it against him to protect yourself shamelessly.

“The scientists chose her because… they liked her genetics. She didn’t have any concerning genes, hereditary health conditions, and none of her family suffered from any obvious addictions…” Bucky took a deep, steadying breath before continuing, “This was important to them because… because they wanted to… they theorised that breeding two super soldiers might create a stronger variant.”

Silence reigned, while you sipped your tea patiently, letting the men absorb that painful and disgusting truth. Sam got up from the sofa, clearly needing to pace, his hands resting on his hips as he thought it over. Bucky seemed to sink into the sofa on the other hand, as if he could hide from this somehow. Zemo rubbed his hand over his mouth, lost in thought, but it seemed that the most active of them all found his voice first.

“So they made you kidnap a child so they could turn her into your… what, baby mama?” Sam asked, his sneering face matching yours. He wasn’t mad at Bucky, obviously, but the entire concept of this was entirely antithetical to his worldview and moral structure.

“Does that seem so far out of the realm of possibility for the psychotic eugenic-freak nazis, Falcon?” You asked, and he shuddered visibly, “I wasn’t trained the same way as the Widows, or the other Soldiers. I didn’t need to be. I was just a broodmare, and the Winter Soldier was to be my eighteenth birthday present. Shame they didn’t put a bow on him.”

Zemo squeezed his eyes closed in your periphery, his jaw clenched tightly, and you took pity on the men who were clearly struggling with this reveal. Sam’s fury was evident, his whole being like an exposed nerve upon which his last remaining vestiges of control were barely a bandaid. The Baron, however, kept himself far more under wraps than the other two. There were signs, of course, to his discomfort, but he restrained himself in a way that Sam and Bucky both were incapable of.

“I’m still�� God, pleasantly surprised sounds terrible, but it was a shock that they waited until you were eighteen. I… I still have nightmares about that day. And only partially because you tried to bite my throat out.” Bucky said, trying to sound playful on that last part despite the trauma you were all discussing. He didn’t quite achieve the tone he was trying to set, and you gave him a serious look, bordering on sympathy.

“Tried? James, I nearly got your jugular. You had to go into surgery immediately, that’s the only reason they stopped the whole thing.” You reminded him, and he shrugged, clearly thinking he deserved it, “Enough about me. Tell me what brings three of the four horsemen to my doorstep.”

Barnes huffed a breath through his nose at the reference, but Sam stepped in to show you the video from Torres and explain the Flagsmashers to you. You hummed along appropriately, considering his words as he described the truck fight to you, and explained who the hell John Walker was when he came up. When Sam was done, you turned your gaze to the man who’d kidnapped you so many years ago and narrowed your eyes, dubious rather than angry.

“You come to my home bringing death and destruction to my doorstep, Barnes. Why? You think you’re enough to bring me into the light? I have weathered much darker storms, Soldat. I have kept to myself while your so called Avengers ripped themselves and each other apart. Why do you think I will join you now to squash this little resistance? All that your friends have done is raise the bar for sinister minds. I am not like you, James, I never wanted this. I never wanted to be a soldier, or to save the world. I wanted to be a gardener. I had such… Lofty aspirations. As if my hands can do anything now but destroy.”

You stood as you finished your tirade, eerily calm as you walked towards the kitchen, giving the men space. For your safety and theirs. You placed a box of your favourite tea on the counter, examining your kitchen for anything you would want to bring with you if you decided to accept.

“The people who have this serum are dangerous, doll. We don’t know how many there are, what their plan is, and how bad things will get. I need backup. I need someone who can withstand a fight against them, or this might go south.” Barnes explained as best as he could, “You’re hiding here, barely living. I get it. But you deserve better. If you help us, we can back you up against whatever remnants of HYDRA are left if they come for you. You could live a better life.”

You scoffed, splaying your hands out on the countertop to brace yourself as you considered your choices.

In the end, you think it must’ve been inevitable. What else could you have done?

Music pounds in your ears as you walk through a crowd towards the bar, your arm delicately linked with that of the Baron. No one knew you here despite your brief stint while you were roaming the world aimlessly in an attempt at getting away from your past, and having you as backup that blended in rather than outwardly dressed as a soldier was the best choice, according to Zemo. You weren’t sure you’d be much help at all - after years in the quiet of the woods by yourself, the bar was overwhelming at best. But, Zemo had been confident when he presented you with a dress that you were certain despite knowing very little about dresses that must have cost a fortune, and told you your role. Tonight, you would be arm candy. It had taken ages to get yourself groomed enough to pass as anything but a wild woman, but you had to admit as you admired yourself in the mirror that you did clean up well.

Despite knowing he is more of a threat than he appears - evident in the bulge of his bicep against your arm if nothing else - the man is a comforting presence. His grip on your waist is possessively tight as he guides you in front of him at the bar, caging you in with his body. His nose bumps against your ear and you shiver as he whispers against it.

“What would you like to drink, schatz?”

“Whiskey, please, Baron.” You say back, louder than he had asked you, looking at the bartender through your lashes. He hums a response, greeting Sam and asking for his drink order while he pours a shot for Zemo. You watch over the rim of your glass as Sam struggles with his repulsive drink, distracted by the soft stroking of Zemo’s hand over your stomach, and his lips against your neck. Something about having constant, roving contact with him is making it easier to tune out every other overstimulating input in the bar. You wonder if he planned it this way, or if he’s simply putting on a show. You can feel Bucky glaring at him, but the Baron seems nonplussed by the Winter Soldier’s ire.

You aren't a huge fan of physical contact, but Zemo had quietly explained his plan to you on the plane ride to Madripoor, and cleared what he might have to do to enforce your role with you. It was far more than you expected from the man, but the consideration was worthwhile in making you trust him at least a little. You had a safe word, which had been a new concept to you that Zemo had surprisingly patiently explained while studiously ignoring the way that Barnes glared daggers at his back. You weren't entirely sure what James' problem was with Zemo and you specifically, but you were putting it down to either base male ego due to the fact that you were intended for him (a gross concept) or protective instinct (less gross, but unnecessary). Or both, perhaps. He was only human, after all.

The Sokovian had done a good job of pretending that Barnes didn't exist, focused entirely on you as he explained that he may have to touch you quite intimately, and likely would have to kiss you. Selby was a woman who delighted in the obscene at times, and had a taste for pretty things. She might demand a show of perversion to prove you weren't a spy while simultaneously getting her rocks off. You gave him permission to do what he had to do, and promised that after the events were over, you would check in with him privately. You had to admit, you were impressed by his genuine show of concern, and the amount of effort he was putting into establishing consent and trust with you.

Even now, he kept his body between yours and anyone else's in a way that protected your personal space but seemed possessive to the outward eye. A man approaches Zemo from behind, telling him that the message from above is that he isn't welcome, and you splay your hands across his stomach to brace him, staring up into his eyes to see if he needs you. He speaks to the man calmly, and you slip your hand under his shirt to trace along his ribs, your gaze moving between your date for the night and the man ‘interrupting’ it like you were simply an impatient girl. The man leaves, and you listen as Zemo explains the power broker, pausing briefly and switching to Russian as a hand clasps around his shoulder.

"Winter Soldier. Attack."

The man is swiftly removed, and you watch around Zemo's shoulder as Barnes goes on the attack, your arms slipping around the Baron's waist in a way that he clearly approves of from the rumble he lets out, and the hand that covers yours to hold you in place. He’s smirking as he watches the fight, and you scoff as he pushes another body at Bucky before making a snarky comment to Sam about how little it took for him to fall back into form. Like it wasn’t his fault. You roll your eyes, pressing closer to the Baron as if trying to watch the fight, and using that closeness to whisper in his ear,

“Try to enjoy this a little less, Baron. You’re being too obvious. S’a flimsy basis for the wedge you’re trying to drive.”

You feel him shiver against you, and his honey eyes find yours over his shoulder, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

“Apologies, häschen.”

Soon enough, the violence ends and you are brought back to meet Selby, letting the Baron guide you into his lap as if you belonged there. A large, warm hand closes around the meat of your thigh, just under the hem of your dress, and you watch Selby's eyes track the movement with a hunger that makes you squirm against the man beneath you. Barnes and Sam watch with disapproval on their faces, though they snap back into character swiftly enough it goes unnoticed. The Baron gives you two squeezes, and you settle, draping yourself back against his chest with your head on his shoulder, face tucked demurely into his neck.

"She's a pretty thing, isn't she? New pet, Zemo? Last I heard you were in a German lockup. How'd you get out, and how'd you get a sweet little thing like that so quickly?" Selby asks, and Zemo laughs.

"People like us will always find a way." He remarks, "As for this little häschen... she hopped her way to me when she found out I was free, like a good little girl."

Selby's gaze digs into you, and you lift your head from Zemo's shoulder to trail kisses along his jaw, murmuring a quiet 'Hel, baby, I'm bored.' against his skin. You say it just loud enough to be heard, and you can see Selby out of the corner of your eye, her eyes glued to your thighs as if staring hard enough would make them open. You pointedly ignore the stirring you feel beneath you, knowing he’s only a man and at that, a man who’d been imprisoned for eight long years. It probably has nothing to do with you. The conversation continues around you as Zemo offers Selby the Winter Soldier in exchange for information about the super soldier serum, and you do your job well despite having no experience to draw on beyond the seconds the Winter Soldier had his hands on you before you nearly tore his throat out with your teeth. The Baron shivers as you kiss along his jugular, stopping briefly mid-sentence to squeeze your thigh with one hand while the other grips your hair and pulls you back.

“Häschen, I am working. You will wait.” He reprimands you gently, nipping your lower lip when you pout dramatically. Liquid fire floods your veins, and you have to clench your thighs to temporarily quell the burn even though you know he’ll feel it and probably know why.

“Give the girl a bone, Baron, she’s clearly gagging for it.” Selby commands, and you know from her tone that you’ve ignited her. Zemo glances at Selby briefly before sliding his hand further up under your dress, his fingertips skimming across your cunt. He gives you a startled look when he realises you’ve forgone wearing underwear, but masks it quickly before Selby could notice. You’re mortified to find that you’re soaked, and he can definitely feel it. He knows. The little hitch in his breath at the realisation makes your cunt throb.

“I’ve been trying to teach her patience, Selby. You know how easily a brat is born without a firm hand.” He reminds her somewhat playfully, and Selby smirks as she watches him spread your legs a little. It’s embarrassing to know she can see you, and she is shameless about tilting her head to take a long look, but you knew it was a possibility and you didn’t blame him for it. You try for an eager look instead of nervous, but yelp as Zemo’s hand slaps your cunt with a loud and worryingly wet-sounding smack, “She will get what she wants when she earns it.”

Something in that makes you sigh, and Zemo lets out a soft breath of a laugh, catching your lips in a kiss that sends fire through your veins. Your first kiss, somehow at 32, and it’s all a bit of a game. At least it’s a good one, the Baron’s soft lips moving gently against yours, guiding you to respond to him as his hand cups your jaw. His thumb traces over your cheek, tongue slipping past your lips to taste you, and you try desperately to make it seem like you aren’t as inexperienced as you are.

“Now that you’ve had your fun-” Selby begins as you part, leaving a string of saliva connecting you, only to be interrupted by the buzzing of Sam’s cellphone. You close your eyes, biting your cheek to restrain any noise of frustration, then shift in Zemo’s lap as if nothing is wrong at all while you survey the room for all aggressors and exits.

“Answer it. On speaker.”

Sam does, and you listen with a roll of your eyes as the man has a conversation with his sister. Strong hands hold you as the tension in the room mounts, until Sarah says her brother’s name, and the jig is up. Fortunately, Selby is swiftly assassinated. Unfortunately, Selby is now dead, and it appears as if it is your fault. Walking the streets of Madripoor’s Lowtown knowing that a bounty is likely already set on your head with the dings of phones all around you as the soundtrack of your departure is, you find, a great way to raise your blood pressure.

As all hell breaks loose, Zemo drags you in the opposite direction as Sam and Bucky, and you let him despite the obvious warning signals. You’re touched by how protective he acts, tucking you behind him when someone gets into your path. He efficiently takes out a man with a handgun, pilfering it from his body and leading you through several alleyways until you meet up with Sam and Bucky just as their pursuers are executed.

“You seem to have a guardian angel.” Zemo remarks to the two men, and you hum, keen ears picking up the crunch of boots just as Sharon Carter rounds into the alley with you all.

“Well this is too perfect.” She chimes, gun pointed directly at the Baron instead of Sam or Bucky. Instinct flares, and you move before you can rethink your actions, one hand clasping around her wrist to remove the gun while the other jabs sharply into her elbows to buckle her arms and stop her from being able to immediately retaliate. You turn the gun on her, grip confident as you step out of her reach.

“Who the fuck are you?” She asks, sneering as you place yourself between her and Zemo. She shifts as if trying to get an angle on him, and you mirror her effortlessly, eyebrow raised as you wait for her next move.

“You do not need to know.” You reply, tuning out the world to listen to her heart pound.

“What are you, Zemo’s new guard dog?”

You smirk. The Baron’s gaze sits heavy between your shoulders, and you wonder at his expression. Barnes and Wilson’s are less difficult to imagine.

“Woof.”

Sam and Bucky intervene to explain the situation, and you take the gun from Zemo before the others can demand it, surprised that he lets you so easily. His eyes burrow into you, and you tilt your head nearly in time with him, both of you attempting to understand each other as in the background, Sharon offers you all a place to stay in Hightown. As the boys negotiate with Sharon for her cooperation, you duck into the bathroom to clean up, pulling up the skirt of your dress. There are bruises on your thighs already, your healing factor taking you through the process faster than any human body could. More worrying to you is how wet you are. It’s not as if you don’t understand what is happening - you have a lack of experience, not knowledge - and it’s not as if you’ve never touched yourself. Unfortunately, your night isn’t over, and the cause of your apparent arousal was waiting in the other room. You’d pointed a gun at the proprietor of the house for him less than an hour prior. The instinct to protect was strong in you - it always has been, and apparently, you wanted to protect Zemo. Why? Because he had been kind to you?

You breathe out a heavy sigh, cleaning yourself up liberally before you head back into the other room, and you catch Zemo’s eyes darkening as he looks upon you. At first, you’re uncertain why, until you see his gaze flicker down to your pelvis and you remember that he’s the only one in the room aware that you aren’t wearing underwear. You bite your lip, hoping perhaps that he’ll forget or misunderstand how wet you were. You think you might die if he brings it up.

“Lay low, blend in, enjoy the party. Try to stay out of trouble and I’ll see what I can find.” Sharon says as she heads upstairs, and Zemo smirks as he shrugs, one hand open palmed in faux innocence while the other grips his tumbler of whiskey.

“Trouble?”

You have to give it to Sharon, she definitely knows how to throw a party.

You move through the crowd as the beat pounds in your ears, dodging drunken party goers with a supernatural alacrity gifted to you by the serum. The blue neons cast a surprisingly attractive light across the crowd, and you watch with growing amusement as Sam flirts with a girl while pretending to examine a gorgeous Monet. Bucky tries to get you to stay close to him, but you dip under his arm and continue on your path to the bar, ignoring the way he calls after you. A shot glass is slid into your hand moments after you smell him approaching. Warm and musky and delicious, with traces of leather and old books lingering on the edges of your awareness.

“We should talk.” The Baron murmurs, and you nod despite wanting to run, turning to him to find yourself once more caged between his body and the bar. You take a breath, clenching your thighs again as he examines your expression like he’s dissecting you.

“When the night is over, as promised, we will talk.” You reply, taking the shot easily after clinking it against his glass. He raises his glass to you, then takes the shot as if it isn't even alcohol, keeping his eyes on you. In this light, they’re more chocolate than honey, but no less expressive. You wonder if he’s getting drunk - your tolerance is better than any human’s, and you’re not sure how much it takes someone who isn’t a super soldier to begin to feel it - since he’s now on his third or fourth drink at the very least tonight.

“My room or yours?” Zemo asks, and you consider it before offering him a faint shrug.

“Yours will do. I can’t promise Buck won’t be trying to break my door down for an unnecessary heart-to-heart.”

The Baron smirks, and you lean up to kiss his cheek as you slip past him, feeling him lean into it but not letting yourself dwell on it, “Have some fun, Zemo. I’ll come find you in a little bit. Be safe.”

“Tell me you’re seeing what I’m seeing.” Sam mutters to you, and you hum, looking away from the painting Bucky is showing you to follow the other man’s gaze. It doesn’t take long for either super soldier to spot what has caught his attention, and you stifle a laugh, pushing at Sam’s shoulder playfully. Bucky’s snort and subsequent coughing on his drink makes your laughter break through, and you end up gripping Sam’s shirt for stability as you try to get a hold of yourself.

“He’s a rich boy, Sam, I’m sure you’d look much the same if you tried your hand at a slow waltz.” You tease, drawing a chuckle from Barnes. He leans closer to you, hand sweeping over your lower back in what you’re sure is probably a platonic way, but still gives you the heebie-jeebies as he reminds you that you don’t need to defend the Baron. His lips are too close to your ear, and he’s looking at you too intensely for you to handle despite his playful smile. You turn your back to Zemo to look at both Bucky and Sam, stepping out of the former Winter Soldier’s reach.

“So, who’s gonna go save him from himself and show him how to actually dance? Any takers? Consider it charity work if it makes you feel better.” You grin at them, your tone playful despite how tense you are, and Sam snorts.

“How d’you know how to dance? You’re basically a homeschool kid on steroids.”

That draws a genuine laugh from you, and you shrug your shoulders as you begin backing towards the Baron, decision made.

“I spent years roaming Europe and at least a month clubbing here in Madripoor, Sam. I may not have experience in a lot of things, but dancing is definitely not one of them. You keep Buck here unmolested by the masses, and I’ll handle our Baron.” You tease.

“Yeah, you’ll handle him alright. Gross.” Sam retorts mostly under his breath, only audible to you due to your enhanced hearing. You’re laughing as you approach Zemo, and you boldly slide an arm around his waist from behind as you press yourself up against his back, grinning as he startles. He twists to face you, and his smile is more open - genuine - as he takes you in. You’re not sure if he’s just decided he likes you, or if he’s a little tipsy.

“You’ve never danced like this before, Baron.” You state plainly, and he laughs, almost bashful but not quite as he shrugs his broad shoulders.

“Perhaps not, but I am enjoying myself.” He retorts, letting you guide him until his hips are pressing into yours, winding with the music in a way that can’t possibly be anything but intimate. You’re not sure why it’s so easy for you to touch and be touched by Zemo, when Bucky laying a hand on you sends shivers down your spine, but you don’t want to think on that too heavily right now under the blue neon lights and the pulsing of the music. As the crowd closes in around you, you move with them, all the while guiding Zemo through it. He’s observant, and he learns quickly, watching the rest of the crowd move until finally he feels confident. You grin as he presses against your back, his arm looping around your waist slowly enough that you could escape it if you so desired. His chin brushes your shoulder, and you’re tempted to look at him to see what he’s looking at, but you get distracted by a man who had been approaching you until he froze a couple feet away. You tilt your head curiously as he turns around and walks the other way, but Zemo’s mouth brushes against the back of your neck, and you scoff as you put two and two together.

“Protective or possessive, Baron?” You ask him boldly, and he smiles against your skin as if he isn’t surprised by the question at all.

“Oh, I believe both should cover it, schatzi.” he replies, guiding you towards the bar with a gentle hand on your back, “You don’t like when people touch you, even if you like them well enough. You flinched when Sharon touched your arm to apologise for her presumed insult, you shy away from Sam even though you laugh and smile with him often, and I don’t think I need to begin to touch on your avoidance of Barnes. I appear to be exempt from that, however I didn’t think he would be. I apologise if I was presumptuous.”

You order a drink for the both of you, as well as a shot each, laughing to yourself despite being a little touched by his observance.

“No, you’re not sorry. You know you were presumptuous, you’re just banking on the fact that you’re right. And now, when I tell you you are, it will reinforce your behaviour in the future.” You inform him, letting him cage you against the bar for the third time this night, “Fortunately, I’m okay with your presumptuousness, in this circumstance.”

Zemo clinks his shot against yours, and you both take them together, laughing when you spot an incredulous Sam and a frustrated Bucky staring directly at you. His metal arm is tense, hand fisted, and you’re glad he isn’t holding on to anything because it would most certainly be crushed by now. You give them a cheeky wave, and have to bite back your snicker when Zemo, seemingly noticing their attention, pulls you tighter to him so he can press his smug little smirk into the curve of your neck.

“You’re going to get yourself attacked soon, you know?” You ask in a sing-song voice, and he chuckles against your skin, collecting his drink and letting you lead him through the rows of stolen artwork. He lets you take his hand and squeezes gently, keeping no more than a step behind you the whole way.

“I’m certain I can handle it.” He retorts, and you laugh for what feels like the thousandth time tonight. You can’t remember the last time you laughed so much. You can’t remember the last time your life felt so full.

“Man, you really are trouble, aren’t you Baron?”

‘Interogating’ Nagel is a complete shitshow. You don’t blame Zemo for what he did, despite Sam and Bucky’s endless irritation. Nagel was smart enough to recreate and refine the super soldier serum, and he had to be stopped. He worked for HYDRA. You hadn’t had the chance to ask, but you were sure he easily could’ve been involved in the project that created you. He was the type who would never stop, no matter what got in his way - this was his life’s work. He was the type who would keep recreating it and refining it until he made even worse monsters than he already had.

You were just thankful that Zemo dragged you out with him before the second explosion, even if you would’ve been fine with the others. You didn’t have a gun, and a firefight would have been less than ideal, though you knew you could handle it. The Baron takes down several men while wearing a purple mask before you could even try to help him, and you roll your eyes as you follow him through the rows of shipping containers until he finds a car that makes his eyes light up. You can’t help a fond smile as he helps you into the passenger seat as if you need it, and you kick your feet up onto the dash. He offers you a surprisingly boyish grin, and you don’t feel any inclination to move away when his gloved hand closes around your thigh through your jeans, giving you a gentle squeeze that sears through you. You close your hand around his, and his gaze burns through you as he starts to drive, only looking away when he absolutely has to.

You’re going to die if he doesn’t tuck that stupid lock of hair out of his face.

Following the trail to Karli Morgenthau to Riga was simple with the use of Zemo’s jet, but you didn’t know the trials and tribulations that awaited you when you made it to his home in Latvia. While Bucky went on a walk to be sneaky, the Baron gave you and Sam a tour of his house, which you were kind of in love with. The style of the house was stunning, and you found yourself looking around excitedly for the next subtle detail that would catch your eye. Sam was quick to agree when Zemo offered you one of the three bedrooms to stay in by yourself, claiming the master as expected, and leaving the third to Sam and James. Then, he told you you could wear any clothing you found, that the second bathroom had a shower if you needed it, and departed into the master to clean up.

Sam gave you the honour first, and you tried to be efficient with your time, turning the water up just on the right side of too hot while you scrubbed yourself down. Once you were done, you dressed in a large purple dress shirt paired with a stolen pair of boxers that covered up enough of your thighs to be decent.

Now, sitting in the living room watching Zemo in his navy silk robe as he moved confidently around the kitchen, you wish you would’ve chosen anything else. When he first saw you, his eyes had burned into you. Now, you had three pairs of eyes on you for very different reasons, and you wanted to punch someone in the mouth. Sam’s gaze is a bit disdainful, since he detests Zemo and finds it incredibly uncomfortable that you don’t. Zemo looks equal parts smug and starving, which you wouldn’t mind so much if it weren’t for James glaring between the two of you like you’d both insulted him. His glare was softer on you, sure, but it was still uncomfortable when he had no right to be upset with you for wearing clean clothes. It wasn’t your fault that they’d rushed you out of your house when you agreed to help, and you’d only packed a couple of outfits.

As the boys discuss Karli, you find yourself lost in thought. What was your endgame, here? The Flagsmashers had attacked the GRC (who could all get fucked if you were being honest) instead of simply stealing from them, blowing up a building with several people still inside. There was a death toll now. That changed things. You could sympathise with Morgenthau, but you weren’t at all comfortable with her possession of the super soldier serum - both the vials of it, and that which ran through her and her companions' veins. At this point, she seemed to be escalating, and there was nothing worse than the escalation of a being with unnatural abilities. Power corrupts, and it was beginning to corrupt her if it hadn’t already warped her mind.

The Baron rants about the serum, and Karli, and you sigh as you hop up onto the counter. Sam wants to save Karli, you know it, and you’re sad for him. You know she won’t give up, no matter the cost. Nothing could outweigh her aspirations at this point. Hopefully, speaking to her at Danya’s funeral would help, but you were aware it was equally as likely to feed Karli’s anger as it was her compassion. Your eyes track the turkish delight that Zemo tosses to Sam and you have to restrain a grin at the way he says ‘Titi’.

“Zemo is right. Karli is dangerous. It’s worth trying to speak to her to see if she can be reasoned with, but you can’t hold out too much hope, Sam. It’ll break your heart when she fails you. And she will.”

Zemo gestures to you in agreement, and you hum as he plucks a turkish delight from the dish, reaching for it. To Sam and Bucky’s disgust, he unwraps it for you, and you open your mouth obediently for it even though you might’ve normally protested. Bugging Sam and James was beginning to become a sport.

“Come on, man.” Sam grumbles under his breath as you lick the sugar from the Baron’s fingertips, and you flip him off blindly, grinning around the sweet treat. Zemo’s eyes are all molten chocolate as he watches you chew.

“Okay, you know what? I’m starving. I’m getting food. Buck, c’mon. If she wants to spend her time with the Baron, we might as well let her keep an eye on him, and get ourselves some time without him.” Sam remarks, slapping Bucky’s arm, and the two depart while you shout over your shoulder for them to bring dinner home for you. Once they’re gone, Zemo raises an eyebrow at you.

“We didn’t get to talk.” He reminds you, and you nod, “I would like to. Have I made you uncomfortable?”

You shake your head, and he examines your expression for honesty before continuing, “I hoped Selby wouldn’t take an interest in you. I apologise for… groping you the way I did. I hope I did not cause you undue discomfort. Thank you, for disarming Miss Carter when she pointed the gun at me in Madripoor.”

Shrugging, you lean towards him a little, trying to read his face despite feeling as if you know what he wants.

“Her interest made her ask fewer questions. You don’t have to apologise for touching me - you asked permission before the mission, and I enjoyed it, as I’m sure you’re aware. I know that Sam and Barnes don’t trust you, but I trust what I know of you - you’ve gone out of your way to establish consent with me when you didn’t have to, you’ve protected me despite the serum that pumps through my veins, and I know you want to put an end to the Flagsmashers if only because they chose their fate. I don’t agree with everything you’ve done, Zemo, but I… I like who you are, and I can understand your choices even if I don’t approve of them.” You explain, rolling your lip over your teeth, and he moves a little closer to you.

“Helmut.” He murmurs, and you smile, watching as he drops a hand to your knee to see if you’ll protest, “I would like it if you would call me Helmut.”

“Not Hel?” You ask playfully, grinning as his grip tightens, pulling you to the edge of the counter as he steps between your legs.

“If you want to feel the softness of my bed while I reclaim my stolen clothes, by all means.” Zemo replies, and your pupils dilate as you consider the possibilities. The consequences. He’s so close, and you clench your knees around his hips, drawing a soft gasp from his lips. You swallow it, cupping his cheeks in your hands as your lips press against his. It takes very little effort for Zemo to lift you into his arms, and he carries you to the master bedroom, kicking the door closed behind him so he can drop you on his bed in privacy. He wouldn’t put it past Barnes or Sam to interrupt them on purpose.

“You weren’t kidding - this is way softer than the bed you gave me, Hel.” You tease, and he chuckles as he crawls over you, pressing you back into the sheets. He doesn’t hover over you like you might’ve thought he would. Instead, he lays mostly on top of you, hips against yours, and you feel smothered by him in the best way possible. He kisses you softly at first, but his passion grows as you respond fiercely, your hands gliding through his hair to get a good grip.

“Have you done this before, liebling?” He asks quietly, hushed with the intimacy of the closeness between you. You shake your head, locking your legs around his hips as you comb your fingers through his hair.

“When I was… before I escaped, they made the Winter Soldier pin me to my bed and… he was about to put it inside, so I leaned up and bit his neck as hard as I could. Since then, I haven’t had much desire. I danced a lot at clubs around Europe and in Madripoor when I was running from HYDRA before I found my cabin, to get used to people, but I never… I never indulged. You were my first kiss.” You admit, curling his hair around your fingers, and you can see the way his pupils dilate at that. He captures your lips again, and you feel the rumble of his moan against you, bringing a smile to your lips.

“Do you have a purity kink, Helmut?” You ask with a giggle, and he nips at your collarbone, grinding his hips into you.

“Perhaps. I hadn’t thought of it before,” He admits breathlessly, pausing to suck a dark mark into your neck, “I like the idea of being the only man to have you.”

Warm hands slowly unbutton the shirt you’re wearing, and you lay your head back with a gasp as your Baron’s lips trail kisses down over every inch of exposed skin. He smirks against your sternum, murmuring sweetness in Sokovian that has you sighing and tangling your fingers in his hair.

“I understand you, you know?” You whisper, and he blinks up at you as you’ve cut him off in the middle of waxing poetic about the size and shape of your breasts. He raises an eyebrow, tweaking your nipple between his fingers and biting down gently on the curve of your breast.

“I know, liebling. I can feel you tremble as you burn for me.”

You grab at his robe in retaliation, shoving it down over his shoulders insistently while he simultaneously tries to get his stolen boxers off of you. It doesn’t go very well for either of you, so he sits back out of reach to take off his robe for you, leaving himself in only a pair of boxers similar to the ones you’re wearing. Your fingertips rake through his chest hair as he crawls over you, and he sighs at the feeling, pulling your legs around him. In one easy movement, he pulls you up into his lap, one hand holding your lower back while the other strips his shirt from you. He kisses you slowly, sliding his hands into your boxers to grasp at your ass, squeezing as he pushes your hips together so you can feel how much he wants you.

“Have you ever touched yourself?” Zemo whispers against your lips, forcing himself to part from you despite how much he’d rather not. He kisses along your neck as he waits for you to answer, thumbs stroking over your nipples as he grinds against you.

“I’m inexperienced, Hel, I’m not dead.” You retort with a laugh, gripping his hair, “You feel bigger than the toys I’ve used though.”

That draws a hum from your Baron, and he lays you back on the bed, hooking his fingers in your boxers so he can drag them down your legs to toss them behind him. You look down at the tent in his boxers, wetting your lips and slowly spreading your legs for him, letting him take a good long look at what he has done to you. A low groan slips from his lips and he skims his hands up your thighs to soothe the tremble in them.

“I won’t hurt you, schatz.” He reminds you, gentle but serious, and you nod to say you know and understand. You glance at his boxers again, and he follows your gaze, quickly realising what you want. You watch as he shuffles out of the tight fabric, tossing it off the side of the bed and giving you a chance to stare at him. You’ve seen a cock before from a distance, but your only other close-up experience hadn’t put you in a position to see anything and while the Winter Soldier was being taken away by medical staff, you were unable to see anything, too busy with the taste of blood and flesh in your mouth. It didn’t help that one of the scientists took it upon himself to backhand you as punishment for your act of self-defence, sending you reeling.

Helmut Zemo is a gifted man. You can’t help but stare as he gives his cock a couple slow strokes to ease his discomfort, thumb stroking over the head to collect his precum to ease the glide. He’s bigger than you expected, thick enough that you aren’t sure how he’s going to fit, and long enough that you know he’s going to bump against your cervix with every thrust. You swallow hard, mentally trying to compare his cock to the toys you’ve used in the past, and trembling as you realise he’s easily twice as thick.

Sensing your panic, Zemo crawls onto the bed with you, covering you with his body again as he presses kisses to your lips. Your legs wrap almost instinctively around his waist, but he doesn’t try to take advantage of the position, focusing on intimacy instead of quick pleasures.

“Relax, liebling. I’m right here. I have you.” he murmurs as he nuzzles against your cheek, and you let out a breathy sigh, clutching at his back. He strokes his hands up and down over your sides until you relax under his touch, then begins a slow trail of kisses down your chest and stomach. You sigh as you realise what he’s doing, and your head falls back against the pillows before his lips even manage to make contact with the wet, aching heat of your cunt. His hands close around your thighs from below, pushing them up and apart as he plants a kiss against you, then swipes the flat of his tongue up through your cunt all the way up to flick across your clit. You shudder, and he holds you a little tighter, delving in with soft licks and sucking kisses that have you grabbing at the sheets beneath you.

Tangling your fingers in his hair, you whimper his name as he swirls his tongue around your clit then sucks it into his mouth, his eyes dark as night as he stares up at you to watch your face. Every move is calculated, running off of your reactions and looking to draw out more, desperate to feel you fall apart for him. It isn’t until his fingers gently prod at your entrance that you feel anything but pleasure. A small spike of fear, soothed by a gentle kiss to your tummy that feels unexpectedly sweet.

One finger, and then a second fill you, but you feel no pain. It’s about the same girth as the toy you’ve used, but no toy has ever been able to stroke across that spot inside of you with such surgical precision. His lips close around your clit, and you let out a cry as the dual sensations overwhelm you, trying your damnedest not to yank on his hair though you’re sure you fail since he grunts against you. There is nothing urgent or rushed about this - this is a slow, methodical dismantling of every rational thought, every worry, every fear you’ve ever had. This is a reconstruction on a spiritual level, replacing worries with pleasure, and fears with happiness, and thoughts with need.

You realise as you have the thought to tell Zemo how good he’s making you feel that there’s certainly no question about it. You didn’t even notice how much noise you were making, the soft whines and moans falling from your lips completely unrestrained, and it’s as if you zone back into your surroundings only to have them wiped away. A crook of your Baron’s fingers and a particularly hard suck on your clit have you tossing your head back against the pillows and shouting his name, “Baron!” and “Helmut!” in equal measure.

You return to yourself again to find yourself cradled in your Baron’s arms, his nose nuzzling gently against your cheekbone as he strokes your back, your thighs clenched around his hips as he presses you bodily into the mattress. You blink, and he smiles at the sight of you, dipping down for a gentle kiss that makes you tremble.

“Oh.” You whisper, and he laughs softly.

“Are you okay, schatz? Do you need a minute?” Helmut asks. You shake your head urgently, tangling your fingers in his hair so you can pull him into a kiss that has him moaning into your mouth. You chase the taste of yourself, tongue sliding across his, then part with a gasp.

“I need you.” You whisper, and he groans against your lips, grinding his hips into yours.

“You have me.” He promises, pushing himself up a little so he can take himself in hand and press the head of his cock against your desperate cunt.

“Now, Hel. Don’t make me wait.”

His groan reverberates through you as he pushes inside, inch by inch, carving his way through your insides. By the time he bottoms out, you’re panting for breath, clinging to his back as he presses his chest to yours. The closeness soothes you, and keeps you from digging in your nails.

“Fuck.” You moan, and he groans in response, nodding against your shoulder.

“You’re so tight, schatz, you’re strangling my cock.” He murmurs without a hint of complaint in his tone. You don’t think you’ll ever be ready when he finally starts to pull out, but his next thrust drives the breath from your lungs, and you sob, tears in your eyes from the pleasure. He kisses them away so gently that you nearly want to cry again, whispering to you about how beautiful you are, how perfect you feel around him, and how desperately he needs you to be his.

“I am!” You proclaim, and he groans his approval, catching your lips in a kiss that sends fire racing through your veins. His pace has been brutally slow so far, but he begins to move faster now, each thrust driving him in to the hilt. It feels like punishment. It feels like atoning. It feels like rebirth. It feels like a new beginning without the fear that’s kept you trapped in the woods all by yourself for so many years you felt like giving up. Blunt teeth clamp around your neck and you shudder, tilting your head back to bare more of it to him.

“Mine.” He mutters around your skin, and you nod frantically.

“Yours. And you’re mine, Helmut. My Baron. I won’t give you back.” You insist, and his laugh is broken by a groan. By the time he releases his hold on you, you’ve got a fresh bruise darkening on your throat.

“You may have to, schatz. Your friends don’t want me out of prison.” He reminds you softly even as he shatters you into pieces, each thrust breaking you apart and putting you back together again. You clutch him tighter to you like somehow, in the shattering and reassembling, he can become part of you. Pressure builds inside of you until you feel fit to explode.

“F-Fuck them.” You growl, and he reaches between you to stroke your clit, gritting his teeth. He groans - nearly growls - as he comes, filling you to the brim and fucking it in deeper with his next couple of thrusts. The heat sends you reeling, and you choke on a gasp as your orgasm breaks across you like a tsunami, washing you clean.

Laying together, panting for breath under your Baron’s sturdy weight, you realise the choice you’ve made for yourself. He’s gentle as he pulls out of you, stroking your legs to make sure you aren’t too stiff, and reaching for his towel to clean you up.

“Perhaps, showering after this might have been a wiser choice.” He murmurs, and you shake your head.

“No, clean was nice, I would’ve been self conscious otherwise. This was perfect. I’ll shower again if I have to.”

That draws a soft laugh from Zemo’s lips, and he curls around you, nuzzling his face into your neck, “Do you need anything from me?”

You contemplate his question for a moment, then hum softly to yourself, nodding.

“Just hold me a little longer. I promise I’ll get up soon.”

Helmut rolls his eyes, pressing kisses along the line of your shoulder as he strokes his hands down over your body.

“You’re in no rush, liebling. We have time.”

You sigh, because you know that you really don’t.

You’re reminded that Baron Helmut Zemo had a child before you as well as a wife when he interacts with the children in Riga. You overhear him speaking to them, and acknowledge them with a nod when he gestures to you and tells them you’re safe too. You know this will likely come back to bite you, but you let Zemo play his games. He’s got a plan, clearly, and you’re happy enough to go along with it. At least someone has one.

Ever since Sam and Bucky got back to the house, they’ve been giving you odd looks, and you can see the judgement in their eyes. You aren’t quite sure if they think you’re too stupid to know yourself and have just been wrapped up in Zemo’s sugary lies, or if they think you’ve switched sides somehow, but either way it’s beginning to get on your nerves. You aren’t a child, and you’re not stupid. You know when someone is lying to you, and you don’t sense mistruths or even manipulation from your Baron.

As Zemo leads you back into the house with Bucky and Sam, the argument starts up again. Sam believes in Karli’s goodness, while Bucky is being more practical. You roll your eyes as you sit beside Sam, and Zemo admits that he knows where the funeral for Donya will be.

“Keep talking.” Bucky snaps, and you breath out a heavy sigh. Like that’ll ever happen.

“Leaving you to turn on me once we get to Karli. Hmm. I prefer to keep my leverage.” Zemo replies simply. You watch as Bucky stands, grabbing Zemo’s glass and tossing it at the wall.

“You wanna see what someone can do with leverage?” He asks, and you plant your feet loudly, startling both men.

“Simmer down before I fucking make you.” You snap, while Sam gets up to stop Bucky.

“Take it easy. Don’t engage him. He’s just gonna extort you and do that stupid head tilt thing.” The leveller head says, drawing a snort from you, “Let me make a call.”

You roll your eyes, holding your hand out for a cup.

“You need to stop antagonising them. I don’t want to have to hurt them, Helmut.”

The arrival of John Walker throws a wrench in things. The new Captain America with everything to prove is not a stable resource, and you want nothing to do with him. As he approaches, all ramped up to 11 like it's his new state of being, you put yourself between him and Zemo.

“This better be an unbelievable explanation-”

“Hey, take it easy before it gets weird.” Sam insists, his gaze flicking to you, and you tilt your head innocently as if you’ve no idea what he means.

“I know where Karli is.” Zemo explains, beginning to move past Walker. John puts a hand on Zemo’s chest, and you grab it before it can make contact, holding onto him tightly.

“Well whe-”

“Awww, ain’t this romantic?” You ask teasingly, giving him a gentle shove out of Zemo’s way. He scowls at you, and you let him go to slip by with your Baron.

“All we know is, it’s a memorial.” Sam continues behind you, and you ignore the argument as Walker tries to ‘reason’ with Sam. Thank God for Lemar, as he seems to be the only thing keeping Walker in line.

“We’ll deal with you later.” Walker states firmly, pointing first to Zemo, and then you.

“I’m sure it will all come to an agreeable conclusion. My associate is just up ahead.” Zemo replies, and you walk with him towards the little girl he’d been speaking to about Donya’s funeral. She leads you into a building, and you growl as Walker pushes Zemo, handcuffing him to a metal furnace door. Bucky hooks his arms under your armpits to stop you from fighting back, and you kick your legs out to smack against Walker’s stupid shield, running up his back and flipping over Barnes. He fights to get ahold of you, throwing you to the ground finally when you keep getting loose.

“Hey, you’ve got ten minutes-” Walker shouts after Sam.

“Really?” Zemo asks as he tests his handcuffs. His gaze finds you, checking you’re alright before looking back at John Walker.

“-then we’re going things my way.” The new Captain America finishes, making you roll your eyes.

“Aggressive.” Helmut comments, and you snort, “but I get it.”

You eye the handcuffs, but Zemo shakes his head, and you sigh.

“So, who the fuck is this?” John asks, and Bucky shakes his head.

“She’s none of your fucking business, Walker. Don’t look at her.”

Lemar and John both put their hands up, brows raised as they examine you, and you lean against the furnace door next to your Baron to keep an eye on the situation. Walker is clearly falling apart, staring at his shield like a psychopath, and you catch Lemar looking at you. You raise an eyebrow, then look at Walker and nod towards him. He follows your gaze, but doesn’t say anything.

“Uh-uh. No, no, no, this is a bad idea.” Walker starts, and you let Barnes field this one, knowing it won’t end well. You step closer to Zemo, watching the clearly unstable man with wariness in your eyes. You don’t want to have anything to do with him if you can avoid it. He goes after Sam, Lemar and Bucky at his back, and you rush to follow after giving Zemo a pointed look to take care of himself.

“You’re going to ruin it, Walker, give Sam a fucking chance. It’s like you want blood, you fucking maniac. What kind of Captain America doesn’t believe in peaceful conversation to avoid violence!?”

Your words fall on deaf ears, and you watch Karli run, Bucky close on her heels. You bolt off into the maze of the building, looking for where Karli could have gone, only to jump at a gunshot. You run in that direction, gunshots ringing in your ears, and you pray Zemo’s okay. You enter the room just moments after a shield collides with Zemo’s head, blue liquid and glass sprayed across the floor, and Karli nowhere to be found. You growl so deeply your chest feels like it’s about to come apart, and you’re across the room before you even know it.

“WALKER!”

Your fist nearly meets Walker’s spine, but Bucky grabs it, wrenching you back.

“NO! He could’ve killed him! You’re no Captain America, you fucking monster, I’ll tear you to pieces! Let me at him, Buck, I could kill him right here and solve all your problems. I’m already on the run, what’s one more stain on my name? Let me hurt him, please, come on, let me hurt him!” You shout, worming in Barnes’ grasp, but he’s stronger than you. All you’ve got on him is speed.

“Control your rabid dog.” Walker snaps, and you scream with frustration. Barnes drags you a few feet away, holding you tightly to him while you rage. Walker and Lemar leave, and only then does he let go of you, letting you sink to lift Zemo into your arms. You stand easily with his weight, your face permanently etched into a sneer as you stalk past Sam towards your Baron’s home. Sam follows you, watching as you lay Zemo down on the couch and get a cold towel for his head. When he wakes with a groan of pain, you bring him a drink, covering his eyes before he can open them.

“Are you okay?” He asks you, and you sigh.

“Barnes held me back. I was gonna break his spine.”

“Jesus Christ, kid, what the hell?” Sam asks, and you roll your eyes.

“He deserves worse. He’s a loose fucking cannon and you know it. The title is too much for him - it’s making him insane.” You spit as you stalk out of the room, “I need to wash up. If Walker shows him, tell him I’m going to rip his spine out and strangle him with it.”

Zemo laughs, but Sam scoffs, slamming down into an armchair with a muttered curse about excessive violence.

“Shouldn’t have given him the shield.”

“I didn’t give him the shield.”

“Well, Steve definitely didn’t.” You hear the tail end of Sam and Bucky’s argument as you exit the bathroom, tossing your bag down as the door slams open from Walker’s kick.

“Alright, that’s it, let’s go. I’m now ordering you to turn him over.” Walker orders as he stalks in with Lemar at his back.

“Hey, now, slow your roll. Shield or no shield, the only thing you’re running in here is your mouth.” Sam retorts calmly, “Now, I had Karli and you overstepped. He’s actually proven himself useful today, and we’ll need all hands on deck for whatever’s coming next.”

“How do you want the rest of this conversation to go, Sam, huh?” John asks, and you roll your eyes, moving forwards as Zemo circles the room towards you, “Should I put down the shield? Make it fair?”

You snort as he does just that, cracking your knuckles, only to be interrupted by the timely arrival of the Dora Milaje. Your shoulders relax, and Zemo gives you a quizzical look, but you don’t respond. They might be coming for Zemo, but Walker won’t be able to help himself. He’ll step right into their way, and get his ass kicked. You watch as exactly as predicted, Walker gets himself an asskicking, and you watch with a smile as you share a drink with your Baron. You’re not even slightly surprised when he grabs your hand and drags you into the bathroom behind him, closing and locking the door once you’ve grabbed your bag.

Together, you flee into the sewers, your hand gripping his as you race towards freedom. No matter how much you wanted to kick Walker’s ass, you know that the Dora Milaje will be able to do a better, and more demoralising job. And that’s what you’d prefer, honestly. You want John Walker broken down to his core as he realises that he never deserved the title of Captain America. Truthfully, he was just a placeholder while Sam figured his shit out.

The message you send to Barnes is simple.

‘If you take him from me, I will hunt you down to the ends of the Earth. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, James Buchanan Barnes.’

You discard the burner phone on a table outside of a cafe, running to catch up with Zemo where he waits in a nearby alley.

“They’ll come for me.” Helmut murmurs as he rubs his soapy hands across your stomach, up to cup your breasts, “I can only escape for so long.”

You snort, leaning back into his arms while your massage shampoo into his hair for him.

“They’ll certainly try. There are plenty of places we can hide.” You insist, sighing happily as he nuzzles against your neck. You dip under the running water to rinse yourself off, stealing a kiss from your Baron once the water runs clear. He swaps places with you and you run your hands over him slowly to rinse the soap away. Once the bubbles have been washed away, he presses you into the wall of the shower, and you gasp as he angles himself.

“Okay?” He asks, breathless, and you nod eagerly, spreading your legs a little wider. He pushes inside of you with a sigh, and you grasp at the tiles, eyes rolling back in your head.

“God, you feel so good around me, liebling. I did not… I did not expect this. I did not expect you.” He murmurs, grabbing your hips and rocking into you.

“I don’t know what you’ve done to me.” You whisper, letting him pull you back against him so he can steal a kiss, “I won’t lose you, Helmut. I won’t. If they come for you, I’ll destroy them.”

He sighs, holding you tighter, pressing soothing kisses to your neck, “You cannot, schatz. Do not sacrifice yourself for me.”

His next thrust makes you cry out, and he slips a hand between your thighs to stroke across your clit, driving you closer to the edge. It’s been barely any time at all, but you’ve been pent up with emotions, from aborted fights to nearly losing him. He holds you together as you tip over the edge in his arms, his thrusts quickening before you’ve even caught your breath. He strokes your clit firmly, and you find yourself caught in the drag of the tide, unexpectedly rising to your crest again so quickly you find yourself shaking in his arms.

“I can’t!” You gasp, and he chuckles against your neck.

“You can, and you will. Come for me, schatz. Let your Baron make you feel good.”

You claw at the tiles, pinned between the cold of them and the heat of his chest against your back, and your legs shake as he sends you spiralling over the edge into your end, shouting his name into the steam. He grunts against your neck, biting into your shoulder as he buries himself balls deep inside of you to fill you up. Gentle but strong hands clean you up, then guide you out of the shower and into a warm, plush robe. Your Baron guides you into the bedroom, and then into the bed, crawling in behind you to curl up around your back.

“Sleep, liebling. A nap will make things seem clearer when we wake.”

Together with Zemo, you decide to take your time together to hunt down the HYDRA lab you’d been kept in, and the scientists who may have worked there and escaped their due. Finding the lab was simple enough considering you’d escaped it fourteen years ago on foot. It wasn’t in any of HYDRA’s released records, which worries you. How many more facilities do they have hiding? Zemo watches with a smile on his face as you wrench open the door, breaking its seal as if the metal were molten. Not four steps in, you find the bloody bullet buried in the wall that took Imogen’s life, and you hear her screaming in your head for you to keep running as the blood drained rapidly from her body. There’s a stain on the floor, and it taunts you, outlining part of the shape of a body. You find her tucked into a security office only a few doors down, and Zemo has to lead you away, reading the security logs to discover what happened. Normally, she would have been discarded.

According to the logs, after you broke out, they went into a catastrophic failure, and the entire lab was purged with the loss of their only test subject. They didn’t think you’d make your way back to the lab so nothing was actually removed aside from personnel, but they didn’t need the facility so they closed it down and sealed it in case they needed it at a later date. You hunt through their files with your Baron, comparing them to the records of HYDRA operatives who’ve been found, until you find only one name that hasn’t been tagged.

Vanya Nikitin, one of the lead scientists behind your project. You remember him. He’s the one who hit you after you wounded their precious Winter Soldier. You stare at his picture, chest heaving as you find yourself lost in memories. How he used to touch your face and chest when you were strapped down and losing consciousness. How he stroked your stomach before he unleashed the Winter Soldier on you. How he promised you’d birth an army for them.

“Schatz.”

You jerk out of your spiral and glance at Helmut, letting him guide you over to look at the documents he’s digging through. He gestures to a paper and you muddle your way through it, your Russian rusty at best.

Fertility rates… show remarkable increase.

Your Baron’s hand strokes up and down your spine soothingly, and you crumple the page in your hand, “I can take the morning after pill.”

“You could.” Helmut agreed, sliding his arms around your waist, soothing you with his heat against your back, “For once, liebling, the choice is yours. I am happy to let you make this decision - I will support you if you want a child, and I will support you if you do not. You can have whatever you want.”

You nod, resting against him for a moment and letting yourself breathe. Something about being here with him is soothing. Like you’ve reclaimed the space from such evil, and it is once more just a simple laboratory instead of a place in which you were tormented.

“I can, can’t I? I mean, who the fuck is gonna stop me?”

Helmut smiles against your skin, and you only break away from him a few moments later to begin packing up the documents. Your phone dings, and you pull it out, looking at the screen with a raised eyebrow. You don’t know how the fuck you have reception in here, but it appears you do. The message makes you smile, and you show Helmut, stealing a kiss from him with happiness bubbling in your gut like champagne.

You’re emptying out a filing cabinet when you stumble across gold, pulling out Nikitin’s file and tossing it down on the desk in front of you, open to his personal information.

“Hey, Helmut, how do you feel about hunting for squid?”

“Whatever you like, schatz. I will give you whatever you like.”

“Breaking news. We’ve got a report from the Czech Republic - Two dead and thankfully none injured after an explosion at what appears to be a former HYDRA facility. Captain America Sam Wilson expresses his profound regret at the loss of Baron Helmut Zemo, former Sokovian royalty and the man who once tried to bring the Avengers to ruin. According to Wilson, the other deceased was a woman named Y/N Y/L/N, a victim of a HYDRA plot to create an army of super soldiers by way of forced impregnation of two victims of the super soldier serum. It appears that the two were attempting to destroy the facility in which she had been forcefully confined from the age of eight after she was kidnapped, and were caught when the detonation went off early.

James Buchanan Barnes and Sam Wilson will be holding a vigil for HYDRA victims in Y/L/N’s honour tonight outside of City Hall. A second vigil will be held at the Sokovian Memorial in three days time in honour of the late Baron and his family, to honour all the Sokovian lives lost, and those who no longer have a home.”

#fic rec

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ultraintrovertedgryffindor · 23 days ago

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💯💯💯

STICK BUDDIES SERIES MASTERLIST

story summary: You and Frankie find yourselves in a complicated situation when invited to Benny's wedding for a week in Mexico. Despite your strained friendship, you both pretend to be a couple to save Frankie embarrassment when seeing his recently engaged ex wife. However as you navigate through this charade, old feelings and unresolved issues resurface.

pairing: Frankie Morales x f!Reader

tags: friends to enemies, angst, fake relationship, bickering, there's only one bed, destination weddings, slow burn, enemies to lovers, jealousy, idiots in love, revealed secrets, mutual pining, smut, HEA, so many fucking tropes.

This story concept was inspired by an amazing series I just started called Swept Away by @punkshort and the Tonight you belong to me series by @intheorangebedroom

STICK BUDDIES

Prologue : HIT THE SILK

Chapter 2 : F.I.S.H

Chapter 3 : O.B.E.

Chapter 4 : S.N.A.F U

Chapter 5: AN IMPERIAL FU

Chapter 6 : F.U.B.A.R.

Chapter 7 : BRAVO ZULU

Epilogue : MISSION ACCOMPLISHED

Extras

Frankie's Instagram Grid

Headcanons

#fic rec

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ultraintrovertedgryffindor · 1 month ago

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THE F*CK IT LIST: MASTERLIST

During work at your father’s construction company, you’re inspired by your sexually liberated bestie to create a F*ck-It List of sexy experiences you’ve always wanted to try. But when the list accidentally ends up in the hands of Joel Miller— your dad’s best friend, the company’s co-CEO, and your immediate supervisor—things take an unexpected turn. Initially shocked by the discovery, Joel eventually agrees to help you tackle the list, leading to sexual adventures and undeniable chemistry. However as you begin to fall for Joel the complications of your relationship come into focus, leading you both to realize that love may be one item you won’t be able to check off your list.

tags: DBF!Joel , Smut , Romance , Angst , Comedy, Mutual Pining and more Smut.

rating: 18+

Chapter One: The F*ck-It List

Chapter Two: # Eight

Chapter 3: # Four

Chapter 4: # Nine

Chapter 5: # One

Chapter 6: # Seven

#fic rec

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ultraintrovertedgryffindor · 1 month ago

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dirty work

You just bought a new house that needed a lot of work. Luckily, your grumpy old neighbor was more than happy to fix everything—not because he was generous, but because it gave him an excuse to be close. To look. To stare. And you? Love the attention.

Warnings: MDNI, 18+, hotgirl!reader, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), nipple play (f receiving), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, filthy dirty talk, desperate!Joel, pervy!Joel, pathetic!Joel, age gap, Joel being down bad, obsessive staring, possessiveness, mild power play, teasing, so much cum (like he literally can’t stop), Joel not having sex in decades and it shows, Hot girl reader knowing she's hot, Joel being completely ruined by your pussy, and you loving every second of it

11k. Enjoy!

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

The house needed work. And probably a priest.

It wasn’t falling apart, but it also wasn’t move-in ready.

The kitchen faucet screamed whenever you turned it on, wailing like it had unfinished business in this world. The porch stairs were one strong gust away from sending someone straight to the ER- or the grave.

The back gate swung open on its own, which was either a poltergeist or just bad hinges, but either way, it sent an unsettling creak through the yard at odd hours of the night.

The lights flickered sometimes. The water pressure was unpredictable. The floors creaked loud enough to make you think twice before sneaking around in the dark.

But it was cheap. And it had potential.

And you?

You weren’t a DIY girlie, but you could figure shit out. Probably…. Maybe.

You did have a certain level of misplaced confidence that made you think you could tackle anything with enough trial and error.

The problem was—so far, it had been mostly errors.

Your first attempt at fixing the faucet resulted in a flood that had you sprinting to turn the water off before your kitchen turned into a slip-and-slide.

Trying to replace a light fixture nearly ended with you electrocuting yourself into another dimension.

And the less said about the unfortunate caulking incident of last Thursday, the better.

Still, you were determined. A little clueless? Sure. But determined.

You wiped sweat from your brow, standing in front of your latest challenge: the front door. It didn’t latch properly. It wasn’t quite crooked, but something was off. The hinges, maybe? You had no idea.

You just knew that a strong wind could blow the damn thing off, which wasn’t ideal for your safety or your sanity.

So there you were, kneeling on the porch, staring at a pile of tools you weren’t entirely sure how to use, the manual open beside you like it was about to offer some divine intervention.

You twisted the screwdriver in your hand, frowning at the misaligned screws. “Alright, bitch,” you muttered to the door, rolling your shoulders. “Let’s do this.”

And that was when a shadow fell over you.

A heavy presence.

You turned, blinking up at the broad figure standing at the foot of your porch.

Joel Miller.

Your neighbor. Big, built, silent as the grave. Old as fuck.

You’d seen him around—on his porch, smoking, reading the newspaper, doing old people things and watching. Always watching.

Never introduced himself. Never waved. Never made an effort. Just sat there, arms crossed over his chest, eyes unreadable, watching the world pass him by.

Watching you.

At first, you thought it was your imagination. A trick of the heat, the way his dark eyes always seemed to linger just a little too long before darting away. But then, as the weeks passed, you realized it wasn’t just some coincidence.

Joel Miller was looking. A lot.

From behind the safety of his porch, through his truck window when he pulled into the driveway, stealing glances while pretending to tinker with something outside—he was always looking.

He wasn’t the type to catcall or whistle or let his jaw drop like some dumb, desperate idiot. No, but he did openly watch, with that brooding, set-jaw expression, like a man standing at the edge of a cliff, fighting the urge to jump.

A man seeing something he wanted—something he knew he couldn’t have.

And, honestly? It was kinda hot.

You love a pathetic man.

Pathetic in the way only a man like him could be- big and strong and old enough to know better, yet still sitting on his porch like some clueless teenager, hopelessly caught in your orbit.

Joel had spent his entire life working.

Calloused hands. Aching back. A routine as grey and dull as the pavement he walked on. He wasn’t a talk-to-women kind of guy. He was a build-shit-and-keep-his-mouth-shut kind of guy.

He had probably spent years without even thinking about sex. Not because he didn’t want it—fuck, of course, he did—but because who the hell would even let him?

The man was a relic.

Pushing sixty. Grumpy. Built like a man who had done nothing but work his whole life—because that’s exactly what he had done.

No wife. No girlfriend. Nothing.

He didn’t flirt. Didn’t go out. Didn’t fucking bother.

Just work, fix, sleep. Get off when he needed to—always alone, always quick, no one to fucking hear him.

That was life.

And then you moved in next door.

And Joel broke.

Because Jesus Christ.

You.

Soft and sweet and fucking perfect—so young, so pretty, so effortlessly sexy.

You weren’t just beautiful. You were something else entirely.

Something cruel.

With your tiny little skirts and tight little tops, walking around like it wasn’t a goddamn crime to be that fucking perfect.

Joel shouldn’t have been looking.

Knew he shouldn’t memorize the way your tits bounced when you jogged past his house.

Shouldn’t have let himself watch the way you stretched on the porch, or walked in those obscene little shorts, or sunbathed out back with your top straps pulled down—looking so fucking soft, like you were made to be touched.

Made to be ruined.

It was sick.

And he didn’t care.

Because at night, when his house was quiet and the only thing in his bed was his own hand, Joel let himself imagine what it would be like to pull you onto his lap or spread you open, bury his face between your thighs and never fucking leave.

To get his mouth on you.

God, he was so hungry for it.

And the worst part?

He was pretty sure you knew.

It was pathetic.

And he fucking knew it.

But he couldn’t stop.

And right now, his gaze was locked on you.

Or, more accurately—your thighs.

You were still kneeling, skin glistening in the summer heat, your tiny skirt barely covering anything. Joel looked like a man who had just seen God.

His throat bobbed.

His fingers flexed.

Then, abruptly—his eyes snapped up.

“Need a hand?” His voice was rough, all gravel and rust.

You tilted your head, dragging your gaze over him.

You smirked.

“I got it,” you said simply.

Joel didn’t move.

Didn’t even blink.

“…No, you don’t.”

And before you could argue, he was stepping forward.

Taking the screwdriver right out of your hand.

And just fucking fixing it.

Like it was nothing.

Like you weren’t even there.

· · ──𖥸

From that day on, Joel… kinda never left.

Not literally. Not in a way that you could call him out on.

But he was always there.

At first, it was little things. Fixing what you couldn’t. Offering a hand when you were clearly struggling. Showing up at the exact right time, tools in hand, that furrow between his brows like you’d personally offended him by even attempting to fix something yourself.

Then, it escalated.

Because you didn’t even have to ask anymore.

He was just there.

On your porch. In your yard. Pretending to check something in his truck but really just looking at you while you stretched in the morning, your tight little tank clinging to every inch of you.

The excuses started getting thinner, too.

At first, it was, “Saw the porch light flickerin’. Just figured I’d fix it before it got worse.”

Then, it became, “Just keepin’ busy.”

Then, no excuse at all.

Just Joel, lingering around your property, finding any reason to be near you, any reason to work himself into a sweat just for the chance to look at you up close.

Because that was his payment.

His reward.

Every little smile, every little laugh. The way your tits moved when you pointed at something needed fixing. The way you stretched just right, your little skirts and shorts riding up, flashing soft, smooth skin that made Joel’s head spin.

He didn’t even need you to talk to him.

Didn’t need you to flirt.

Just existing was enough.

So he worked.

For free.

Because what the fuck else was he supposed to do?

You made him feel like some pathetic old pervert.

Standing around like a useless extra in the movie that was your perfect fucking life.

A washed-up, near-sixty-year-old loser with a bad back, a lonely house, and a dick that hadn’t worked properly in years.

And now?

Now, he nearly was hard all the time.

No blue pills. No coaxing. No thinking about some old porn magazine he had tucked away for emergencies.

Just your voice, your body, the way you smelled, the way you looked at him when you handed him a lemonade like he was doing something special—when all he was doing was fixing your fucking sink.

And the worst part?

He was leaking.

Like a damn teenager.

Hadn’t been this sensitive in decades.

And yet, here he was—barely keeping it together, feeling the way his cock throbbed and ached, fucking dripped inside his jeans while you leaned in, smiling, teasing—

“Thank you, Joel!”

Fuck.

That voice.

All sweet and grateful and warm, and it was fucking nothing. Just three little words.

And yet, his whole body reacted like you had just whispered something filthy in his ear.

Like you had just gotten on your knees, licked your lips, and told him

Sit back, Joel. Let me take care of you.

God, he was fucked.

So he mowed your lawn.

Fixed your AC unit.

Made sure the fence was latched, the gate was locked, the pipes weren’t leakin’.

And when he wasn’t fixing shit inside?

He was finding things to do outside.

Hammering shit that didn’t need hammering.

Cleaning tools that weren’t even his.

Anything. Anything.

Just to be there.

· · ──𖥸

Joel looked wrecked.

Sweat darkened the collar of his shirt, his broad shoulders sagging as he finally took a seat at the kitchen table he had just fixed for you.

His hands were rough and calloused, veins prominent, fingers flexing against the cool surface as he exhaled, deep and slow. He looked exhausted, the kind of exhaustion that clung to a man who had spent the whole day pushing his body to the limit.

And yet, even now, after hours of working himself to the bone, he was still staring.

Not at the food you’d set down in front of him, not at the cold glass of iced tea dripping condensation onto the table, not even at his own aching hands that had spent all damn day making sure every little thing in your house was perfect.

He was staring at your tits.

You noticed it immediately, of course. How could you not? Joel wasn’t exactly subtle.

His dark, hungry gaze stayed fixed on your chest, drinking in the way your tank top clung to you, damp with heat, the fabric just a little too thin, a little too low. His hands twitched every so often, like he had to physically stop himself from reaching out.

He barely responded when you spoke, offering little more than a grunt here and there, a slow nod, an occasional hum of acknowledgment. Not because he wasn’t listening, but because he was completely fucking gone.

And you?

You smirked.

Because this wasn’t new.

Joel Miller had been looking at you like this for weeks now, like a starving man watching a meal just out of reach, a man standing in the desert watching water slip through his fingers.

And he thought he was hiding it.

He wasn’t.

You leaned forward slightly, trailing a finger through the condensation on your glass, watching his Adam’s apple bob when his eyes immediately flicked down again, drawn like a magnet.

You waited. Let it stew. Let the tension stretch thick and heavy between you until you could practically hear the way he was grinding his teeth together, working his jaw, trying to think of something—anything—other than the way your tits were right there.

Then, casually, you spoke.

“You’re not exactly subtle, you know.”

Joel didn’t move at first.

Didn’t even seem to register your words right away.

Just blinked, slow and dazed, before finally dragging his gaze back up to your face, blinking again, like he had just been pulled out of something deep.

“…Huh?”

His voice was thick, rough like gravel, his fingers flexing again before clenching into loose fists.

You tilted your head slightly, letting your gaze flick down to your own chest, then back up to him, pointedly.

“You like ’em?”

For a moment, Joel just sat there.

Silent.

Completely fucking still.

Then, finally, he exhaled. A slow, measured breath, dragging a hand down his face like he was collecting himself, trying to piece together a response that didn’t immediately give him away.

And then, voice lower, rougher, wrecked—

“…What’s there not to like?”

Oh?

That shouldn’t have affected you the way it did.

But it did.

The way he said it, low and warm and dripping with something dark, something dangerous. The way he looked at you when he said it, like he was memorizing every inch of you, like he needed to burn the sight into his brain.

A slow heat unfurled low in your belly, sinking between your thighs, pooling thick and molten as you shifted in your seat, pressing your legs together, suddenly very aware of how wet you were getting.

And Joel knew it.

Because his eyes flicked down for a split second, watching the way you shifted, the way your breath caught ever so slightly, and his fingers clenched tighter against the table.

And then, voice slow, teasing, stretching out the moment—

“Hmmm.”

You tapped a finger against your chin, watching the way his dark eyes tracked your movements, like he couldn’t help it, like he had no control over the way his body responded to you.

And then, soft and syrupy—

“You know, Joel… I feel kinda bad.”

Joel didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t breathe.

Just stared.

You watched the slow, deliberate way he swallowed, the way his whole body seemed to tense under the weight of those words, the muscles in his arms flexing as his fingers curled against the table.

“…Bad?”

His voice was barely above a whisper.

“For letting you do all this work without paying you back.”

There was a beat of silence.

Joel’s fingers flexed. His breath stuttered, sharp and uneven. You could see the battle happening in his head—his morals, his age, the voice in his head screaming this is wrong, you’re too old, don’t do this—

And yet.

When he spoke, it was wrecked.

“…Can I just—”

Joel swallowed hard.

His voice dropped lower, raspier, barely even a sound.

“Can I just see you? Look at you?”

The words sent a jolt of something electric through you, made your skin heat, your pulse quicken, made that molten heat in your belly throb.

You smiled. Slow. Sweet.

Cruel.

"You wanna see me, Joel?"

His breath hitched.

His fingers twitched.

He nodded, almost absently, his mouth falling open, chest rising and falling in deep, uneven breaths.

You dragged your nails lightly up your stomach, over your ribs, the movement subtle, slow, making him watch.

Your hands went to the hem of your tank top, your fingers curling around the fabric, slowly dragging it up.

Joel’s pupils blew wide.

His lips parted.

His breath hitched.

And when you pulled it over your head, letting it drop to the floor, you saw it.

The way his fingers clenched so hard around the edge of the table that his knuckles went white, like he needed to physically hold himself back.

You sat there in just your bra, running your hands up your stomach, over your ribs, tilting your head slightly as you murmured—

“Like this?”

Joel made a noise that was almost a groan, almost a curse, a low, strangled thing that caught in his throat as his eyes devoured you.

He swallowed again, hard, blinking like he was trying to process what was happening.

Then—rough, hoarse, desperate—

“…Please. Everything.”

So you did.

You reached behind you, undoing the clasp of your bra with a slow, deliberate flick of your fingers, letting the straps slip down your arms before shrugging it off completely.

And Joel lost the last shred of restraint he had.

His breath hitched—a sharp, audible inhale, like he had just been punched in the gut.

His eyes dropped from your eyes instantly, dragged down like they had no choice, like the second your tits were bare, he was physically incapable of looking anywhere else.

And fuck.

The sound that tore from his throat was something low, deep, filthy— not even a real word, just a groan, guttural and needy, his lips parting, his tongue darting out, his whole fucking body reacting like he was a man who had been starving his whole goddamn life, and now?

Now he was looking at the best fucking meal he’d ever seen.

Because Jesus Christ.

Your tits?

They were perfect.

So fucking full and soft, high and round, plump little handfuls of heaven that he’d been imagining for weeks, and now? Now they were right there.

And your nipples—fuck.

They were already hard, tight little peaks sitting pretty, puckered and aching, begging for something—a touch, a mouth, something wet and warm.

They looked so fucking sweet, like they’d feel so soft, like they’d taste so good on his tongue.

Joel groaned.

A rough, heavy sound, his jaw clenching so fucking hard it was a miracle his teeth didn’t crack, his entire body tensing like it physically hurt him to just sit there and look and not touch.

And then, voice wrecked, strained, barely even a whisper—

“Best goddamn tits I’ve ever seen.”

You smirked, slow and teasing, shifting slightly, making them bounce just a little, the movement so subtle, but his whole body jerked.

“Yeah?”

Joel grunted, a deep, broken noise, his breath stuttering, his fingers flexing.

“Yeah.”

His lips parted slightly, his chest rising and falling with heavy, uneven breaths.

His hips shifted.

And you noticed.

The way his jeans were tight.

The way a wet patch darkened the denim.

The way his entire body looked like it was straining under the weight of his own need.

And then, voice breaking, groaning—

“Thank you, Sweetheart.”

Your breath caught.

Because that?

That sounded filthy.

Low, wrecked, grateful.

Like just seeing you was some kind of mercy.

His thighs tensed. His hands twitched. His eyes stayed locked on you, burning, devouring, drowning.

You dragged your hands up your own stomach, slow and lazy, brushing your fingers over the soft curves of your breasts, rolling your thumbs over your hardened nipples, smirking when you heard his breath hitch.

“You wanna touch ‘em, Joel?” you murmured, soft and syrupy, voice dipped in honey.

Joel groaned, deep and guttural, like the question alone was enough to wreck him.

“Fuck yeah.”

He didn’t wait for permission.

Didn’t hesitate.

Didn’t fucking think.

His hands were on you before the words even fully left his mouth—grabbing, groping, squeezing like he was starving for it, like he’d been fantasizing about this for so long that the second he finally had them in his palms, he lost every ounce of restraint.

And Jesus fuck, his hands were big.

Rough.

Strong.

Decades of hard labor carved into every thick callus, every flex of his fingers, every hungry, greedy, desperate grab.

“Fuck, babygirl,” he muttered, voice wrecked, almost dazed as he kneaded your tits, rolling them in his palms, squeezing like he needed to memorize the way they felt—like he’d never get this chance again.

He groaned, deep and filthy, fingers digging in, rough fingertips brushing over your stiff nipples, making you suck in a sharp breath as heat licked through your veins.

“So fuckin’ soft,” he rasped, thumbing over the tight little peaks, watching the way your body reacted to him, your back arching, breath hitching.

Joel felt that.

“Feel good, baby?” he rasped, voice a low, guttural thing, dragging his calloused fingers over your nipples again, rubbing slow, deliberate circles, watching your reaction like a starving man watching a meal.

You swallowed hard, a shiver running through you, your thighs pressing together. Fuck.

Your nipples were so sensitive, tingling with every swipe, every flick, every dirty little touch of his rough fingers.

“Yeah,” you breathed, biting your lip, arching into his touch, letting him take what he wanted.

Joel groaned again, deep and needy, gripping your tits harder, pushing them together, squeezing, kneading, fucking obsessed.

His thumbs twisted your nipples, slow and deliberate, watching the way they hardened even further, standing up all soft and pink, looking so fucking suckable.

“Jesus,” he muttered again, voice dropping lower, rougher. “Look at these pretty tits.”

His fingers pinched, tugged, twisted just right—just enough to make you gasp, a soft little sound that sent a lightning bolt of pure fucking need straight to his cock.

He grinned.

A dark, hungry thing.

And then, voice gritted, thick with lust—

“Bet they taste even better.”

“Can I-”

Before he could even finish asking, you were already shushing him, already threading your fingers into his graying hair and pulling his face down, guiding him straight to where he belonged.

Joel went willingly.

Mouth first.

No hesitation. No second-guessing.

Joel yanked you into his lap, gripping you like you might disappear, like this was a dream he’d wake up from if he let go for even a second.

His knees ached against the floor, his back twinged in warning, but he didn’t give a fuck. Not when you were straddling him, warm and soft, tits in his face like some fucking gift from God.

His mouth sealed over your nipple, pulling at it with an obscene, wet suckle, tongue flattening before flicking, rolling, teasing the sensitive bud until it was aching, stiff, raw.

Just a wrecked, filthy groan, muffled against your soft, warm skin as he was sucking deep, sucking hard, sucking wet.

“Fuck yes,” he moaned into your skin, voice ragged, his breath hot and heavy against your breast.

He was loud.

Not in words—because words didn’t matter anymore.

But in the way he suckled, the way his lips sealed tight, how he groaned and slurped and moaned, every single sound of his mouth on you wet and obscene, filling the space around you.

His tongue swiped up, then down, then circled—slow at first, then faster, flicking against the stiff bud before pulling it into his mouth again, sealing his lips tight, sucking deep.

He couldn’t stop.

Didn’t even try.

His hands moved next, big, calloused fingers gripping your waist, dragging you closer, then sliding up to cup both tits in his palms, rough and desperate.

“Oh—fuck, Joel—” your breath hitched, the sharp pull of his mouth sending a jolt straight between your thighs.

He groaned—deep, guttural, filthy.

“Goddamn, baby—”

Then, harder.

His fingers squeezed tighter, thumbs brushing over your nipples, pinching the one he wasn’t sucking on, rolling it between his fingertips, tugging just enough to make you gasp.

You felt his breath stutter—like he was about to lose it completely—before he pulled off with a wet, sucking pop, spit connecting his lips to your nipple, slick and shining.

He stared.

Breathing ragged. Eyes dark, starving.

And then he dived right back in.

Latching onto the other like a man possessed, groaning into it like he was trying to drink from you, ruin you, consume you.

His hands never stopped.

He hugged you closer, pulling you right into him, pressing your tits together, mashing them up against his face, smothering himself in them.

“So fuckin’ soft, baby—” he rasped, licking, suckling, tongue dragging slow circles around your nipple before he sealed his lips and sucked deep again.

“So fuckin’ sweet—”

He switched between them like he couldn’t pick a favorite, couldn’t decide, couldn’t stop.

His tongue flicked, his lips sucked, his teeth grazed, sending shocks of pleasure straight between your legs.

Your breath hitched.

Your back arched.

Because he wasn’t just playing around.

This wasn’t just teasing.

This wasn’t some guy mouthing at your tits before moving on.

No.

Joel was staying here.

Lingering.

Drowning in it.

Like he could suckle your tits for hours.

And then, voice low, gravelly, wrecked—

“Baby…”

You hummed, already smirking.

He swallowed thickly, his fingers tracing absent circles against your ribs, his voice barely above a whisper—

“Lemme see you.”

Your smirk widened.

“See what, Joel?”

He groaned, head dropping against your shoulder for half a second like he physically needed to collect himself. His nose brushed along your jaw, leaving small kisses, hot breath fanning against your skin, and then—

“Sweetheart, please,” he rasped. “Lemme see that pretty little pussy.”

Your stomach tightened, heat flaring low, but you didn’t let it show. Not yet.

Instead, you stretched, slow and indulgent, arching just slightly, your tits pushing up against his chest. “Hmmm,” you mused, tapping a manicured nail against your lip like you were actually considering it. “You worked so hard for me, didn't you, Joel?”

His jaw flexed. His hands slid down, gripping your thighs, squeezing.

“C’mon, pretty girl,” he rasped. “Don’t tease me like this.”

You tilted your head, tapping your chin, dragging it out just a little longer—watching the way his fingers twitched, watching the way his pupils were blown black with hunger, watching the way his hips barely resisted the urge to rut up against you like he needed something, anything.

Then, finally, you sighed.

“Alright, old man,” you murmured, shifting in his lap, the movement making him groan. “Take me to the couch.”

Joel nearly fucking growled.

His arms came around you instantly, strong, needy, hands gripping your thighs as he lifted you. Not struggling, not even hesitating—because fuck if you thought he was too old for this, fuck if you thought he wouldn’t show you exactly what he could do.

He laid you down like you were something delicate, something precious, his hands sliding over your body, down your sides, gripping your thighs, spreading you open just enough.

And then—his fingers curled into the fabric of your skirt.

Not pulling it down.

Just flipping it up.

Joel wasn’t breathing.

At least, it felt that way.

He couldn’t. Not with the way you were spread out in front of him, thighs parted, panties soaked, looking like the filthiest, prettiest fucking thing he’d ever seen in his goddamn life.

And the worst part?

You knew exactly what you were doing to him.

The way you stretched lazily, arching just a little, making your tits push forward. The way your lips curled in that slow, knowing smirk when you caught him staring, like you were indulging him, letting him look, letting him take in every fucking inch of you.

And Joel—Joel was gone.

His hands slid up your thighs, slow, reverent, rough fingertips dragging against soft skin, feeling the heat radiating off you.

“Jesus fuck,” he muttered, his voice low, dark, almost reverent.

Joel dragged his tongue over his bottom lip, gaze locked on the damp spot between your legs, so fucking dark, so fucking pretty.

His thumbs traced along the edges of your panties, brushing just barely over the damp patch at the center, groaning when he felt the way it stuck to you.

“So goddamn wet,” he murmured, almost to himself, shaking his head, his fingers flexing against your skin. “Been like this all night, little girl?”

You moaned, shifting slightly, watching the way his jaw clenched at the movement.

“Maybe,” you teased. “Not my fault you’ve been looking at me like that all day.”

Joel exhaled sharply, a low, ragged sound, his grip tightening.

Poor old man.

He was completely fucking gone.

“See something you like?” you teased, voice sweet, syrupy, making his jaw clench.

Joel exhaled through his nose, hands tightening where they rested on your thighs, fingers pressing in deep, like he needed to hold onto something, ground himself before he completely lost control.

“Baby,” he muttered, shaking his head, voice low and rough, thick with something desperate. “You’re fuckin’ evil.”

You laughed, slow and taunting, your nails dragging up the couch, watching the way his entire body tensed, like he was on the verge of snapping, like he was barely holding himself together.

“Am I?” you mused, tilting your head, watching him watch you.

Joel groaned, deep and guttural, his grip bruising now, his breath shuddering, his hips twitching like just the words alone were enough to ruin him.

And then—

He leaned in.

Pressed his face against your covered cunt, breathing deep, dragging his nose over the soaked fabric, his entire body shuddering, shaking, gripping you like you might disappear if he let go.

And fuck.

He moaned.

You smirked. Moaned.

Because you knew.

Knew exactly what kind of power you had over him. Knew that Joel Miller—this gruff, brooding old man who barely spoke to anyone, who’d spent his life working, fixing, existing—was utterly wrecked over you.

And right now, he was on his knees, rubbing his face against your soaked panties, inhaling like the scent of your cunt was the only thing keeping him alive.

You loved it.

“Mm, you really like it down there, huh?” You moaned dragging your nails through his hair, watching the way his whole body twitched, the way he groaned against you, his nose pressing harder into the damp fabric covering your pussy.

Joel barely lifted his head, just enough to look at you, eyes so dark they were nearly black, lips slick with his own spit. His fingers flexed against your thighs like he was fighting himself—like he wanted to tear those panties off and bury himself in you, but he was holding back.

Barely.

“Like?” he rasped, voice wrecked. His tongue darted out, swiping over his bottom lip, like he was tasting the scent of you in the air.

He groaned.

“Pretty girl, I’m fuckin’ obsessed.”

You moaned. Tilting your hips just slightly, pressing up into his face, watching the way his eyes fluttered, the way his breath stuttered like just feeling your heat against his lips was too much.

“Oh yeah?” Your fingers tightened in his hair, tugging. “Then show me.”

Joel didn’t hesitate.

Didn’t think.

Didn’t breathe.

He just acted.

His hands shot up, gripping the waistband of your panties, and for a second, you thought he was going to rip them off you. But no—Joel was feeling something nastier.

Instead, he grabbed the soaked fabric, pulled it tight against your cunt, wedging it between your slick folds, pressing the thin material right into your aching clit.

You gasped.

“Ohhh, fuck—”

Joel groaned, a deep, filthy sound from the pit of his chest as he rubbed the fabric against you, slow at first, then harder, pressing it between your lips, letting the damp, sticky material drag over your throbbing clit.

His nose dragged over the outline of your swollen pussy, mouth parted, tongue slipping out to taste the wet spot directly over your entrance, groaning like it was the best thing he’d ever fucking put in his mouth.

“Jesus fuck,” he growled. “S’soaked, girl. Look at this fuckin’ mess. You see this?” He rubbed the fabric in deeper, groaning at the way it stuck to your folds, the way your slick smeared against it, making it wetter, stickier.

You moaned, hips rolling, pushing against his mouth, chasing the friction.

“Joel—”

He growled again, gripping your thighs tight, keeping you spread as he bit down gently on the covered part of your clit, tugging with his teeth, rolling it between them through the fabric.

You gasped.

Your back arched, hands flying to the couch, gripping the cushions for some kind of grounding because—holy fuck.

Joel chuckled. Chuckled. A deep, perverse sound.

“Ohh, you like that, hm?”

He pressed his tongue flat against your clit through your panties, sucking at the damp fabric, like he was trying to drink you through it, humming like he could taste you, even with the barrier in the way.

Then—

His teeth latched onto the thin cotton, gripping the wet spot over your entrance, and he pulled.

A sharp, precise tug.

Dragging the panties against your cunt, making them slide against your soaked folds, pressing them deeper, wedging them between your swollen lips, rubbing everything.

You fucking whimpered.

Joel moaned against you, rutting his hips against the couch, pressing his nose right against your slit, inhaling, sucking, rubbing his face all over your cunt like a man starved.

“Goddamn,” he muttered, nuzzling you, his voice dripping with filth. “Pussy’s so fuckin’ warm, baby. So fuckin’ messy. Leakin’ all over these little panties—bet they’re ruined, huh?”

Your thighs shook. Your breath stuttered.

Your fingers curled tight in his hair, tugging, and he moaned again, loud, tongue slipping out to drag slow, wet strokes over the damp fabric, gathering everything before pressing it back against your cunt, making you feel how fucking messy you were.

His hands—those big, rough, work-worn hands—slid up your thighs, spreading you wider, holding you open, thumbs pressing into your soft skin as he finally, finally hooked his fingers into your panties and peeled them off.

He groaned when they stuck.

When your slick clung to the fabric.

When he had to drag them down your legs because they were soaked.

And then—

You were bare.

Wet.

Dripping.

All for him.

Joel sat back on his heels, staring.

His fingers flexed, jaw clenched, nostrils flaring.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, shaking his head, voice deep and wrecked.

Then, dark eyes flicking up to yours, a slow, filthy grin stretching across his face—

“Oh, baby…” He groaned.

“I’m gonna ruin you.”

His voice was a wreck, almost a whisper, full of awe, full of filth, full of something desperate and hungry.

Because you were fucking perfect.

Your pussy was obscene.

Pink and swollen and glistening, folds spread, sticky and slick, so wet you were practically dripping onto the couch.

Your clit—puffy, throbbing—begging for attention, twitching every time Joel’s hot breath ghosted over you.

The dim light caught on the shine of your arousal, making everything look impossibly wet, messy, fucking ruined.

And Joel?

Joel was losing his goddamn mind.

His breath hitched, a low, wrecked groan ripping from his chest, his fingers flexing hard against your thighs, like he was physically restraining himself from lunging forward and devouring you whole.

“Fuck me.” His voice came out rough, strangled, barely even a whisper. “Look at that messy little pussy. S’so fuckin’ wet for me, baby.”

You hummed, stretching out against the couch like you had all the time in the world, arching just slightly making your tits look so good, making yourself even softer, even easier, even more of a temptation.

“Yeah?” Your voice was all gasped, all teasing, your hips rolling up just a little, just enough to make the slick between your thighs glisten in the low light. “You like her, Joel?”

His tongue darted out to wet his lips, jaw clenching, nostrils flaring, eyes blown dark and wide, locked on your cunt like it was hypnotizing him, pulling him under.

He let out a rough, humorless laugh, shaking his head, squeezing your thighs just a little tighter. “Baby, I’ll never let go of her.”

That smirk stretched slow across your lips, your thighs parting just a little more, an open invitation, a silent dare.

Joel groaned—deep, guttural, painful.

And then he snapped.

His big, rough hands grabbed you, dragging you down the couch with no warning, tugging you toward him until your ass was hanging off the edge, his broad shoulders wedged between your thighs, his face—his mouth—right where he wanted it.

And then—

A long, wet, messy lick.

Tongue flat, broad, dragging over your slit, catching every drop of slick, lapping it up, his nose bumping against your mound, his groan muffled as he tasted you.

And Jesus fuck—he growled.

“Goddamn, baby… this sloppy little pussy.” His voice was hot against your skin, his tongue flicking out to catch another drop of arousal, swallowing it down, his thumbs spreading you open even wider. “Fuckin’ drippin’ all over my face.”

You whined, hips bucking, but Joel’s grip slammed you back down.

“Uh-uh,” he rasped, dragging his tongue up again, circling your clit, teasing, groaning loud like he was tasting something sinful, something addictive, something he was never gonna get enough of.

His lips wrapped around the swollen bud, pulling it into his mouth, sucking, his tongue flicking, his nose buried against your mound, his face pressed so deep in your pussy he was fucking drowning.

And he loved it.

You were soaked.

Dripping.

And Joel wanted it.

Wanted every drop.

His tongue licked into you, fucking inside, groaning loud when he felt your walls clench, sucking your juices from his own tongue like he was drinking you, like you were feeding him.

And fuck—

His hips rutted against the couch, grinding, his cock straining against his jeans, so fucking wet, his pre-cum soaking through, his whole body wound tight like he could come just like this, just from eating you, from tasting you, from hearing the little broken whimpers spilling from your lips.

His fingers dug in deeper, pressing into the softness of your thighs, spreading you wider, pulling you closer, burying his tongue so deep inside you it made your eyes roll back.

And then—

A rough, growled, wrecked—

“Goddamn, baby. Gonna fuckin’ stay down here.”

Joel was gone.

Buried between your thighs, tongue fucking into you like a starving man, like this was what he was made to do.

And fuck, maybe he was.

Because he was too good at it.

You moaned, dragging a hand through his hair, pulling, loving the way he groaned, the way his hips rutted harder against the couch, the way he needed this.

“Fuck, Joel,” you panted, voice thick with pleasure.

Joel growled.

He actually fucking growled, pulling you closer, spreading you wider, licking into you deeper, his tongue flicking, curling, sucking, his whole body shaking with the effort of holding himself back from humping the fucking couch like some desperate, pathetic thing.

And then—

Joel spat on it.

A wet, messy, lewd spit, right over your swollen clit.

And then?

He rubbed his face into it.

Like some depraved old pervert, moaning as he smothered himself with your slick, nuzzling into it, smearing his own spit and your arousal all over his lips, his chin, his nose .. damn nearly up to his forehead.

“Jesus Christ,” he groaned, breath hot, words slurred against your swollen folds. “Smell so fuckin’ good, baby. Taste even fuckin’ better.”

His tongue swiped over your clit, broad and firm, lapping at it like he was fucking thirsty, groaning when he felt you pulse, when he felt your thighs tremble.

He spat on it again.

And smeared it in.

Dragged his tongue through the mess, licking his own spit off your cunt like he was cleaning you up.

And fuck.

It sent a shock of pleasure straight through your body, a sharp, hot jolt that made your back arch, your mouth dropping open in a broken moan.

“Fuck, Joel,” you gasped, fingers tightening in his hair. “I—I’m gonna—”

Joel knew.

Knew you were close, knew he had you teetering, knew you were about to fucking snap.

So he latched onto your clit, sucking, moaning, filthy and loud, his fingers bruising into your thighs, holding you open, keeping you still, forcing you to take it.

And when you came—

Oh, fuck, when you came.

Your body jerked, legs trembling, the orgasm hitting you so hard it stole the breath from your lungs, your vision going white, your whole body clenching around the pleasure, drowning in it.

And Joel?

Joel groaned.

Like he felt it.

Like your orgasm belonged to him.

Like he had just come from tasting you, from making you come, from hearing you cry out his name.

And he didn’t stop.

Didn’t fucking stop.

Kept licking. Kept sucking. Kept fucking devouring, his tongue flicking over your oversensitive clit, dragging out every last aftershock, keeping you on the edge, keeping you throbbing.

And you—

You were shaking.

Body weak, legs useless, cunt aching for something more.

“Joel,” you gasped, breathless, still trembling. “I—I want your cock.”

And Joel?

He didn’t hear you.

Didn’t process it.

Because he was lost.

Lost in your pussy, lost in the taste, lost in the way you fucking shook for him.

His tongue dragged through the mess, lapping up every drop, swallowing you down like you were something precious, something he couldn’t afford to waste.

So you tried again.

“Joel,” you panted, tugging at his hair, trying to get his attention. “I want your—”

And he still didn’t listen.

Just kept licking. Kept sucking. Kept moaning against your cunt like he was starved.

So you had to rip his face away.

Fisting your hands in his hair, pulling him back, making him look up at you—

And fuck.

His face.

Wet. Slick. Lips swollen, chin shining, pupils blown.

And his mouth—

His mouth was fucking open, his tongue still flicking like he was trying to find you, like he was looking for your pussy, like he was about to dive right back in.

He was panting, breath heavy, wrecked, like he had just fucked you, like he was the one who had just come.

And then—

A low, desperate, ruined—

“Baby, please.”

Like he needed it.

Like he needed to go back.

Like he wasn’t done yet.

The smell of you. The taste of you. The way you squirmed and moaned, your fingers sinking into his hair, giving the softest little tugs that made his cock throb.

You hummed, dragging your nails lightly against his scalp. “You gonna stay down there all night, handsome?”

Joel groaned against your thigh, his fingers tightening where they gripped your hips.

“Would if you’d let me,” he muttered, voice rough and muffled.

You laughed, breathy and teasing. “Well…” You tugged gently at his hair, tilting his head back slightly, forcing him to look up at you. “Maybe I want something else tonight.”

Joel’s head spun.

His stomach clenched, heat coiling low, thick and heavy in his gut.

Because you couldn’t possibly mean—

“Maybe,” you mused, trailing your fingers down his face, smirking. “You should fuck me instead.”

Joel went completely fucking still.

A full-body freeze.

Because, holy shit.

He hadn’t even considered it.

He hadn’t dared to.

Had been so caught up in this—this ritual, this worship, this sick fucking devotion of getting to lose himself between your thighs, mouth greedy and desperate, tongue messy and unrelenting—he hadn’t let himself imagine it going further.

Hadn’t even let himself hope for it.

But now?

Now, you were looking at him with those big, bright eyes, your lips curled in something teasing and wicked, your fingers trailing down his chest, and fuck.

It hit him.

Like a fucking freight train.

He was gonna fuck you.

Joel groaned, his head falling forward against your stomach, breath heavy, body shaking as his hands gripped your thighs, squeezing so tight it bordered on bruising.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, more to himself than you. “Fuck. Baby.”

You grinned, delighted. “Yeah?”

Joel swallowed, lifting his head, his gaze burning as he looked up at you.

“Yeah.”

His voice was rough, wrecked.

“Then get up here, old man,” you purred, tugging at his shoulders. “Come fuck me.”

And, fuck, he was gonna.

Somehow, he managed to kneel between your legs, looming over you, broad and heavy and burning with something filthy and desperate.

Somehow, he managed to unbuckle his belt, yank his zipper down, pull himself free—

You hadn’t expected this.

Hadn’t expected him to be this thick.

Because, fuck me.

Joel Miller was fucking big.

The way his cock twitched the second the cool air hit it, sending a slow, heavy bead of precome dripping down—hot and sticky, landing right on your stomach.

God.

Your breath hitched, your thighs twitching where they were still spread open for him, aching.

And Joel?

He was just watching.

Watching that glistening drop smear against your skin, dragging his fist slow along his length, squeezing at the base, like he was trying to calm himself down.

Not that it was working.

Because he was dripping.

Leaking all over you, precum slick and thick, dribbling down the fat head of his cock, smearing over the tip as he worked himself, his jaw clenched tight, breathing heavy.

His cock was—fuck.

Thick. So fucking thick.

Broad, heavy in his palm, his shaft veined and throbbing, dark with need, his swollen head gleaming wet under the dim light.

A thick trail of silver and black hair led down from his stomach, curling around the base—graying just like the rest of him, salt-and-pepper in a way that made your stomach tighten.

And his balls.

Heavy and full, hanging low, tight and aching with neglect, pulled up just slightly, like his body was already fighting to hold off the inevitable.

And Joel—Joel was losing his fucking mind.

Because fuck.

Your soft, pretty body sprawled out beneath him, tits still sticky from his mouth, your stomach slick with the mess he was dripping all over you, your thighs spread open, that sweet, soaked pussy waiting for him—his cock.

He groaned, low and ruined, watching another thick bead of precum slip from the head, drooling down his shaft, slicking up his fingers.

He couldn’t stop leaking.

Couldn’t stop fucking twitching, pulsing in his own grip, so hard it was almost painful.

His body was betraying him.

Decades of needing, decades of nothing, and now?

Now he was about to lose it over just this.

Just you, looking up at him like that.

Smiling sweetly like you fucking knew.

Like you knew exactly what you were doing to him.

Joel groaned, watching your expression shift, watching your eyes flick down to where he was gripping himself, your lips parting just slightly, breath hitching.

And fuck, if that wasn’t the hottest fucking thing he’d ever seen.

He smirked. Just a little.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he rasped. “Ain’t gettin’ shy on me now, are ya?”

You dragged your gaze back up to his, grinning lazily, voice smooth and teasing. “Nah, just thinking.”

Joel raised a brow, cocking his head. “Yeah? ’Bout what?”

Your lips curled.

“How the hell this thing’s gonna fit inside me.”

Joel growled.

A deep, guttural, feral fucking sound, his grip tightening around his cock, his other hand gripping your thigh, yanking you closer.

You giggled, delighted, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, pulling him down, his body pressing heavy against yours, his cock resting hot and thick against your belly, pulsing.

He was panting.

You could feel it, the heat of his breath against your cheek, the slight tremble in his arms, the pure need radiating off him.

“You’ll take it,” he murmured, voice rough and low, dangerous in a way that made your stomach clench. “You’ll take all of it, baby. Ain’t no way I’m not givin’ you every goddamn inch.”

Fuck.

You whimpered.

And Joel—he fucking felt it.

Felt the way you clenched around nothing, the way your thighs trembled, the way your nails dug into his shoulders.

Felt the way your body was begging for it.

“Joel…” Your voice was thinner now, breathless.

He smirked.

“What, baby?” He pressed against your entrance, just barely, the thick head of his cock stretching you the tiniest bit before he pulled away again, teasing, watching the way your body tensed, the way your breath hitched. “You were talkin’ so much before. What happened?”

You whined.

Louder this time.

And Joel groaned, dropping his forehead against yours, shaking his head.

“Jesus,” he murmured. “You’re so fuckin’ spoiled, baby.”

Then—

Joel pressed forward.

Slow.

Heavy.

Thick.

The swollen head of his cock pushed against your slick entrance, parting your folds, stretching you open inch by agonizing inch. Your body clenched around him instinctively, the burn sweet and deep, making you gasp, your fingers digging harder into his shoulders.

“Fuck—” Joel groaned, long and drawn out, his forehead dropping against yours as he fought to hold himself back, his hands gripping your waist so tightly you knew there’d be bruises come morning. “Goddamn, baby… s’fuckin’ tight—”

You moaned at the stretch, the way your cunt swallowed him up, the way he felt inside you—thick and throbbing, pulsing against your walls, filling you more than you ever thought possible.

And fuck, he wasn’t even all the way in yet.

Joel was shaking.

Every muscle in his body drawn tight, his cock twitching as he struggled to keep himself together, to not just slam in all at once and lose himself in the hot, wet grip of you.

He was too old for this shit.

Too fucking old to be trembling like some desperate goddamn virgin, his jaw clenched so tight it hurt, his breath coming in ragged pants as he forced himself to go slow.

But Jesus Christ—

You were so small.

So fucking tiny compared to him, your cunt squeezing around his cock like it was trying to keep him out, like you weren’t built to take something this fucking big.

But you would.

You had to.

Joel wasn’t stopping.

“Take it,” he muttered, more to himself than to you, voice wrecked, low and strained. “You’ll fuckin’ take all of it, little girl. Gonna stretch you out real nice, make you mine.”

You whimpered, legs trembling as you tried to relax, tried to take him deeper.

“Good job, sweet girl,” Joel groaned, voice rough, his hands sliding down to grip your thighs, spreading them wider, pressing his weight against you. “That’s it. That’s a good fuckin’ girl.”

You clenched around him at that, and Joel felt it—felt the way your body squeezed him, the way your breath hitched, the way your back arched just slightly, like your body was instinctively trying to get more.

And fuck, that just about broke him.

His hips twitched, and suddenly, he was sinking deeper, forcing more of his cock inside your tight little cunt, and you gasped, nails raking down his arms as he stretched you even further, the feeling almost too much, too full—

But fuck, it felt so good.

“Joel—”

He groaned at the sound of his name falling from your lips, dark eyes snapping up to meet yours, pupils blown wide, his lips parted as he panted against your mouth.

“Yeah, baby?” he rasped, voice dripping with heat.

You couldn’t even form words. Couldn’t think past the way he felt inside you, past the way he was holding you open, filling you up, stretching you out in a way you’d never felt before.

“More,” you whispered, breath hitching, thighs trembling. “Please.”

Joel growled.

Deep and low, something primal and wrecked, and before you could process it—

He thrust forward.

Burying himself to the fucking hilt.

You choked on a gasp, your whole body jerking at the sheer force of it, the sudden fullness, the way he bottomed out inside you, his cock nestled so deep it felt like he was fucking splitting you in half.

Joel snapped.

The last thread of his restraint fucking gone.

“Fuck—” He groaned, hips jerking, grinding himself deeper, reveling in the way you squirmed, the way you moaned, the way your body clenched around him like you never wanted to let go.

“Goddamn, sweetheart—” His voice was all rough edges, his head dropping to your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin. “You feel that? How deep I am?”

You could barely think, barely breathe, barely function beyond the overwhelming stretch of him inside you, the way he filled every inch of you, every nerve ending fucking screaming in pleasure.

Joel didn’t wait for an answer.

Didn’t need one.

Because he knew.

Knew you felt it.

Knew you loved it.

“Look at you,” he groaned, his lips dragging over your throat, his fingers digging into your thighs. “Takin’ me so fuckin’ good, sweetheart. Made for this. Made to take my cock, weren’t you? You were askin' for this, huh? Teasin' me all these weeks?”

You moaned.

Loud and wrecked, your head tilting back, exposing more of your throat, and Joel fucking ate it up.

“Fuck, baby, you’re squeezin’ me so goddamn tight,” he rasped, voice strained, his hips pulling back just slightly before pressing forward again, grinding against that soft, spongy spot inside you. “Like this little pussy don’t wanna let me go.”

You whimpered.

Because it didn’t.

Didn’t want him to go.

Didn’t want anything except more—more of him, more of this, more of the way he was stretching you open, fucking ruining you for anyone else.

And Joel knew it.

Could feel it.

Could see it in the way your body arched, in the way your nails dug into his skin, in the way you moaned his name like a prayer.

And fuck—

That did something to him.

Something dark.

Something needy.

Something possessive.

His hips snapped forward, harder this time, and you cried out, hands flying up to grip his shoulders, and fuck, he loved that sound.

“Oh, god—i - you feel so good,” you cry, eyes fluttering shut, pleasure rolling over you in hot, heavy waves.

“Yeah, baby?” he rasped, voice full of filthy heat. “That what you want? Want me to fuck this sweet little pussy with my cock? Want me to ruin you?”

You gasped, back arching, nails dragging down his back.

“Yes—”

And that was all he needed.

All he needed to let go, to give in, to let the raw, aching need consume him.

Joel’s grip on your hips tightened, and then—Joel growled.

A deep, wrecked, guttural thing that ripped through his chest, and suddenly—he was moving.

Thrusting.

Fucking you.

“Oh—oh god—” Your back arched, breath hitching, body jolting with each sharp thrust, each desperate snap of his hips.

Joel fucking grinned.

“That what it takes, huh?” he rasped, voice dripping with filthy satisfaction. “A big cock to shut you up, baby? Hm?”

You moaned, head lolling back against the cushions, unable to form words, pleasure slamming into you so hard your mind went blank.

And Joel? He ate it up.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he gritted out, gripping your hips tighter, dragging you down onto him, forcing you to take every inch. “Too busy takin’ my cock to be a smug little brat now, huh?”

You whimpered.

And Joel groaned, eyes rolling back slightly as his pace faltered, his cock twitching inside you.

Fuck—he wasn’t gonna last.

Not with this.

Not with the way you were tightening around him, squeezing him like you wanted him to cum, like you wanted him to break apart inside you, wanted to milk every drop from his aching cock.

His breath turned ragged, hips stuttering, muscles tensing, and—

“Oh, baby—shit, I—I won’t—”

His voice broke.

He gritted his teeth, fighting it, holding on as long as he could, but you were so fucking tight, so fucking wet, so fucking perfect—

And then—

You clenched around him again, dragging him deeper, pressing your lips to his ear, voice all soft and sweet—

“Cum for me, Joel.”

And that was it.

Joel snapped.

His body locked up, cock throbbing as a strangled groan tore from his throat, his hips pressing flush against you as he spilled deep inside you, pumping you full, burying himself as deep as he could while pleasure crashed over him in heavy, burning waves.

His breath stuttered, his whole body trembling, nails digging into your skin.

Your body was still trembling, sweat slicking your skin, the heat between your legs thick and wet with the mess Joel had already left inside you. Your mind was still spinning, your breath uneven, but Joel wasn’t done.

Not even close.

He held you close, his big body still caging you in, his thick arms wrapped around you like he needed to keep you there, to pin you down, to claim you.

His lips moved against your damp skin, pressing soft, wet kisses against your shoulder, up your throat, nuzzling against the sensitive skin behind your ear as he let out a deep, satisfied groan.

But then—

Another pulse.

Another deep, warm spurt of cum filling you up, coating your walls even though you swore he had already given you everything he had.

Your breath hitched, your body twitching slightly as you felt it—felt him still throbbing, still leaking, still making sure every single drop stayed buried inside you.

“Joel,” you gasped, tilting your head back against the couch, your fingers curling weakly into his sweaty back. “You’re still cumming?”

Joel grunted against your neck, his hips giving a slow, almost involuntary push forward, like he was trying to press himself even deeper, to make sure it stuck. His lips dragged up to your jaw, warm and slightly open, his breath ragged, his voice wrecked when he finally muttered,

“Still got more for you, baby.”

Fuck.

Your stomach tightened, another wave of heat rolling through you at the sheer desperation in his tone, the filth in his words. You felt his mouth on you again, felt the rough scratch of his beard against your sensitive skin, and then—

Joel groaned, his lips finally finding yours, capturing them in a slow, wet kiss. The second you moaned into it—

Another slow pulse inside you.

Another spurt.

Hot, deep, filling you up all over again.

Joel shuddered against you, gripping your hips hard enough to bruise, swallowing your soft whimpers as he rocked into you, his cock still buried deep, still throbbing, still giving you everything.

You broke the kiss first, tilting your head back against the couch, a dazed, smug little smile curling on your lips. “You really are an old pervert,” you murmured, voice teasing, breathless.

Joel’s hand came up to cup your jaw, tilting your face back toward his. His dark eyes were hooded, heavy with lust, filled with something possessive and raw as his fingers flexed slightly, keeping you in place.

“And you,” he rasped, his voice low, dangerous, “are a fuckin’ menace.”

His hips rocked again, and you let out a choked little gasp as you felt just how deep he was still buried inside you, still stretching you, still keeping you full. He groaned at the sound, dipping his head to bite softly at your bottom lip before licking over it, tasting you, his tongue sliding against yours in a slow, lazy tease.

You melted into it, humming softly as you curled your fingers into the damp hair at the nape of his neck, pulling slightly.

Joel growled.

His breath was heavy against your lips, warm and ragged, his body shuddering slightly as the last waves of pleasure pulsed through him. He pressed a slow, lingering kiss to your jaw, then another just beneath your ear, his lips soft and warm and so different from the way he’d just fucked you—filthy and desperate and rough.

Now, he was gentle.

Now, he was melting against you.

His weight pressing you down, his hands smoothing over your hips, his fingers curling possessively around the softness of your thighs. Keeping you close. Keeping you his.

You sighed, shifting just slightly, feeling the thick heat of him settle inside you, the stretch easing, leaving behind a deep, satisfied ache. You were so full.

So stuffed with him.

And god, you could feel it—the way he was still throbbing deep inside, the way the sticky warmth of his spend was already beginning to leak out, thick and hot, slicking your thighs where you were still stretched wide around him.

You smirked.

“Hm,” you mused, tilting your head back against the couch, letting your fingers drag lazily down his back. “I really got forty-year-old cum inside me right now, huh?”

Joel groaned, shifting slightly, dragging his lips down the curve of your throat, nipping softly. “Baby, don’t—”

“What?” You grinned, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you rolled your hips slightly, making him hiss. “Just stating facts.”

Joel exhaled sharply, his fingers flexing where they gripped your waist, holding you still. “Not forty,” he muttered, his voice a low, grumbled thing against your skin.

You hummed, tilting your head slightly. “Oh? My bad. Forty-something-year-old cum.”

Joel groaned again, his forehead dropping against your shoulder. “You’re impossible.”

You laughed softly, your fingers threading through his damp hair, nails scratching lightly at his scalp. “And yet,” you purred, voice sweet and teasing, “you still came so deep inside me.”

His hips flexed, pushing deeper, and you gasped, arching slightly beneath him. Joel lifted his head then, dark eyes meeting yours, something warm and hungry and satisfied settling there.

“Damn right, I did.”

You shivered.

His lips curled slightly, his hand dragging down to rest against your lower belly, pressing there—right over the place where you were still stuffed full of him.

“Know how long I been thinkin’ about that?” he murmured, fingers flexing slightly. “Fillin’ you up like this?”

Your breath hitched, eyes fluttering as he rolled his hips again, slow, lazy, letting you feel every inch of him inside you. “Joel…”

His lips found yours again, slow and deep and lingering, his tongue sliding against yours in a soft, lazy tease. You melted into it, letting him kiss you slow, letting him take his time, letting him savor the taste of you, the feel of you, the warmth of you still wrapped around him.

When he finally pulled back, he looked at you for a long moment, his hand smoothing up your side, curling around your ribs, tracing absentminded circles into your skin.

“You okay, sweet girl?” he murmured, voice softer now, rough around the edges but warm.

You exhaled, stretching slightly, feeling the way his body fit against yours, warm and solid and safe. You felt good.

Better than good.

A slow, satisfied smile curled on your lips. “More than okay.”

Joel grunted, pressing one last kiss to your jaw before finally shifting, pulling out slowly, carefully, a deep groan rumbling from his chest as he felt just how soaked you were.

He sat back, dark eyes dragging over the sight of you—legs spread, pussy messy and glistening, his cum already beginning to leak out onto the couch. His jaw clenched, his fingers twitching like he wanted to reach out and push it back inside.

Your smirk deepened. “Like what you see?”

Joel exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly. “You’re gonna be the death of me, girl.”

You stretched your arms over your head, arching slightly, your grin widening. “Well,” you mused, voice lazy and satisfied, “if you die, at least you’ll die a very happy pervert.”

Joel rolled his eyes, reaching for you, tugging you onto his lap effortlessly, his arms wrapping around your waist, holding you close.

You sighed, melting into him, pressing your forehead against his, your fingers dragging up the back of his neck.

Joel exhaled, his breath warm against your lips, his fingers flexing slightly where they gripped your hips.

Then, voice low, murmured against your mouth—

“Yeah, baby. Happiest I’ve ever been.”

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

...Hey y'all im back. Opinions and comments are greatly appreciated please PLEASE (please)

#fic rec

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ultraintrovertedgryffindor · 2 months ago

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send this to all your favourite moots and grow a garden! KEEP THE GARDEN GROWING!🌼💚🌱💚🌻 🌳🪻🌼🍒🌹

🥰

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ultraintrovertedgryffindor · 3 months ago

Text

𝐎𝐟 𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐬

summary: after facing embarrassment from Aegon’s intrusive visit, Sylvi helps Aemond find attraction with someone closer to his own age. [aemond x fem!reader] [wc: 5.0k]

warnings: 18+ minors dni, smut, p in v, oral (m receiving), hand job, fingering, voyeurism/exhibitionism, aemond’s abuse by her is not tolerated here 🙂‍↔️, HotD themes.

quick links: masterlist | gif credit: @seaside-storm

The sounds of the Silk Streets in the early hours of morning were not for the faint of heart.

You had grown accustomed to them over the years of your residency—the noises, the people, the actions and wants of those who seek the services of an establishment like the one Sylvi ran.

It was not your proudest achievement; not one you’d shout from the rooftops but one that kept the food on the table.

It wasn’t hard. It was sex. And you learned to enjoy it with what little freedom was left when the coins were tossed and your body was aching.

Between your fingers one of those coins twirled absentmindedly as the curtains of your bedding swished at the retreat of your latest payer. There were seldom benefits from the occupation you took up yet the pay, after years of understanding and learning, had grown exponentially.

And the coin that tossed between your fingertips was enough to put food on the table for a few days; enough to buy a dress or to get passage to another town.

It was a reward for service you did not mind.

Sylvi had taught you what you needed to know. How to move, how to pleasure. She helped you determine what felt good and what would feel unpleasant to both you and a partner.

But she had her transgressions far beyond the positive.

One of them stalked the building in a fume.

The laughter that had propagated such anger left an hour ago but the remnants of the jesters stuck heavy in the air. They opened curtains and made spectacles of the givers and the receivers; they stared too long at you in the nude to make you feel at ease.

In the distance, you heard your name called yet you continued to flip the coin.

Aegon, the King as he was now, was no friend to the servants of pleasure. You consider yourself fortunate that he never sought you—as desirable, as insatiable, as you were.

It saved you from a world of hurt from a man as fickle as he was.

Although his reputation preceded him and the ire that still held itself like a cloud over the house was from his head, his brother, Aemond, was a welcome guest.

Though he too was someone you had not laid with either.

He had never lingered far from the woman of the house.

“Y/N.”

Said woman pulled back the curtain of your bed roughly. Against the pillows and covered in a robe the color of a midnight black, you lazily gazed at her.

“Did you not hear me call?” Sylvi asked impatiently. Her irritation was stinging.

“I was busy, Madame,” you responded loosely.

You arched your back and with it came cracks of relaxation. It felt good after being holed up in your bed for two hours.

“You know how Dornish men are,” you informed her. “That one was quite… spirited at this late hour.”

“What happy news for you,” she panned before nodding her head in the direction of her usual hideaway. “I seek a favor.”

“A favor?” You questioned with a mewl.

“It is for the one we do not speak of.”

Sylvi’s eyes gave you a warning. Aemond Targaryen… the one who fumed.

She had never asked for a favor regarding the Prince before and it intrigued you. It would fall a lie if you spoke of never having imagined what a man like him would be like in your bed.

He was a magnificent creature.

Tall and carved from the marble of a great sculptor, Prince Aemond was no stranger to the gazes of the pleasure folk. The way their eyes shined and pupils grew large, you were surely one of them.

It did not hurt that he was no more than the age you were now and had not yet taken a wife.

It was silly, however, to imagine a whore being the wife of a Prince. He had barely sparred you glances when he visited.

Dreams. That is all that it would remain.

“And you seek me?” You questioned, dropping the coin on your clothed stomach.

“I have a proposition for you,” she clarified. “One that will pay you well for your service.”

“The receiver is willing?”

“Yes.”

Her alcove was far nicer than yours.

Lavish with silken pillows and warm candlelight, it was near romantic if you forgot the circumstances of her actions. It smelt of lavender and oils; the kind she wanted throughout the establishment but could only create the corner she wanted here.

It was the first time you had been invited into the space.

Sylvi walked around you as you stood just inside of the curtains. She held the tassel of her robe between her fingertips, swinging it gently.

“We do not speak on what happens here, understood?” She asked you.

“I understand, Madame.” She nodded her head in approval.

“Good,” Sylvi affirmed.

On a ledge behind the bed, she grabbed a small sack of coins and tossed them to you. It landed with a jingle at the edge of the bed.

With delicate hands you grasped the strings and pulled open the bag to see coins worth the entire building. You dropped it, looking at Sylvi with wide eyes.

“T-This… this is far too much,” you scoffed.

“It is what the Prince offered,” she spoke as if the currency was nothing more than what the common folk paid.

There had to have been 10 gold dragons inside of the pouch.

The total jostled you.

You had long understood that the job you took on was ill-inspired. The money you had made was reasonable and never made you feel ashamed to take it.

But this… the currency enough to buy twenty horses; enough to buy a home or sail to Essos with no intention of returning… it did bring shame.

“And for such a currency what does the Prince expect of me? I will not be humiliated—“

“I have no intention of humiliating you.”

The voice cut through glass.

Behind you, with the curtains of Sylvi’s bedding swaying to a gentle close the man of her proposition appeared. You turned around with your mouth agape from the inability to finish your thoughts and as many mortals had before, your mind ceased its thoughts.

He was ethereal, otherworldly.

And he was fully nude.

You stuttered stupidly to greet him.

“P-Prince Aemond,” you managed. “I apologize. I did not intend to speak out of turn.”

He hummed, observing you as you did him. You straightened your back at the sensation. His eye piercing and cold—in a room basked in warmth he was not the bringer of it. Aemond let his mind roam the faults and perfections of your body and needn’t say what it was aloud.

He trusted Sylvi in a twisted way. If she said you were right for the job, surely she would not steer him wrong.

“So,” Aemond’s eye flicked to Sylvi. You took the opportunity to observe the blue gleam of the sapphire that filled the vacancy of his other.

“This is she?”

She introduced your name to him and his eye met yours.

“And the terms have been accepted?”

“They have, My Prince,” you spoke without hesitation.

“Aemond,” he clarified. “You are to call me Aemond.”

You tried his name on your lips and it was breathless. As his eye stalked your body, he took the initiative to take the step forward. The understanding of your willingness emboldened him to bury his brother’s words.

He was seldom humiliated but the reasons he flocked to Sylvi were different from the ones he sought from a willing companion: to release and forget.

Aemond approached you with soft steps and it was suddenly difficult to remember how to breathe. You held your breath, waiting, as his arm extended to you and his fingers brushed the fabric of your robe along your collarbones. He traced the skin with his fingers, along the edges of your robe as the delicate lacing became rough under his fingertips.

He was testing the waters.

You remained focused on his face as your heart rate began to increase. Every thump faster aligned with the draws of his fingers; long and nimble, softer than the men you were used to on days as long as these.

He was fluid and natural. There was no scared boy inside of him, but the hardened man he wanted the world to see.

Sylvi rounded her bed and you were reminded that she was still there as she looked at you.

“Touch her, Aemond. Touch her as you do in your dreams.”

At her command, his hand stilled. You half-thought her demands had sent him into a spiral of regret. Perhaps he would apologize for his lustful responses, scurrying away and back into the pit of dragon’s he came from.

Instead of listening to her in haste, he asked you a question.

“Where are you from?”

You were taken aback but remained stoic. Your job was to put on a performance no matter how surprising his words felt. No patron had ever asked you about, well, you.

You were nothing more than an orifice for their wanton needs.

“Honeyholt,” you responded quietly.

“Not far from Oldtown,” he commented, tracing the lace but never touching your skin. His hand grazed it until he reached the knot of your robe.

You shook your head, “no.”

“Did you enjoy it there?”

“It was far less exciting than King’s Landing.”

“May I?”

You had never had a patron ask permission before either.

You felt like a girl being dotted on. It was a strange feeling, one that had turned so drastically from a mere thirty minutes before—being treated like a doll to be thrown from one to be pampered… it was not what you were expecting.

“You may, Aemond.”

His finite hands worked the knot swiftly to let the robe fall open. When it did, he let it sit there for a moment as he took in the shape of your breasts underneath the fabric, he could see the mound of your pussy, and the way you stood completely still in wait.

He felt powerful when he normally felt meek.

Sylvi had been right. He did need this.

Aemond could feel the woman’s eyes behind him and whether they were on himself or you he would not know, but he felt them heavy.

He took his hands and pushed the fabric from your shoulders. It pooled around your feet in one push.

You breathed in deeply, nipples pebbling at the coolness now meeting you.

It was obvious, however, that your mere body was not enough to rouse him to hardness. If you spent anymore time watching him as he watched you, the sun would be up and his duties would call him away.

“Touch him,” Sylvi instructed you. “Do not be afraid.”

“I am not afraid,” you responded to her but did not look at her. She took a seat on her bed as you moved to stand toe to toe with Aemond.

“May I touch you?” You asked in the same voice of permission he had given you.

“You may,” and he said your name with a weight hearty on his tongue.

With his permission you reached for his right hand and placed it on your breast. His timidness was beginning to show through the hesitancy of his actions. The slow grip on your breast slowly became more comforting the more time he took.

“It’s alright,” you whispered as though Sylvi was not there and you were alone with the Prince. “You can touch me.”

You felt more pressure from his palm. Drawing your own hand to his chest, you began to feel the outlines of his muscles. Aemond was lean and fit, skinny but not sickly.

Each muscle was tense under your touch. He shuttered a breath through his nose and your hand recoiled in the slightest.

“I apologize,” he spoke as lowly as you had before. “I have not been with another in a long time.”

He had not been with another other than Sylvie in a long time, he meant.

“I can be slow, My Prince.”

“Aemond,” he corrected you.

“Aemond,” you said sheepishly in your forgetfulness.

“I do not need you to be slow.”

You nodded in reply and placed your hand back on his chest. You followed it down until you began to broach the zone in which your talents needed to please not only him, but Sylvi also.

If you were a disappointment, there would be no clothes nor food nor horses nor castles in your future.

“Then I will not go slow, Aemond.”

He hummed, intaking a breath as your fingers gently, kindly, fluttered over his cock. You looked up at him with your eyes hooded, eyelashes batting and he thought for an instance that no woman had ever looked at him that way.

Sylvi hadn’t and it awoke something with him.

You began to work him with your hand as he let his hand fall from your breast and brought it up to the back of your neck. He massaged the space briefly before holding onto you with a tighter grip.

In your hand he began to show himself to you. Growing in length, you licked your lips in anticipation and swallowed the bug that formed in your throat.

“Aemond,” you questioned as you stepped closer. You parted your legs to stand between one of his and he stopped you only by moving his other hand to grip your chin.

He could feel his heart beating out of his chest.

The feel of your hand on his cock was enthralling. So smooth and soft, gripping him in hardness at the right moments but never suffocating and never hurting.

“Yes?” He was near breathless.

You took his response with no words but a shifting of your hand. You left his shaft and snaked your hand to his balls, cupping them the best you could. His staggered breath brought a small, sly smile to your lips as he gripped your chin tighter and his eye narrowed.

“Would—“ in his grip, you could barely get words out. He changed his positioning to hold both sides of your neck. “Would you like to see what I can do with my mouth?”

“It would be a waste to not,” he grunted when your hand put pressure on his balls.

He released your neck and watched as you sank to your knees obediently. In your position, he was reminded of the good and pious that prayed to the Seven. Your eyes were so innocent but your mind wicked; your hands were pleasurable and your words soothing.

It was a change and it was working for him.

You sat with your knees apart, feet against your backside and heels digging into the flesh. You ran your hands down your body as he watched you delicately before running your hands up his legs and resting on his upper thighs.

Placing a soft kiss on one of his thighs, you worked yourself toward his member as it beckoned you. You grasped the base of his cock with your hand, placing a sweet kiss on his ever-swollen head.

You let saliva gather at the front of your mouth and let it dribble out and onto his cock before taking him with your mouth.

Aemond was heavy on your tongue. His warmth was sending electricity from your mouth to your core; you felt the throb of want begin to pool at your center. He took both of his hands and placed them at the top of your head but did not push. He did not force and he allowed you to escape when you needed to breathe.

But he was in another world.

Never had he been taken in such a way but his mind liked playing tricks. It was not his first and when he thought back on the times he had been pleasured as such it was not as enjoyable.

Yet, he forgot her stares and focused on you. A woman closer to his own age and one that had a system of morality of questions and seeking answers in regards to pleasure.

You took his extended gratitude and kindness and returned it with your own.

With every pull of your mouth, you filled the space with what your mouth couldn’t take with your hand. You squeezed at his base and it made him see stars. In your vision you could see him watching if you looked up.

How his blue gem gleamed at you…

As you turned your head and used your salvia and some of his pre-cum that began to leak to wet his shaft, you moaned at the sensation. It sent you tingling, drawing a hand away from his thigh; you brought it between your legs and began to rub circles on your clit.

The wetness gathered quickly. You shut your eyes as the two parts of you, mouth and cunt, were being used to your own delight. As you opened them again, Sylvi caught the corner of your eye.

She rubbed herself over her clothes and you halted. Hand retreating from your body in an instant; the salvia that had gathered landed on your thigh with a splat and your hand loosened what held onto him. Aemond let one of his hands fall loosely beside him as he looked up and kept focus on the wall in front of him.

He needed to change. He had asked her for this change for his own sake and it was time for it to happen.

“Sylvi,” Aemond muttered absentmindedly.

“Yes?” She prompted as if he were to ask her to join the two of you. Her tone made you nervous but he never let his other hand fall from your head.

She went to remove her own robe but he stopped her with a turn of his head.

“Leave us,” he commanded.

Slyvi paused her hands against her body, dejected at Aemond while her eyes bounced between the two of you.

You, your hand still on his cock and your lips barely kissing it. Him, with his hand on your head and mind completely taken by you.

“Aem—“

“Do I have to repeat myself?” He asked her calmly. His heart beat so fast at his strength. Never did he believe he’d be able to breakaway.

“No,” she rose from the bed and made for the entrance.

Your breath was hot on his dick when she stopped again. For one moment Sylvi waited for Aemond to call her back but she was met with silence; a heavy weight of agony as she stood there and received no reply.

It was her retreating footsteps that brought relief to your bones.

Aemond’s other hand returned to your head.

“I did not wish for her to watch us,” he informed you.

You looked up at him from your spot on the floor. Along your chin were remnants of spit or spent, he wasn’t certain. All the same, he took a thumb and gathered it from you. He brought the thumb to his mouth and sucked the gathering from it.

“I did not either.”

“Good,” he hummed. “Now get on the bed.”

You needn’t be asked twice.

Aemond refrained from touching you as you rose from the floor and sat on the bed. Once you were seated, he leaned down to grab your ankle and pushed back on your shoulder to lay down. The message was received quickly and you laid back and brought your other leg bent beside you.

You were completely at his mercy. Your walls clenched around nothing when he ran his hands over the skin of your legs. You extended your arms above your head; feeling the soft silk pillows and coolness of the sheets below your body. The sensations were overwhelming.

“I’ve never been with a woman like you before,” Aemond’s hands roamed further, pulling you down on the bed to meet his body but not entering you.

“And what kind of woman am I?” You sighed contently.

“A kind woman.”

“How do you know me to be kind?” You asked him.

One of his hands feathered the skin between your leg and lips. They grazed it again and this time, running his fingers through where you wanted him most. A selfless breath left your lips.

“Your eyes are kind,” he bent down to lay a kiss on your knee. “There are not many kind eyes here.”

He stuck one finger in, followed by another. Your hand reached for the pillows quickly, back arching at the sensation. You once thought his fingers to be long and nimble but they were much more. You felt them so clearly and cleanly.

They reached within your walls; touching the plushy skin as it grew in wetness and emitted slick sounds of pleasure.

Once he felt you were ready, he wanted to test his third finger.

“Gods,” you stuttered out as his third finger slipped in and it became so quick. He was running away with himself as the sight of your pleasure overtakes him.

“F-fuck.”

The words continued to fall from your lips as he picked up his pace. His fingers moved in and out, in and out, and then a rapid succession of moving them up and down. Your body trembled at the noises. The wet, squelching sound of a mess too far gone.

He may not have been as experienced as other men, but he had ruined you for all in the future.

“That’s it,” he whispered against your thigh again. He bent down to watch you writhe at his actions. “What do you need from me? Hm?” He asked.

“Nothing,” you panted. “Just you Aemond.”

“Just me?” He murmured. “What of my cock? Do you want to feel me inside of you? Finish inside of you?”

The idea sent you spiraling. You imagined how his cock would feel longer and thicker than his fingers. How it would plead against the spot to make you come undone.

“Yes,” you nodded. “I want to know what it feels like.”

He removed his fingers to grasp his length in his hands. Aemond pumped himself briefly before lining his head up with your entrance, gripping your hip as you stayed splayed before him.

And then he slid in.

Seldom could explain the moment but you had seen stars. You saw the galaxies spoken of by the Maester’s and worlds beyond your own. There was no feeling but him filling you so fully and totally.

He shut his eye. The blue sapphire still glittering in the light; Aemond saw peace grow with a gasp. Everything in his mind went blank with white noise. All he could hear was himself as he sheathed himself inside of your warmth with a simple push. He filled you until he could no longer.

It was sinful to feel so good.

He held himself there for a minute. You wanted to sit up, hold his body close to yours and feel his muscles contract under your touch but stay as pliant as possible.

Against your convictions, Aemond leaned forward and cupped your cheek with his hands. It was entirely intimate for a man you had just met.

But his touch lingered lifetimes. It was as if you knew him forever, and this singular moment was one of plenty.

Stilled inside of you, his thumb caressed your bottom lip.

“May I kiss you?” He asked promptly.

You moved your hips in a roll to urge him to move, wrapping your legs around his torso and arms around his shoulders. His lips brushed against yours.

He pulled his hips back and slowly slid himself back in.

You nodded your head the best you could against the sheets and he ticked at you. His nose nudged yours, your lips begging to be touched but he neglected them.

“No,” he cooed. “I need you to say it. Say you want me to kiss you.” Again, he slid out, back in and your hips met him there.

“Kiss me, Aemond. Kiss me, please.”

Pushing his cock deeper into you, your mouth fell agape and he used the opportunity to capture his lips with your own, swallowing your moan and losing himself in your intimacy.

He never thought a woman like you could make him feel so selfless.

Aemond knew nothing of you but felt everything. He needn’t understand the pieces of you to feel the rewards of lust and anger spilling out of him.

His mouth is so warm and wet. Aemond’s tongue danced with yours as your whimpers became gasps with the jacking of his hips into you. Your hands are bruising on his shoulders; grip tight and breaking had you been a stronger woman.

Aemond broke his kisses and moved his hand to your neck. His thumb put pressure on the bottom of your chin, pushing your head backwards and sending your spine arching.

If he took you any further, you’d split yourself in too. You mewled in pleasure and he let out a low chuckle, eyes low and observing as he pounded his cock in your pussy faster.

“Oh,” one of your arms shot up above your head and he took his other hand, the one not on your neck, and intertwined your hands together.

“Do the others fuck you like this?” He hummed.

“No,” you called into the air. “Not everyone is as good as you, My Prince.”

As your eyes met his, you felt your heart exploding. No one would ever hold you like this again. No one would know you in the secrets you shared here—so open and viewable yet shroud in the comfort of veils.

You like this. He knows you do. And fuck, he does too.

“You like being held like a worthy lady,” Aemond purred. “Like you’re not a whore.”

“You like being strong when they underestimate you.”

His hand around your throat tightened but didn’t suffocate you. Aemond’s fingers that intertwined with your own stayed together as he changed his speed. Slowing down and drawing his dick out to the tip and stuffing you again, he snickered.

“You are not weak.”

“No,” he narrowed his eye. “I’m not.”

“In here,” you groaned. “In here you can be anyone, Aemond.”

He knew it to be true.

Instead of responding with a smart retort or a scathing comment that would rival one of his brothers, he nodded his head and let it fall in the crook of your neck.

Within you, his solemn romanticism built a fire. It was aching; clenching your walls around him as your breaths became more heated and laced with a finish. His skin on yours glistened with sweat the more strenuous your meetings became.

You were holding onto a thin string when he lifted his head again and planted a kiss on your lips.

So personal, so intimate from what you were used to.

“I-“ you barely got a syllable out before your body shook with your orgasm hitting you like a brick through a glass window. Aemond removed his hand on your neck to grip your back as your body lifted from the sheets.

Your cunt had his cock in a vice. So tight and smooth with your wetness, he felt the stuttering sensation of his own building in a quick anticipation and as the shaking in your legs began to lessen, he pulled out of your pussy without warning and pumped himself before spilling his spent on your stomach.

Your eyes saw stars on the ceiling of the brothel. Aemond kissed between your breath as his fingers swiped through his cum. He drew a line from your stomach, between your breasts, and to your lips. You took his fingers covered in him into your mouth and licked him clean.

Once there was nothing left, his wet fingers palmed your breast with a sigh. You untangled your combined fingers and gingerly outlined the bottom of his scar.

He leaned into your touch absentmindedly before eagerly kissing you again.

Aemond would never confess why he did it.

It was an urge he had never felt; built in the emotions of his mind as he was wrapped in your kind embrace and away from the world that had created the cruelness that lived with him. You were not cruel. You were good and a sanctimonious creature at his alter of wavering faith.

You revived him.

And he barely knew you.

When he pulled away, you brushed a hand over his disheveled hair and smiled.

The feeling within him was foreign but it was hungry. He hungered for the bubbled nature of want that brewed in his bones. Aemond sought the feel of your hands on him and the way you settled in his motions without complaint or verbally assuring him what he was doing was “good for him,” when in reality, he knew it was not.

So in turn, when you smiled, so did he.

A/N: thanks for reading! As always comments, reblog, and likes are always appreciated. I love hearing from all of you.

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ultraintrovertedgryffindor · 3 months ago

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Fetor and Fertile

Paring: Aemond Targaryen x f!reader Warnings: Explicit sexual content. Word count: ~2.5k

Summary: Aemond is not a man of pleasure, everything must serve a purpose, exist for functionality. With the threat of war looming ever closer, his wife wants to inject some brightness into their space. Little does she know that the flowers she has cut from the far corner of the Keep's garden to decorate their rooms will coax out a side of her husband that she has yet to meet... Author's note: Written for The Big Fucking Stupid Sex Pollen Writing Challenge. No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

The sweet smell of honeysuckle filled the air, carried upon a gentle breeze that ruffled the hairs at the nape of her neck. The sun shone down upon her, warming her skin as she walked slowly through the Keep’s gardens, the only sounds were the crunch of her slippers upon the gravel path and the gentle buzzing of nearby bumblebees. For a moment, she was simply enjoying a peaceful summer’s day where only she and the flora she walked among existed.

She looked up as the garden was plunged into shadowy darkness, seeing the fearsome bulk of Vhagar pass languidly overhead. The sheer monstrous size of the great war dragon caused a chill to run down her spine despite the warmth of the day. As the lumbering beast banked over the sparkling grey waters of Blackwater Bay, the sun was once more visible, however, the illusion of tranquility was shattered. Atop the dragon that had just passed overhead was her husband, Prince Aemond Targaryen. He was patrolling the city, providing preemptive defence against the anticipation of attack that would kick start a war, threatening all of their lives. She sighed, about to turn and go back inside, when a splash of colour in the far corner caught her eye.

Stepping closer, she saw a vine of trailing flowers upon the stone wall in the far corner of the gardens. It was the only place in the green expanse of the Red Keep’s lush botanical space that the sun did not touch, so it surprised her that such beauty was able to thrive here, though she supposed that Alicent Hightower had managed to raise three achingly beautiful children in equally suboptimal conditions. Similar to the Targaryen children, were these flowers also fatally flawed beyond their pretty exterior?

Her eyes raked over the thick, winding stem, a dark green that protruded from a crack in the top of the wall, before twisting its way downwards, just shy of touching the perfectly manicured lawn below. The flowers themselves, blossoming along the vine, were almost trumpet like in shape, with petals that tapered out into points. Their edges were a vibrant orange that bled into a deep crimson at their centre, housing thick stamens laden with bulbous balls of yellow pollen. The colour reminded her of fire, fitting for House Targaryen, and so she carefully plucked enough to make a modest bouquet. They would look nice in a vase upon the table at the centre of her and Aemond’s marital chambers, she decided. It was a space that was furnished to be functional and comfortable, but it was otherwise dreary and in need of brightening up. The flowers would do just that.

Functional, but in need of brightening up was also an adequate description for her marriage to Aemond. Theirs was a political alliance, a union of powerful houses to strengthen his brother’s claim to the throne, so she was under no illusions of their match being one of heartfelt declarations of love or unbridled displays of passion, but she had hoped that that would grow in time. In the three months since the Targaryen prince had draped her in his house colours and taken her under his protection, he had not been unkind to her, but she had yet to see beneath the hardened shell of stoic duty that he hid behind. When he lay with her he made it clear that it was for the intent of producing heirs, and he remained stoic, his movements utterly controlled as he rutted atop her. She wondered if he took any pleasure in it all, save for the moment his eye would screw shut as he spilled inside of her with a groan. Everything Aemond did was in service of others – an attack dog for his brother, a protector for his mother and sister. She had yet to decipher what roles they played in each other’s lives that ran deeper than armies and fealty, though she was desperate to find out. Despite his reputation for being a ruthlessly violent kinslayer, in person he was quiet, controlled, and devastatingly handsome in a way that made her ache. It frustrated her that she never saw any of the fire in him that his house was renowned for.

Once the flowers were arranged in a dark green ceramic vase upon the table, she found the space was much more pleasing to look at, a welcome burst of colour among the stacks of old books, dragon skulls and tapestries depicting grisly acts of war from the age of the Conqueror. She felt as though there was finally a little something of her influence in the room, and not just her husband’s.

He returned as she was knotting the tie of her royal blue satin robe around her waist, not long having stepped out of the bath. Clad in his riding leathers, with both his sword and dagger at his hip, he cut an imposing figure, and she feared she would never grow used to the way he seemed to draw all the air from the room whenever he stepped into it. She stood frozen, taking in the windswept state of the long, silver hair that hung loose around his shoulders – the top half, as always, was pulled away from his face and tied at the back of his head.

Her gaze followed his single eyed stare as it fell upon the flowers on the table, his eyebrow raising subtly in silent question.

“They are beautiful, are they not?” she asked hopefully, a smile spreading across her face as she stepped towards him, watching as he lifted the vase in his gloved hand, dipping his head to smell them.

“Mmm,” was all the response he gave, before setting them back down, and her heart sank at his disinterest. She had hoped that in attempting to put her own stamp upon their shared space that it would pique Aemond’s interest in her, and inspire him to get to know her on a deeper level. He remained apparently unmoved by her efforts, however. “Help me disrobe,” he commanded softly, once he had unfastened his belt, resting his sword against the wall and his dagger upon the table beside the vase of flowers.

He sat upon the chaise beside the table, a wordless and small act of kindness that meant she would not have to reach up on her tiptoes to unhook the clasps nearest his throat. She worked silently, pulling off his black leather gloves and boots, then ridding him of his green waxed leather riding coat and black leather jerkin. He remained silent, his body pliant to the tugging and pulling of the clothing coming away from his body, though his breaths seemed rapid and shaky; she attributed it to the exhilaration of his afternoon patrol, and the speed at which he had to travel on horseback to return to the Red Keep once he had dismounted Vhagar near the Kingswood. By the time she had finished, Aemond remained in only his white cotton breeches, rid of his eyepatch with the entirety of his hair now loose. She stepped back, allowing herself an appreciative glance at the hardened planes of his torso, before beginning to move away to order that the tub be filled with fresh hot water for him to bathe in. She had barely taken a single step when the prince’s hand shot out, grasping her wrist with such force it made her yelp in surprise. Her eyes flitted down to where his fingers tightly encircled her wrist, then up to his face. The ravenous hunger she saw reflected in his dilated gaze made her stomach erupt into nervous butterflies. The darkness she saw in his mismatched stare was a dangerous thing. He had never looked at her that way before – no one had.

“My Prince, what are you– oh!”

She gasped as he pulled her to him, pressing his face against her lower abdomen and inhaling deeply, smelling her in much the same way he had the flowers just moments earlier. His fingers splayed out against her lower back, fingertips pressing firmly into the meat of where the shape of her hips began to flare outwards. He moved his face lower, pressing against her insistently with the tip of his nose. It made her tremble with excitement, her core beginning to throb in anticipation of the trail his touch seemed destined to end at.

“I must have you,” he whispered, his voice thick and raspy, “...please.”

He did not wait for a response, as his nose brushed against the cleft between her thighs, making her mewl softly as her hips bucked instinctively towards his face. He had never been so assertive with her before, never made his desire known to her – what little of it she had experienced thus far seemed to be a dark and ravenous thing, and she was eager to coax it out in its entirety. She threaded her fingers into the silken strands of his hair close to his scalp, tugging gently and he groaned long and low, the sound a deep rumble from within his chest.

“Gods,” she breathed shakily, her head tipping back as she felt the flat of his tongue stroke languidly against her slit, sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body that caused her knees to weaken.

Aemond drew back before she could fall, grasping her by the waist and manhandling her to lay beneath him on the chaise. Her legs dangled precariously off of the edge, but he seemed not to care, grasping her knees and bringing them to rest either side of his waist as he loomed over her upon his knees, folding her in on herself.

She wondered if this was how prey animals felt when caged in by predators, moments before rending jaws closed in and put an end to it all. No – they did not wish for death, she decided as he tore open her robe, baring her body to his esurient gaze. His chest heaved with each of his ragged breaths and she could see the way his hardness strained against the confines of his undergarments, turning the fabric translucent with the arousal that leaked from the tip. Her core clenched at the site, her neediness and arousal growing rapidly as his large hands pawed against her breasts, the feel of his calloused palms against her soft flesh making her hiss through her teeth and writhe beneath him.

“Let me have you…please…” his voice trembled, strained and sounding almost on the verge of tears, almost as though he would sob if she denied him.

She had no intention of denying him his prize, however, not when he had so ardently showed her the depths of his desire. She bit her lip, simply nodding, and in a flurry of movement he freed himself, before surging forward and burying himself to the hilt inside of her. The sudden stretch made her cry out, the sting of her body having to so suddenly accommodate his girth was painful, but not unpleasant. He crashed his lips to hers, swallowing down her noises of discomfort, and her tongue licked against his as he parted his lips, winding her arms around his neck as he began to move, the sticky click of both their saliva and shared arousal the only sounds that accompanied the ominous scrape of the chaise’s legs against the stone floor each time Aemond drove his hips forward, sending cushions toppling to the floor.

When they finally parted for air, Aemond rested his forehead against hers, still driving into her with each brutal snap of his hips as his hands began to explore her body, grasping and squeezing at every dip and curve they fell upon, making her whine. He had never paid such close attention to her body before, she both relished the attention and wanted to hide away at the intensity of it. His hands came to rest upon the globes of her arse, gripping firmly and pulling her body to meet each of his forward thrusts. She cried out in pleasure as it drove him deeper, the head of his cock brushing repeatedly against a spot inside of her that made her toes curl and her thighs tremble.

“I have never wanted anyone the way that I want you,” he panted, sweat beginning to bead upon his brow as she anchored herself to him by digging her heels into the small of his back.

She knew now – this was Aemond’s act of service to her; to pleasure her, and now she had discovered it she would do all she could to ensure he felt he never had to inhibit himself in front of her ever again.

Aemond pressed his pelvis flush against hers and stilled as he came with a feral snarl, throwing his head back with the force of it, as his lower abdomen twitched with each pulsation of his length inside of her. The sensation pushed her over the edge into rapturous, sweet oblivion, pulling a honeyed, languid sensation from her as her inner muscles spasmed around him, and she whimpered as she convulsed beneath him.

Utterly spent and boneless, she barely registered the weight of him as he collapsed atop her, breathing heavily. After a few moments, he slowly rolled off of her, slipping free of her as she felt his seed begin to trickle slowly down her inner thigh. He shifted towards the centre of the chaise, gathering her against the expanse of his chest.

His voice broke the gentle silence that had fallen between them as his slender fingers danced lazily up and down her spine. “Since the day that we met I have wondered what it would be like to have you cry out my name, to make you writhe in ecstasy…I…I never knew how to ask you.”

His confession curled itself around her heart, spreading warmth through her chest as her lips curved into a soft smile. “You never have to ask,” she reassured him, lifting her head to look at him.

“Then I will not,” he replied with a wolfish grin, making her squeal as he grabbed at her once more, manhandling her by her thighs and hips until she hovered over his face, her knees on either side of his head.

It was then that she looked down at his face, his seeing eye fixated upon her still glistening sex, and she noticed the smattering of yellow beneath his nostrils – the same hue as the pollen that filled the flowers she had plucked from their vine earlier that day, and realisation set in. As Aemond pulled her against his searching mouth, and his tongue began to lap at the mess he had made of her, she moaned softly, looking up towards the vase that housed the pretty red and orange flowers. She decided there and then that they would become a permanent fixture of their marital chambers from that moment onwards.

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ultraintrovertedgryffindor · 3 months ago

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Tear Down My Reason - Masterlist

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Strong!Niece!reader Warnings: Arranged marriage, smut (individual warnings will be applied to each chapter)

Summary: Aemond exacts cruel revenge upon his niece for the loss of his eye at the hands of her younger brother. Shortly after, a bloody war ensues, that neither expects to survive. Left as all that remains of House Targaryen, the pair are forced to come together as King and Queen of Westeros. However, forced into a marriage that neither of them want, they soon learn that not all battles are fought with Valyrian steel and dragonfire - manipulation and cruel words wound just as deeply within the confines of a marital chamber.

Author's note: No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

Chapter one: I Can Tell You About Pain

Chapter two: A Single Tear

Chapter three: Blood Moon

Chapter four: Fault and Fracture

Chapter five: Sadness Comes Home

Chapter six: The Dusk in Us

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ultraintrovertedgryffindor · 4 months ago

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AEGON RAILING HIS LITTLE SISTER OUT OF RAGE 😩💅

uh...y-yeah...*cough*

Summary: Aegon's wife decides to play a little game, knowing fully well what the consequences will be.

Warnings: Targcest (brother-sister incest), jealousy, toxic relationships, SMUT (MINORS DNI), slapping, choking, rough oral (m!receiving), lots of dirty talk, use of "my king," degradation, breath play, dacryphilia, and breeding kink

word count || 3.2k🤙🏻

Aegon scowled as he watched his bastard nephew, Jace, offer his hand to you, his dear sister-wife. He almost widened his eyes in shock when you actually took it.

It had been a relatively nice night, considering the whole family was packed together in one room. When the late Vaemond Velaryon called into question prince Lucerys’ claim to the Driftwood throne, his elder sister and supposed heir to the Iron Throne, Rhaenyra, and the rest of her brood swiftly sailed back to King’s Landing from Dragonstone to plead to let the bastard remain heir, to claim what was never his in the first place. Even a blind man could see he wasn’t the spawn of Ser Laenor, same with Jacaerys; the Strong bastards they were called, even if it was a quite ironic insult considering how much weaker they were than Aemond and himself.

And now, that mockery of a bastard heir was asking to dance with Aegon’s wife.

Aegon’s eyes flitted to his brother’s, both looking to each other in slight shock and offence. What are you going to do about it, Aemond’s gaze seemed to ask silently. It’s not as though Aegon could separate the bastard’s head from his shoulders, not with the whole family there watching. Oh, Aegon wanted to though. He wanted to cut his nephew down for even daring to set a single glance on his precious sister.

What was worse, though, you seemed to enjoy it.

A marriage to your brother, Aegon, wasn’t the worst arrangement in the world, and that was a shock to yourself as well. You were the youngest of Alicent's children, and you were sure that your mother would have your elder brother marry Helaena. In hindsight, you were relieved it wasn’t her, she was too soft, too gentle, and much too innocent for the likes of Aegon. You might’ve been the youngest, but you could hold your own, especially against Aegon.

At first, Aegon wasn’t the kindest to you, he never was. You were the baby, and your mother treated you the best and him the worst. There was always a sort of resentment he held for you, whether he liked to admit it or not, and he often took out his frustrations on you, even as a child. You often heard stories from your other brothers how Aegon would try to harm you as an infant, either accidentally or on purpose, from leaving you unattended when it was his job to look after you at that moment to trying to feed you to his dragon, Sunfyre. It amused you how petty this man could be. He did not want to marry you, he wanted to continue whoring about on the Streets of Silk, not consummate his wedding to you in front of a group of people to make sure his cock was inside you.

You and Aegon often fought, you both often found even the smallest things to fight about just to yell at each other. It was therapeutic, in a way. You would scream at each other, so loud it often woke the whole royal apartments; then you and Aegon would fuck. It was never loving, never romantic; it was purely feral, primal, each of you battered and bruised by the end of the night. When he first deflowered you, you didn’t think you’d like it that much, especially not with him. You were shocked to see how much Aegon actually knew what he was doing, you supposed spending his whole life on the Streets of Silk allowed him to learn some things.

There came a point in time when Aegon started to feel a bit more protective of you. As a child, he did hate you for a time, but he grew up and matured…well, in some ways. The reasons he hated you started to not make sense to him, so he simply stopped. You were his sister, his wife, and the future mother of his children and possible heirs to the Iron Throne. He grew to love you, but that didn’t mean he would be kind to you all the time, Aegon was still Aegon. But gods, you had him by his balls, and in turn, he often made love to you rather than just fuck you.

So now, you often found ways to make him so mad he fucked you the way you wanted, how things were before. Aegon often went too far in his protectiveness, to the point of obsession. He needed you all to himself, and you knew that. With the little family reunion, you knew the perfect way to get under Aegon’s skin.

You didn’t necessarily hate your nephews, but you didn’t mind throwing them under the bus for your own enjoyment. Jacaerys was a sweet boy, always on your heels as a girl, trying to woo you in hopes your mothers would betroth you to lessen the gap that was between your family, always giving you flowers he found in the gardens and stealing sweets from the kitchens to surprise you with a makeshift picnic. It was nice, but you were never interested, you were more interested in the sweets he brought you to be honest, and the flowers you’d always give to your maids instead. Now, he was a man grown, and quite handsome and you figured you wouldn’t be disgusted if you had in fact married him; and from the looks he kept giving you, it seemed his little crush didn’t lessen a bit, even though he was now betrothed himself.

You hid your smirk by sipping on your wine, the alcohol making you bolder than you normally would be in public. You smiled sweetly at Jace, and he took that as a sign to ask you for a dance.

You discreetly eyed Aegon, satisfied to see his sour expression as you took Jace’s palm in yours, allowing him to help you up from your seat and bringing you to the open floor, promptly taking your first steps into a comfortable dance. You held Jace by his shoulder, your other hand in his, spinning each other around as the music flowed. He was actually a decent dance partner, a content smile decorating your face, but only widened when you saw Aegon scowling from the corner of your eye.

“Still only using me for your own schemes, eh?” Jacaerys broke the silence between you, catching you by surprise. “It seems not much has changed since we were little.”

You laughed through your nose. “And it seems you’ve only gotten more clever, nephew.”

“Unlike some, I know when my feelings aren’t reciprocated. It was hard as a boy, but I know better now.”

“Is that so? So, why are you dancing with me and not your new betrothed?”

“It’s simple, really.” Jace smirked as he leaned in close to whisper in your ear, “To anger my uncle.”

You giggled. “And why in the Seven Hells would you do such a thing? You only did so as a child.”

Jace shrugged. “I guess some things will never change.”

Some things do never change, including past resentments from others. One little giggle from Lucerys directed at Aemond, and all hells broke loose. Over a pig…a bloody pig. You didn’t really understand it, but to be fair, what happened to Aemond didn’t happen to you. You weren’t even there that night little Luke took his eye, but what was certain is that he still hated him and he wasn’t afraid to show it. A fight broke out, and Jacaerys quickly discarded your dance in favor of punching your brother in the face, which only managed to make Aemond angrier…and your husband.

After the fight was broken up, everyone was sent to their quarters. But Aegon grabbed you by your upper arm and practically dragged you to your apartments. “How dare you!” He shouted as soon as he closed the door behind him.

“I don’t know what you mean, my love.” You feigned innocence, batting your eyelashes bashfully.

Aegon scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Don’t play the fool with me, you knew exactly what you were doing. Jacaerys? Really? You willingly dance with the enemy?”

Now it was your turn to scoff. “Enemy? He’s our nephew.”

“Fine. You willingly dance with someone who is not your husband!” He seethed, he grabbed you by your neck, pulling you close, your breasts uncomfortably pressing against his chest. “You dare embarrass me like that, in front of all those people.”

“You embarrass yourself in front of the whole Keep every day, what’s one more to add to the list?” You choked out, making Aegon’s eyes darken, and a chill shot down your spine. You hadn’t seen him this mad since the days after taking your vows…it made your cunt incredibly wet.

Aegon raised his hand to you, slapping you across your cheek and immediately marking it a bright red, making you yelp and your head spin. “Ah, so you wanna be a little slut for your bastard nephew, is that it?” He slapped you again until your knees gave out and you crumpled to the floor, his firm hand making you look up at him. “Is my cock not good enough for you anymore? You think he can fuck you better than I can?” He pinned you to the stone floor, the thin carpet the only thing cushioned your back. He straddled you, his cock already stiff and pressing against his trousers. “He’s just a boy, a pathetic, worthless bastard, and a whore like you can’t be satisfied with just a boy. You need me, who knows exactly what you need.”

“Aegon-”

“Shut the fuck up, whore!” Aegon yelled in your face, tearing the bodice of your gown right down the middle, exposing your heavy breasts to the cool air, your nipples hardening instantly. He palmed one harshly while unlacing his breeches and freeing his cock, pumping the shaft with his other hand. You winced at the roughness, but your mouth watered at the sight, and you knew Aegon knew you wanted this, from the way your chest heaved with anticipation and the way your pupils dilated to wide you could barely see your irises. “If you don’t choke on this cock, maybe I’ll fuck you. How’s that sound, slut?”

You squealed as Aegon forced his thick cock in your mouth, immediately reaching the back of your throat, bringing tears to your eyes, but you tried not to gag. You had done this enough times to train yourself to take him all, each time you’ve been able to do it for longer, but you were so eager for him to fuck you stupid. “Well, that certainly shut you up, didn’t it?” Aegon chuckled, biting his lip as he gently fucked your mouth, watching your lips stretch around his girth and threatening to crack the skin. “Gods, you always take me so well, don’t you, darling? You want me to fuck you that bad, hmm?”

You moaned around his cock enthusiastically, nodding your head slightly.

“Mm, if only little lord Strong could see you now, taking your husband’s cock so deep in your mouth you can’t even breathe, can you? What do you think he’d say? He’d probably be disgusted by you, a little whore who can’t survive without a cock stuffed into one of her holes. Isn’t that right?”

“Aegon-!” You tried to speak, but he grabbed your throat squeezing hard, and pinched your nose closed so you couldn’t breathe at all, his pace quickening and becoming relentless as he roughly fucked your mouth. You choked and gagged, grunting as your body started to run on instinct, jerking and writhing, trying to grasp for air but finding none. And as you started to become lightheaded and dizzy, your vision fading in and out, Aegon let both of his hands go and removed his cock from your mouth, a loud, shaky gasp echoing from your lips, coughing so hard you were scared you’d bring up your dinner. You sobbed a little, tears streaming from your eyes one after the other.

“Shh, shh, shh.” Aegon wiped away your tears with little finesse, shoving his fingers in your mouth and collecting your spit, circling your nipples before bringing his head down to nip and suckle on them like a babe starved. “On the bed, now.” With little strength, you shakily crawled onto your bed, but now before Aegon discarded the rest of your gown and smallclothes until you were completely bare to his eyes. “Mm, you always were the prettiest of us, weren’t you? You think you can handle more, slut?”

You nodded your head, “Please.”

“Using your manners, now? What a surprise. I didn’t think my cock would tame you that easily. You want me, darling? Not Jacaerys? I can go fetch him and I can find myself another whore that could take my cock in her mouth easier than you can.”

You scowled. “I’ll have your balls if you do such a thing.”

And in an instant, Aegon was straddling you again, slapping your face once more. “I guess I was wrong, you’re still acting like a little hellcat in heat. Maybe putting a babe in you will tame you, for a time at least. You know how the court whispers, how I haven’t sired an heir from you yet. I know you wanted to wait, but maybe tonight I finally will…then you can have my balls.” He giggled darkly. You moaned loudly when Aegon pressed two of his thick fingers inside you without warning, but with how wet you were, he had little to no resistance, besides you squeezing around his digits. “Fuck, you’re so wet. This all for me…or was it for Jace?” You shook your head no, but that only made him slap your pussy hard. “Use your words, slut.”

“All for you, Aegon! Only for you.” Aegon removed his fingers, quickly replacing them with his cock, hitting the ends of you with a single thrust. “Aegon!” You moaned, already feeling so full. You tried to move, but he held you in place, leaning down to take one of the stiffened peaks of your breasts into his mouth, sucking hard and then repeating the action with the other breast. “Please, more, please.” You begged, trying to cant your hips up but only meeting resistance from his hands pinning you to the bed.

“Only good girls get what they want. Are you a good girl?”

“...yes.” Slap. “No!”

“You’ve been a brat all night, and only bad girls act like you did tonight. And bad girls have to work for their pleasure. So, you will listen to me. You will obey my commands, understand?”

“Yes, my king.”

Aegon smiled, “Now there’s a glimpse of my good girl.” You whined as he slowly pulled out until just the tip barely remained, and then thrust back in hard, making you gasp. “That's what you wanted, little slut?” He thrusted into you again even harder, the loud slap of skin resounding through the entire room, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as his cockhead hit that special spot inside you that made your clit throb wildly.

“Yes, yes…!” You moaned, trying to keep your hips still as Aegon pounded into you hard and slowly, taking his time with you, keeping you frustrated but reeling at the same time. You started to cry, causing Aegon to giggle.

“Aw, is this not enough for my little slut? Do you not appreciate what your future king is giving you?”

“I need more, my king, please, I’m sorry, I can’t-” You babbled, your legs starting to shake.

“Hush, my darling, I’ll give you what you want. But you need to do something for me first.”

“I’ll do anything, please!”

“Tell me that Jace is nothing but the bastard of a whore who will never be king.”

You frowned, “B-But…”

“Ah, ah, ah, you said you’d do anything, did you not? Are you going back on your word to your king? Tell me how he’d never pleasure you like me.” Aegon’s thrusts slowed to a stop, his hand reaching down to circle your neglected clit with the tips of his fingers, causing you to arch your back in overstimulated pleasure.

“Aegon, please-!”

“Say it, bitch!”

“Jace is just a bastard who’ll never be king! He’ll never pleasure me like you can!” You screamed as Aegon finally started to rut into you with a brutality you’ve never experienced, he sat on his haunches, gripping your love handles with both hands so hard you knew it would leave your skin dark with bruises. The tip of his cock hit the ends of you over and over again, so hard you felt an ache form in the pit of your stomach. “Gods, fuck, Aegon!”

“Yes, slut, scream my name. Let the whole Keep know who’s fucking you like this. Scream so loud it’ll carry to that bastard’s chambers.” Aegon reached down to continue rubbing your clit, eliciting another scream of his name from your swollen lips. It almost sounded like you were being killed with how loud you were, but you were going to experience a little death soon if Aegon kept hitting both your pleasure spots at once.

“Are you going to cum on your king’s cock, hm?”

“Yes, my king, please, can I?” You sobbed, your moans getting louder and higher pitched as you edged towards that peak of pleasure.

Aegon smiled, groaning as his cock twitched inside you. “You’ve made up for all your bad behavior, so I guess you’ve earned it.” You groaned loudly as you came, clenching on Aegon’s cock so hard he whimpered, pounding into you until he neared his own climax. “You want your king’s cum inside you, darling? You want me to pour my seed inside you so you can give me an heir?”

“Cum inside me, Aegon, please, I want your babe inside me!”

“I’m gonna give it to you, darling, I’m gonna give you my cum, fuck-!” Aegon groaned loudly, burying his face in your neck as he shot his hot seed into your cunt, his cock twitching wildly inside you, making you whimper from the sensation. “Gods, fuck, darling…” He breathed out in exhaustion, rolling off of you to lay on his back beside you.

You lay there with a tired, but content smile on your face, simply enjoying the sound of Aegon catching his breath next to you, a sore ache between your legs.

“Did you enjoy that, you little vixen?” Aegon teased, huffing in annoyance.

You smiled as you turned to lay at his side, placing his arm around your shoulders and resting your head on his chest. “You know I’d never want Jacaerys, I just missed how we used to have our coupling in the beginning of our marriage…I only want you.”

Aegon raised a brow, looking down at you in amusement. “And here I thought I was the perverted one. You’re just as bad, aren’t you.” He turned to face you, smiling fondly at you, reaching a hand up to caress the side of your flushed face. “If you wanted me to fuck your brains out, my love, you could’ve just asked. I would’ve happily indulged you.” You gasped as he suddenly pinned you to the bed, keeping your wrist together above your head with one hand. “That being said, have you learned to behave yourself now, little one?”

You smirked, shrugging your shoulders. “I’m not sure, my king. I’m still feeling a bit rebellious.”

Aegon groaned as he wrapped his other hand around your throat tightly, his cock springing to life once more. “Then I guess it’s up to your king to teach you another lesson. Perhaps you’ll learn something this time.”

hope you enjoyed, Anon!

#house of the dragon #aegon targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii targaryen x f!reader #aegon ii targaryen x fem!reader #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii targaryen smut #aegon ii targaryen x targaryen!reader #aegon ii targaryen x you #aegon ii targaryen fanfic

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ultraintrovertedgryffindor · 4 months ago

Note

Thanks luv! So, you are married to Aemond, yet despite his kindness to you, your sexual activities are treated as a duty (like your marriage). Aegon notices the situation and decides to give you a proper orgasm with his tongue. The issue is that he leaves you without fucking you (saving it for another time), and you can't help but crave him, you are desperate for him to fuck you (and when he does, he does it deliciously, making you feel like the luckiest woman in Westeros).

it’s 1am in nyc and this ask is driving me crazy i need him so bad

satiate | aegon ii targaryen

pairing: aegon targaryen x fem!reader

warnings: smut (MDNI 18+)

────── ☾ ──────

Aemond came with one final thrust of his hips, spilling his seed inside of you as you continued to lay stagnant beneath him.

Aemond pulled out of you and rolled over, laying next to you. “Hopefully that will take,” he spoke, catching his breath.

Tonight was not unusual. Since you wed Aemond, sex has been about duty. He was a perfect husband, and was very kind to you, even in bed, but it was always about duty over all else.

“Yes, hopefully,” you responded.

Aemond turned his head toward you. “Are you alright?”

You smiled, appreciative that he was attentive to you. “Yes, thank you,” you responded.

There was nothing wrong with Aemond, and your marriage worked in public. However, you wished there was more passion, more connection, more something in private. This could not be all that sex has to offer. Still, Aemond made sure you consented and were alright.

You knew his brother, Aegon, was familiar with sex, perhaps more than anyone else. You were always attracted to him, and you always wondered what it would be like if it were him trying to impregnate you.

You and Aemond had been married for exactly a fortnight, which meant he had worked to put an heir inside of you exactly fourteen times.

Each morning you rose with a dull aching between your legs that you could not seem to satisfy. You were not sure exactly what it was or how to resolve it, so you spent most mornings in a state of uncomfortableness until the aching went away.

You were subsequently more irritable during the first half of the day, shifting uncontrollably in your seat or nonstop switching the leg holding most of your weight when you stood.

Aegon took pity on you.

He noticed the change in your attitude since your marriage, and after five days, he picked up on you rubbing your thighs together as you tired to get comfortable for breakfast each morning. After nine, he could see the exhaustion in your eyes, and he knew it was from his brother occupying you deep into the hours of the night.

You had been with Aemond long enough for the pain and uncomfortableness of sex to fade away, but it hadn’t seemed to. That meant you that weren’t connecting the way you should, and Aegon suspected that exact truth.

“My brother is incapable of satiating your needs, hm?” Aegon spoke, crossing his arms as he leaned on the wall beside where you were standing and flipping through the pages of a book. You let him into your chambers because he asked to speak to you, but this was not what you expected.

You paused your actions and lifted your head, turning it toward Aegon. “Excuse me?”

“I can sense it,” he responded.

You scoffed, “I do not know to what you refer.”

“Put the book down.”

You looked up at him, and you don’t know why, but you did what he asked. You closed the book and placed it down on the table beside you.

“Lay down on the bed.”

“Do I look like someone-“

“Y/N,” Aegon cut you off, holding up a hand, “do you want my help or not?”

“Help?”

Aegon somewhat pitied your innocence, but he was aroused by it more. “Do you want me to make that aching between your legs go away?”

You took a deep breath. You were embarrassed, but you had nothing to be ashamed of. “I am simply sore. Impregnation can be rather intense.”

Aegon tutted, “no, no, that’s not it. You may not know what it is, but you know it’s not that.”

“Enlighten me then, if you are so well versed in such things,” you teased, trying to ease the tension.

“Are you going to lay down or not?” he asked, not taking the bait and maintaining his serious tone.

You walked over to the bed, sitting and shifting your back against the pillows as you straightened your legs and made yourself comfortable. “Like this?” you asked.

Aegon smiled at you. He thought that you were so cute for checking.

“If you’re comfortable,” he replied, crawling on top of the bed and kneeling in front of you. He pushed your legs apart, hearing your breath hitch as your dress was pushed up to your waist, exposing your small clothes to Aegon.

“May I?” he asked, tugging at the waistband of your small clothes.

You nodded your head yes and swallowed back your nervousness, watching him pull the fabric down your legs, completely exposing you to him.

“You feel the aching right now?” he asked.

“Mhm,” you answered.

Aegon dipped his head until he connected with your folds, placing a soft kiss there.

“What are you doing?” you questioned.

“I’m gonna taste you, darling.”

You shifted in your seated position. “What do you mean?”

Aegon only smiled in response, dipping his head again and running his tongue between your folds.

You gasped at the wet feeling, your head instinctively falling backwards. Aegon began to flick and swirl his tongue, and you moaned at the sensation.

This was completely new to you, and you questioned whether or not you could trust Aegon. You had heard the whispers about him, and how rough he liked things.

You also questioned if this was ethical. It was objectively unfair to bed another man while married, especially your husband’s brother, but despite how wonderful Aemond could be, it was evident that your marriage was political and dutiful only. If Aemond could run to whorehouses when he was not sleeping next to you, you could indulge yourself just this once.

Still, you were nervous about how Aegon would treat you.

“Aegon?”

You caught his attention, but he didn’t stop. He began to suck on your clit, gazing up at you as he did so, showing that he was listening to you.

“Are you going to be nice?”

Aegon moaned into your cunt before briefly pulling away, just long enough to say, “you can trust me.”

Something about the way he said it had you believing him, and your muscles relaxed beneath him as he kissed and sucked at your clit. The stimulation was new, and therefore it was becoming too much too fast.

“Aegon, I-“

Aegon only sped up, pressing his face further into you and carefully watching your face contort as you whined. He held a firm grip on your hips to ensure you stayed where he wanted you, and you felt the familiar aching rise in the pit of your stomach again.

“Aegon-“ you called again, but he still didn’t let up.

Within seconds you felt the aching coil snap, your legs shaking and your hips briefly lifting off the bed as you felt like the feeling you had between your legs for weeks was finally broken.

You caught your breath, and Aegon pulled away from you to level his face with your own.

“Good, huh?” he teased.

You couldn’t help yourself. Instead of responding, you pulled his face to yours, kissing him hard to show your thanks. Aegon’s body reacted instantly, reciprocating the kiss. You felt somewhat bad that it was so quick, but the feeling was so sweet and so new, and you couldn’t help yourself.

You tasted something salty-sweet on his lips. You pulled away and wiped a finger over your lips, sucking the digit and tasting the wetness, looking at Aegon in confusion.

“That’s you,” Aegon said, nearly growling at the sight.

Your cheeks turned an even deeper shade of red, which Aegon found amusing, as he kissed you again, before leaving the bed completely.

You shifted forward onto your knees and crawled to the opposite edge of the bed, trying to catch him but too weak to stand. “Where are you going?”

“Aemond will be back soon,” he said, adjusting his clothing.

You don’t know why you said it, but you were feeling bold, and what he made you feel was so good, you wanted more.

“Aegon, I want you.”

Aegon smiled and dropped his head momentarily. He turned back to you, as if he intended to say something, but he promptly righted himself and exited the room, leaving you alone to do nothing but crave him.

The following morning, the Targaryen-Hightowers were all gathered for breakfast with some guests, and you couldn’t keep your eyes off of Aegon. You desperately wanted more from him, and you wanted that much to be obvious to him, but it was hard to do much with Aemond present.

It was even difficult to speak to him; you and Aegon usually did not have private conversations. When he tried to speak to you without a group setting, you often blushed and found a reason to leave, unsure of how to speak to someone you were so attracted to, especially if they were not your husband.

However, right now, all you wanted was to be near him.

“Rather beautiful day it appears,” you spoke, approaching his chair, where he was already seated and drinking, despite the early hour.

“Wouldn’t know,” he said, taking a sip from his cup, “considering we’re inside.”

You sighed, your hormones taking over you as you leaned closer to him, speaking at a volume only he could hear. “Evidently, I just needed a reason to speak to you.”

Aegon shifted in his chair so he could see behind him. “And what would you need to speak to me for?”

“Speaking it not exactly what I need you for, Aegon, and you know it.”

Aegon took another sip. “I know not to what you refer.”

He tried to remain stoic, but you could see him holding back a smirk.

You began to turn away, “Very well, if you insist on forgetting, then I am sure that Aemond will be happy to satis-“

Aegon grabbed your wrist, and his features no longer had any hint of amusement. “I am rather sure he wouldn’t.” You knew any mention that his brother was better than him would immediately cause him to drop the wall he always had up.

“No, no, I can simply just ask-“

“You needn’t worry about doing such a thing. He wouldn’t be able to help you.”

You smiled. This is what you wanted. He left you hot and bothered, finally getting a taste of pleasure, and now you had him wrapped around your finger. You felt so empowered, so sensual, so powerful.

“And you believe yourself capable of satiating me?” you teased, completely ignoring the fact that you had in fact approached him to say that you needed him.

“Only I can,” he responded.

You pulled out of his grip and took residence by your husband’s side again, including yourself in the conversation he was having with two guests, as well as Heleana, who often stayed next to Aemond so that she didn’t have to do any of the talking.

When the meal was finished, you left arm-in-arm with your husband, who waited until you were out of view to shift in front of you. “How do you feel?”

Fuck. Does he know? How would he know?

“What?”

“How do you feel? It has been a fortnight, surely an early pregnancy would be somewhat present by now,” Aemond elaborated.

“Oh,” you took a sigh of relief, “I do not know, I do not feel much different.”

Aemond leaned in and placed a kiss on your forehead. “That is alright, we still have time.”

You smiled at him as he turned around and left, off to attend to his daily duties as you retreated to your chambers.

You were not in your room for even an entire minute before there was nonstop banging at your door.

You swung the door open. “Gods, could you have possibly hit the door any harder?”

Aegon didn’t respond, he just stepped into your apartment and slammed the door behind him, gripping your arms and spinning you until you were flipped, and backing you up until your back was pressed against the door.

“Aeg-“

He didn’t let you speak. He pressed his lips against yours, and your hands instinctively held either side of his face as his hands found your hips, pressing himself into you. You whined at the sudden contact, which only encouraged Aegon to continue as he peppered kisses down your jawline to your neck.

He pulled away, locking his eyes with your own. “Is this what you wanted? You wanted me?” His hand gripped your jaw, tilting your head upward. “You want me to make you feel things Aemond can’t?”

You could feel his muscles tense as he spoke your husband’s name, but Aemond wasn’t the one here with you right now.

“Yes,” you replied, “but I do not wish to think of Aemond right now.”

“No? Not your husband?”

Aegon was trying to maintain his intensity, but deep down, he was still just a boy who needed to be told he was wanted.

“I only want you, Aegon.”

Aegon let out a breath he was subconsciously holding in. He kissed you again, this time softer, grateful for your words.

“Jump,” he whispered.

“Jump?” you clarified.

“Would you trust me?”

You jumped upward and Aegon moved his arms to hold up your legs, forcing them to wrap around his waist. You squealed at the feeling, scared he would drop you, but you were secure.

He backed away from the door and walked you over to the bed, your head resting on his shoulder as he did so.

He was being nice enough to you that you assumed he would guide you down or slowly lower you, but instead, he slammed you against the bed, your legs untangling from his waist as you hit the mattress.

You opened your mouth in playful offense. “Aegon!”

He shrugged his shoulders, crawling on top of you. “Yeah?”

“What do you mean, yeah? What if that broke the bed?”

“Darling, if the bed doesn’t break, then I didn’t do my job.”

That was the second time he called you darling, and you loved hearing such an affectionate name directed at you, especially from him. You wondered if he had ever called his whores any affectionate names. Was this even as big of a deal to him as it was to you?

Aegon could see you lost in your thoughts as he loomed over you. “Something on your mind?”

“Just nervous, is all,” you responded.

“We can stop if you wish to,” he said.

You looked into his eyes, and you were surprised to see how genuine he was. You could tell he didn’t want to stop, but it was a relief knowing you could stop this any time, even though you had no desire to do so.

“I do not wish to stop.”

That was all the consent Aegon needed to kiss you again, refusing to break away from you as his hands moved to pull up your dress, exposing your small clothes to him once again.

He pulled them down your legs without even looking, and immediately ran a finger between your folds. You whined into the kiss, your hips instinctively lifting to chase the feeling.

Aegon continued to kiss you as he moved his finger lower and lower, slowly pushing it into you. You gasped, and Aegon considered breaking the kiss, but he was addicted. He wasn’t going to pull away until you made him.

The feeling was strange and unfamiliar, but that didn’t mean it was bad. You relaxed your body and trusted Aegon, allowing him to continue touching you as he moved his finger in and out. You were squirming beneath him, but he didn’t care. He was just happy to have the privilege of seeing how your body reacted to him.

After a few moments he removed his hand from you, still kissing you, and pushed his breeches down until his cock hit his stomach.

He used your wetness, that was now on his fingers, to lubricate his cock as he lined his tip up with your entrance. Only then did he pull away from the kiss.

“Are you ready?” he asked, gentle and genuine.

“Yes,” you said, knowing that verbal confirmation was better than a nod.

Aegon kept his eyes on yours as he slowly began to push into you. This feeling was not new, but it was different than what you were used to. Your body was becoming to used to Aemond, molded to Aemond, and the change confused your body for a brief few moments before settling in.

“Can I move?” Aegon checked.

“Aegon, I trust you, there is no need to ask,” you spoke, nearly a whisper, your voice weak.

You meant every word. You were appreciative that Aegon was so attentive to your comfort, but you weren’t exactly sure what was to come, and you wanted him to just get on with it already.

He dipped his head into the crook of your neck as he began to move, fighting to maintain his composure and move slowly. He set a steady pace, but after a brief few minutes, you tangled your fingers in his hair, absentmindedly playing with the strands, and it drove him crazy.

His self control slipped, and he began to move faster inside of you, snapping his hips harder and harder. You instinctively tugged on his hair, and he lifted his head up to meet your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” you said, truly not meaning to pull on his hair or hurt him.

“Fuck, don’t be,” he sighed, pressing his forehead against yours, “I swear I’m trying to go easy on you, you’re just so, so-“

Aegon lost his sentence, gazing down at where your bodies met.

“I do not need you to go easy on me,” you whined.

Aegon did not confirm that you meant it, but instead dropped his head again, resting his head next to yours as he thrust harder, hitting your hips slightly upward with each stroke.

Your back arched and your head tilted further and further backward. This was not entirely unfamiliar to you, but it felt different simply because you were excited, and you knew Aegon wouldn’t let it end until your needs were satiated.

“Aegon,” you moaned, and the sound was natural, and so pretty falling from your lips.

Aegon lifted his head up again. “Do that again.”

You whimpered another, “Aegon,” as he fucked you hard, nearly pulling out entirely with each thrust before slamming himself back into you again.

The pace was excruciating, and you were sure your hips would bruise form the force of his own hitting them each time he bottomed out.

“You feel so fucking good,” he whispered in your ear, only adding to your arousal as you held onto his shoulders.

Your cunt squeezed his cock, and he let out a small chuckle. “You like it when I talk to you?” he groaned.

You nodded your head up and down, incapable of speaking as you lost yourself in the pleasure. One of his hands snaked between your bodies and began to slowly run circles around your clit, forcing you to release a rather filthy moan.

“Good girl,” he cooed as your cunt squeezed him again.

The feeling of his cock in you mixed with the feeling of him touching you was too much, and the uncomfortable feeling began to rise in your stomach again.

You anxiously chased the feeling of the breakage, completely letting Aegon take control of your pleasure as the pressure dropped, your juices coating his cock as he removed his hand.

“Fuck, just like that,” he moaned, using the feeling of your orgasm to chase his own high.

He kissed you again as he came, his seed spilling inside of you. You didn’t care enough to stop him or have him climax elsewhere. Everything felt too good for you to care.

Aegon watched your bodies disconnect as he pulled himself out of you, falling onto the bed next to you.

“Thank you,” you spoke through shaky and tired breaths.

Aegon laughed. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“But I’m thankful.”

“Your husband will be as well when you end up with child.”

You covered your face with your hands in embarrassment. “I did not want to stop you.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” Aegon said, rolling on his side to be closer to you, “idiot wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between my child and his child anyway.”

“Enough about him,” you said, turning so that you were face-to-face with Aegon, “I’m here with you.”

Aegon leaned forward and kissed you softly, smiling as he pulled away and rested his head on the pillow.

868 notes · View notes

ultraintrovertedgryffindor · 4 months ago

Text

𝘕𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘈 𝘍𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘯, 𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘎𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘯 𝘉𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘯

this took way too long to write and i have no idea why lmao. i guess i've just been too busy making tiktok edits to write

Summary: You and Eric bond over his missing cat.

Warnings: Spoilers for AQP:DO, some angst, mentions of PTSD, survivor's guilt, Frodo being the best wingman cat, pure tooth-rotting fluffiness, and SMUT (MINORS DNI)

word count | 5.2k🤙🏻

In the beginning, you didn’t have a clue what was going on around you.

You were hastily woken up from a nap you found yourself in after a long shift at work, multiple booms and shakes rumbling the earth and your apartment building, loud crashing echoing from the glass your picture frames falling off the walls and various dishes and cutlery falling from their respective places in your drawers and cabinets.

You were frozen in shock, unable to speak as you started to hear screams and explosions from outside your tiny apartment. What was going on? It was so loud you almost didn’t catch your phone ringing over and over again. It was your mother.

“Don’t go outside, it’s not-!” You gasped, tears filling your eyes as your mother’s voice was violently cut off by a deafening screech. Somehow, you knew she was gone. Taken from this world too soon, and you didn’t even know why. It wasn’t long before your father came to your door, finding you in a fetal position, silently sobbing with your hands over your ears, trying desperately to drown out the sounds of death. He confirmed your mother was dead, but he wasn't going to let you give up.

The two of you stayed together, through all of it. Until the military flew over New York City announcing through loudspeakers that there were boats that would take people, those who survived the Death Angels, to safety. You couldn’t really believe it, but your father didn’t let you give up. Again.

Your father was getting up in years, still young by comparison to others, but without your mother by his side, it wasn’t really a shock when he didn’t make it onto the boat with you. You were his only attachment to life, so when he saw you were safe, he’s the one who gave up. That’s what you thought, even when you knew that you would be dead without him; even when you knew you were seconds away from getting mutilated by one of those creatures, only for your father to distract one to save you, you still thought he gave up. And you wrestled back and forth whether you hated or loved him for it. You didn’t really hate him, but you did hate the situation. You hated the situation that made your father sacrifice himself for you.

You got onto the boat in tears, unconsolable, and continued to be in that state even after you made it to safety.

A few days passed and you could still barely eat anything, not for lack of trying. Every time you tried to eat, it would just make you sick. You couldn’t understand why you lived when your father couldn’t. It wasn’t fair. Sometimes, a part of you wished you died with him. You and the rest of whoever made it onto the boats were safe, for now, but how long would that last?

You were proven right when one day, this kid and a man came to the island, accidentally bringing a Death Angel with them. It was like that first day all over again. You had to run, you had to hide, you had to be quiet. Blood and death everywhere, you hid until it calmed down, until the Death Angel was lured away.

The damage to your home was severe, a massive hole ripped through where the creature broke in and killed your roommate. Your roommate was very skittish, screamed at the slightest fright. It was a wonder she ever made it this far, she just couldn’t handle it when the first day seemed to repeat itself. Though you yourself almost screamed aloud when you heard a soft meow from the hole in your wall.

It was a black and white cat, staring at you with its big green eyes.

Before, you would’ve cooed and bounded up to it with a baby-voiced “hello.” But now, you just prayed this cat wouldn’t open its mouth ever again. However, cats never really followed the rules, and they couldn’t possibly understand what was going on. So, the cat walked to you, its tail flowing behind itself, rubbing up against your legs. You could feel the vibrations from its purring. You tensed when you heard it chirp up at you, clearly wanting to be held. You didn’t dare move, lest the monster came back at the slightest sound. You would’ve kicked the cat away if you knew it wouldn’t make a noise, but alas, the fuzzball started to meow in displeasure at being ignored and you had no choice but to pick it up so it would stay quiet.

The cat purred quietly in your arms, and you willed yourself to keep it happy or else you and it would be torn to pieces. You silently slid down the opposite side of your ruined wall, cuddling the cat close to your chest like it was a baby, trying to steady your breathing and praying the creature stayed away.

It must’ve been hours just staying like that, before people started to be loud again. No, no, what were they doing? You shut your eyes tightly, not making a sound so that you might be spared. But you could hear the conversations outside faintly, that the monster was killed and you were safe again. That couldn’t be right. There was no way to kill those things, people tried, the military tried. Who killed it and how?

You hesitantly stepped outside your home, looking around to see people embracing, sobbing, crumbling to the ground and lifting their hands to the sky in a sort of worship and praise. So many sounds, and the Death Angel was nowhere to be seen. Maybe it was true?

“That’s my cat.”

You were startled out of your thoughts by a man, tall and lean, very much resembling a kicked puppy with his big brown eyes and feeble stance. His voice was barely audible, pointing at the furry creature in your arms.

Oh.

It must’ve ran off when the monster was around.

You silently gave the cat back to the man. He nodded in appreciation and walked off. A very simple, quiet interaction, as if he was trying to get away as quickly as possible. You weren’t sure of course, but you had a feeling he was just as traumatized as you, still unable to be as more than completely silent as you’d normally be, even when it was technically safe to be louder on the island.

You allowed yourself a ghost of a smile when the cat looked back at you and chirped.

Then…everything went back to normal, or rather, the new normal that was being made for every survivor. People started to come out of their shell again, and some folk even talked about the rest of the world figuring out how to kill these monsters and that maybe someday, the world could go back to the way it used to be. It was a nice thought, but nobody truly knew how many of these things were or if they could make themselves stronger. It was a waiting game now. Though, life on the island started to be not so bad.

After that cat found you that day, it’s been sneaking off to find you every so often, the man with the puppy dog eyes always coming to you not long after. It was becoming amusing. He was frazzled and exhausted every time too, as if he’d been chasing the kitty all over the island, a blush dusting his otherwise pale skin. It stayed as simple as that first interaction, he’d find you with his cat in your arms and you’d give it back to him and he’d go back to his own house. Maybe it was a sort of trauma bond thing happening to you, but you started to enjoy the minute interactions you’d have with the man. Every time the cat found itself scratching and meowing at your door, you started to anticipate seeing him.

“Likes to run away often, does he?” You attempted to joke, which only got you a weak smile in return, making you feel like an idiot for even trying. You thought about never speaking to him again, until he responded.

As the man was turning to walk back to his house, he stopped. “Frodo…”

You blinked in surprise. “Huh?”

“That’s his name…the cat.”

Oh. You were so surprised that the man actually spoke to you that you didn’t process what he had first said. “A-And, what’s your name?” You asked, blushing when you caught your nervous stutter.

He paused, hesitating. For what reason? You didn’t know. But he answered you regardless. “Eric.” Eric. It suited him. You gave him your name as well and he gave you another weak smile, turning and leaving you at your front door. Frodo, you snickered to yourself. Makes sense, considering that cat loved getting himself into trouble, it seemed.

You were concerned that you were starting to get attached to this cat…and his owner.

Your heart overflowed with all sorts of emotions when you realized. You thought back to your father, your mother, the rest of your loved ones that were probably dead and gone like everyone else. You were all you had left. You were all you would ever have, and you could barely keep your head above water, so how the hell would you ever be able to care about another person when they could just be taken away with just a whisper. But then again…you were all that you would ever have…could you really shut out everyone that comes along looking for a connection? Could you spend the rest of this apocalyptic existence completely alone? You didn’t have the strength for that before Day One, how would you hold it together now?

You couldn’t have been sure at the time, but Eric was having similar struggles as you were.

Not unlike you, Eric had no one. He had Sam…but that didn’t work. His family was across the water, far, far from here, and he didn’t know if they were even alive. He’d never be able to find out regardless. He didn’t even want to go to law school, but his father forced him. He wished he could’ve seen his mother one last time. Now all that was left of him was this cat.

Eric’s relationship with Frodo was unique. That cat’s furry face was the first thing he saw when he saved himself from drowning. It was like an omen of sorts, how the rest of his time in New York would go. He met Sam through Frodo. He didn’t have much to care about then, but now he has something to take care of. Every time Frodo would run off, he felt like he was going to have a panic attack. He thought of Sam, how she’d react if she found out Frodo was lost or killed because he wasn’t paying close enough attention. Then he remembered she was dead now, and that she couldn’t be happy or upset with him ever again. Frodo was all he had left of her, so in a way, Frodo was Sam now…and he couldn’t lose her again.

Then he found you. Always chasing around that damn cat.

At first, Eric was hesitant to approach you. You were holding Frodo like you were a toddler holding their favorite stuffy, he almost didn’t have the heart to take him from you. But he wasn’t yours, Frodo was his now. “That’s my cat,” he had whispered. It was a little harsh, his tone, but he could feel his eyes pleading for you to give his cat back, conveying as much as possible that he couldn’t possibly go on without Frodo. Thankfully, you gave him back without a fuss.

Eric didn’t think about it again. You were just the person who probably kept his cat safe when he ran away, nothing more. Sure, he might’ve been agitated with you at first, before you gave Frodo back, but he felt guilty about it after. But then, it happened again.

Eric was cleaning about his little house on the island, from knocked over knick knacks that the monster moved with the force of its powerful legs running through the field, the vibrations strong enough to tremble each house, even the ground. It had almost been Frodo’s lunch time, meaning that every day around the same time Frodo was mewling, yelling at Eric to be fed. But when he didn’t hear the familiar meows of his cat, he started to get worried again. He looked all over his house for Frodo, breaking out in a sweat while looking around and underneath the house…until he remembered.

Eric took hesitant steps towards your house, praying that Frodo would be there like last time. And he was, you were sitting on the steps of your porch, caressing his cat’s fur, and he could almost hear the purring from where he stood. You looked up at him with a weak smile, stepping down towards him and simply handing Frodo over and going back inside your house. Eric let out a sigh of relief when he felt the warmth of Frodo as he cuddled into his neck. “Stop running away…” Eric whispered to the cat, even though he knew he couldn’t understand. Frodo gave him an almost inaudible chirp in return.

The more times it happened, the more Eric started to be comfortable leaving his house to go to yours in search of the kitty. It’s as if Frodo was trying to make him exercise. And you started to behave more friendly rather than the reclusive shell of a human you were when you first interacted. Your small smiles started to feel more genuine, and Eric’s heart started to feel less heavy. Frodo surely seemed happy being handed back and forth between the two of you whenever he decided to go on an adventure every other day.

“Likes to run away often, does he?” You had joked, chuckling weakly.

You have no idea, Eric wanted to say, but, “Frodo,” was all he could muster.

“Huh?”

“That’s his name…the cat.”

“And what’s your name?” You had asked, twisting your hands together nervously, almost eagerly awaiting his answer. But Eric hesitated. Should he really give his name to someone who’ll probably die? Did he want to accidentally make this innocent woman attach to him, when there’s a good chance he’ll die someday soon? What would be the point? Fuck it, he thought, Sam gave her life to save his, to let him live longer than she could’ve. It couldn’t have been for nothing. He deserved to live to the fullest, and he knew she would want him to move on, hope for a better future.

“Eric.” When you gave him your name, Eric smiled, to the best of his ability, even when the pain of learning something about you as simple as your name hit his chest like a ton of bricks. He hugged Frodo to his heart tighter, breathing in his scent, grounding him to Earth. He really needed a bath…

“Frodo?” Eric called out, looking around his house yet again. But no mewls or purrs could be heard. He sighed, putting on his jacket and taking confident steps to your house.

You answered the knock on your door with a surprised smile. “Eric? Hi, what’re you doing here?”

“Here to take Frodo back.”

Your smile dropped, making Eric’s heart start to race. “I haven’t seen him all day…”

No, no, no, please… “What do you mean he’s not here? This is where he always goes when he runs away.” Eric’s voice became more panicked the more words he spoke. There was no way Frodo was actually missing. That cat was too smart to actually get himself lost, right?

It took maybe two seconds for each of you to jump into high gear, gathering your jacket and heading out in search of this cat, running around like headless chickens, checking in with all of the neighbors, underneath houses, everywhere. It took hours, the longer it took, the more anxious and scared each of you got. You didn’t even have a strong attachment to this cat, at least, not as much as Eric, but you knew you’d be devastated if anything happened to Frodo.

After another checking around again, you both looked towards the woods, looking back at each other slowly. “You don’t think…” You wondered aloud, but the look on Eric’s face told you he was thinking the same thing. “Shit.”

“Frodo!” You both called out, walking through the woods. It would be getting dark soon, the sun hadn’t even set all the way yet and it already made the forest look dark and creepy. Despite seeing the horrors of the Death Angels, you still knew you had other things to be afraid of, especially in the woods.

You gave Eric a sad look, sighing before putting your hand on his shoulder gently. “It’s getting late…”

He shook his head, tears brimming his eyes. “No. No, he’s still out here somewhere.”

“We can’t do much else when it’s dark like this, Eric. Cats usually find their way home all the time.”

“But this isn’t like him to wander off and not come back for so long. What if he’s in trouble?” Eric panicked, his breathing rapid, his hand coming to grip at his own chest.

“Hey, hey…” You spoke softly, following him when he started to sink to the ground, his breathing coming out ragged and whimpers escaping his lips. “Frodo’s a smart cat, okay? He’ll be okay, he’s probably just…chasing mice or something.” Eric’s panicked state didn’t cease, and you started to get panicked yourself. You were out in the dark woods with a man having a panic attack, and all you could think to do was hold him until he settled down, so that’s what you did. You sat behind Eric, wrapping your arms around him and shushed him softly. “It’s okay, it’s gonna be okay…”

“I need him…” Eric sobbed in your arms, coiling into a ball like a child and leaning his weight onto you, his head resting on your chest, surely being about to hear your heartbeat. “He’s all I’ve got left…”

You have me, you wanted to say, but that seemed a little much. You didn’t know him as well as you would’ve liked, even if you were a bit attached to each other in a way. You wanted to comfort him, but it felt like his whole psyche was being held together because of that cat. Frodo needed to return, for Eric’s sake. Eventually, you started to feel Eric’s breathing become steadier and less sporadic, and his body stopping trembling, only a few hiccups at a time escaping his mouth. He relaxed slightly, sitting up with a blush on his face, his expression still sorrowful but more calm.

“He’s not even my cat…” Eric whispered, breaking the silence.

“What?”

“Frodo,” he sniffled, “he wasn’t my cat at first. Before I came here, I met this woman, Sam, he was her cat.”

Suddenly, the cat’s name made more sense. You had a feeling you already knew what happened, but you decided to ask anyway. “And…why is Frodo with you now?”

“Sam was sick…really sick, before this all started. Frodo led me to her on the street when those monsters arrived, and I’d like to think we became friends. Sam, she…she saved my life, she helped me and Frodo get on the last boat in New York, sacrificing herself for us.” Eric started to tear up again, and you took his hand, squeezing gently. He gave you a weak smile. “I know now that it was only a matter of time, even if she came with me, she already didn’t have much time left. But she left Frodo to me, and he’s all I have left in the world. If something has happened to him…Sam’s sacrifice-”

“Hey,” you gently interrupted, “this isn’t your fault, Eric. I’m sure Frodo is perfectly safe, cats are smart and independent. I’ve heard stories of people’s cats disappearing then coming back safe and sound.” You guided him to look at you, trying to give him a reassuring smile. “It’s no use sitting here in the woods at night. We’ll continue searching as soon as the sun comes up, okay?” Eric frowned, but weakly nodded his head. “Let’s go back.”

You helped each other stand, trekking back to your house. Eric didn’t even have to ask to stay, you led him through the threshold of your door without a word, leading him to your living room where you started to light your fireplace. You both settled on the floor in front of your couch, staring into the flames, sharing a blanket. You sat close together, your knees touching, and you realized your face wasn’t heating up because of the fire.

“You never told me how you ended up here.” Eric broke the silence once more, and you inhaled sharply, the memories coming back in full force, unwillingly.

You cleared your throat to speak, Eric told you his story, it was only fair you told him yours.

“That day, I was napping after work and I woke up to a loud rumbling that shook my whole apartment. The plates in my cabinets fell and shattered, same with any pictures I had hung up on my walls. I was so disoriented, I must’ve been in a deep sleep. My mom was calling me nonstop until I picked up, she screamed at me to stand inside my apartment…then I heard one of those…things, and I knew she was dead. I couldn’t move, or speak, I couldn’t do anything but curl into a ball and lay there until my dad found me. He saved my life, like Sam saved yours.”

“Is he…?”

“Yes. He led them away so I could get on a boat…I can still hear it. Him. Being killed by them.” A tear fell over your cheek, the stain burning your flesh. But before you could roughly palm it away, a gentle touch whisked it away like wind blowing away a feather. Eric looked at you with pity, his hesitant hand pulling away and reaching for your hand. Usually, you hated being pitied, but Eric had this way about him, his big brown eyes didn’t make you feel embarrassed about being pitied like you normally would be if it were anyone else.

Maybe it was because it felt like the world was ending not even a week ago, maybe you grew braver when you felt you had nothing else to lose, but you thought Eric was entirely irresistible at that exact moment and you couldn’t stop yourself from slowly leaning towards him, yours eyes flitting back and forth between his and his lips. To your relief, Eric didn’t seem to mind, in fact, he seemed to have the same idea.

You exhaled shakily through your nose as your lips finally connected with Eric’s, his lips as soft as they looked. You felt the heat of his flushed cheeks against where the tip of your nose grazed his skin, and you were sure he could feel yours. You hadn’t kissed anyone in ages, you weren’t sure how well practiced you could’ve been, but it didn’t seem to matter. This kiss wasn’t about showing off your supposed skills, it wasn’t even fueled by lust as much as it felt like it, it was about comfort and vulnerability. You both had shared each other’s trauma from Day One, all the emotions of fear, grief, guilt, and loneliness, all pouring into one kiss.

You felt Eric’s body tremble as you trailed your hands up his arms and around his neck, pulling him closer to you, both of your breathing becoming shallow and unsteady as the kiss deepened, transforming into something more passionate, a promise of something more intense if it continued. You wanted it to continue, so, so badly.

“Is this okay?” You asked breathily, pulling away slightly to look into his eyes. Eric’s eyes were slightly darkened and hooded with lust, and you realized you probably didn’t even need to ask. He wanted this as much as you did, and he answered by pulling you onto his lap, your legs on either side of his hips. You gasped as you felt his already hardened length press against you, twitching against your own heat.

“Please…” Eric almost whined, his golden brown eyes begging you for more. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to do so much so quickly, but you didn’t care. Those Death Angels could evolve and become unkillable for all anyone knew, you weren’t going to have any regrets.

“Take off your clothes.” You spoke, Eric following your order as soon as you gave it, and once completely bare, you reunited in another heated kiss and returned to your original position. “Eric…” You moaned quietly as he placed kisses to your neck with enough pressure to make you weak at the knees. You were already wet from the first couple kisses, you didn’t need any more preparation. You heard Eric suck a breath through his teeth when you grasped his firm cock, the silken skin pleasantly warm and soft in your palm, adjusting yourself to hover slightly above him, placing the ruddy tip of his cockhead at your entrance.

“God, please.” Eric whimpered, gently bucking his hips upwards, his tip barely breaching your core, but it was enough to make you gasp. You gave in to his wanton request and slowly lowered your thighs back to the floor, his cock entering you just as slowly, making the both of you moan softly. He slid it so easily, despite not having had sex with anyone in a while, his cock filling you perfectly full and rubbing against all the wonderful spots inside you, making your mouth open in a perpetual expression of pleasure.

You started to move slowly, raising yourself and lowering yourself in a pace that made your cunt adjust to his size. You could feel him hit the ends of you, deep inside, every time you lowered yourself back down completely, gyrating your hips in a loose circle and squeezing your walls around him because you always elicited a beautiful moan from Eric whenever you did so.

“More, please, darling,” Eric begged, his eyes filling with tears of pleasure and frustration. Though, you needed more too, and you quickly picked up the pace. “Feels so good…feels so good.” He moaned, grabbing ahold of your hips to help you bounce on him. Your thighs started to burn, but it felt too good to stop. You could hear yourself, the soft clicks of your slick and the wet slaps of skin that seemed to echo around the room. You couldn’t keep in your moans whenever your clit rubbed against Eric’s pelvis, that paired with his cock hitting your g-spot every time he bottomed out, you weren’t going to be able to hold on much longer, but fuck, you didn’t want this to end.

“God, it’s been so long, I’m so close already.” You whimpered, holding onto his shoulders for dear life, the only thing grounding you.

Eric nodded, “Me too, darling.” He wrapped his hands around your head, pulling you close until your forehead pressed against his. “It’s okay, you can let go for me, I won’t be able to last much longer either.”

With Eric’s permission, his cock buried deep inside you, you rolled your clit over his pelvis, stimulating both pleasure spots and moaning loudly as your orgasm formed quickly. The heat that built up almost seemed like it was going to burn you from the inside out, the coil in your belly twisting so tightly it snapped, pleasurable relief flowing through you so intensely you lost control of your own body, your fingers digging into Eric’s back and your body spasming above him.

“Fuck, baby,” Eric moaned, planting his feet firmly on the floor to easily pound up into you, the sound of his balls slapping against the curve of your ass piercing your ears, his moans and whines drowning out the sound of your cum slicked cunt. “Can I cum inside you, darling, please?”

“Yes, Eric, please, cum in me.”

“Fuck…!” He whined, his cock twitching inside you as his hips stuttered in their pace, his breathing heavy until he calmed.

You and Eric stayed there for a moment, his cock softening inside you and slipping out, the mix of each other’s cum dripping down your cunt and pooling on his pelvis. Eventually, you both laid down on the couch, Eric laying behind you, his hand draping across your abdomen and keeping your back pressed to his chest.

You didn’t know when you fell asleep, but you woke up with Eric still pressed against you. You twisted around to face him, his peaceful sleeping expression stirring awake from your movements. You smiled when his eyes found yours, slightly red and crusty from sleep, but still entirely adorable to you. You reached a hand up to pet his curls, trailing down until your hand rested against the top of his arm. “How’d you sleep?”

Eric breathed in a deep inhale, moaning softly. “The best sleep I’ve had in ages.” His deep morning voice had you feeling like you wanted a repeat of the previous night already.

“Me too.”

You leaned in to kiss Eric but was interrupted by the sound of scratching on your front door, and loud mews that resembled a crying baby. You and Eric gave each other one single look before clothing yourselves and bolting to the door, quickly opening it to find, lo and behold, Frodo the cat looking up at each of you expectantly, almost like a look of annoyance on his whiskered face.

Eric scooped him up in his arms, relief flooding his face as he brought the kitty to his face to kiss him. “You little-, where have you been? We’ve been worried sick!” The cat only gave a meow in response.

You giggled, “I told you he’d come back.”

Eric only gave you a fond but annoyed look in response, and he gave Frodo a similar look. “Come on then, let’s get you some food.” And after the feline was fed, you all settled onto the couch in slight emotional exhaustion. The cat was nothing but trouble, you mused, but he also brought Eric to you so he couldn’t be that bad.

You smiled as Eric cuddled against Frodo on the other side of the couch. Your heart felt warm at the sight, and it scared you. After all you had been through, was it worth getting your soul crushed again if you let yourself care even more for this man? Maybe, you told yourself. You never really felt so connected to one singular person like this before. Sure, you had past partners, but they didn’t understand you, not like Eric seemed to. He had issues, like you. He lost so much, and so did you. Didn’t you deserve some happiness after the world tried killing itself?

Eric looked up at you with the widest smile you had ever seen on him so far, giving Frodo some well earned scritches, so content you could hear his purrs. You thought that you wouldn’t mind sights like this, in fact, you thought you’d like to see this sight for as long as you lived, however long that may be.

Yes, you decided, you’d risk anything and everything to have this, to have Eric in your life. You both deserved happiness, and you and Eric would give that to each other, for as long as possible.

frodo just wanted his parents to finally get together tbh

#eric #eric aqpdo #eric a quiet place day one #eric a quiet place day 1 #eric aqpd1 #eric aqpdo x f!reader #eric aqpdo x fem!reader #eric aqpdo smut #eric aqpdo imagine #am i tagging this right?

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ultraintrovertedgryffindor · 5 months ago

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𝐌𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠

yo here's my annual dark Ettore fic lmao. I've recently become obsessed with the game Mouthwashing and thought it was the perfect setting to do an AU for High Life. Obviously spoilers for the game since I'll mostly be following the plot of it, highly recommend you play it or watch someone play it yourself!

Summary: The crew members of the Tulpar are stranded in the empty reaches of space, shrouded in perpetual sunset. God is not watching.

Warnings: DARK (it's Ettore, what do you expect?), NONCON, smut (MINORS DNI), spoilers for Mouthwashing, sexual violence, rough oral sex (m!receiving), painful sex, pain kink, unwanted pregnancy, misogyny, humiliation, abuse of power, descriptions of injury, suicidal thoughts, suicide and death

word count | 5.9k🤙🏻

An orbital body has been detected 21 AU ahead of the vessel. Please make a manual correction 1.4 degrees leftwards to avoid impact with unknown mass.

The man sneered, his fist clenched in anticipation of what he was about to do…if he should do it or not. This was his only way out of his actions…there was no other way…

He took hold of the pilot wheel with shaking hands, steering it to the right.

An immediate, loud blinking from the ship’s panels made the man jump, Extreme Warning! flashing brightly on the screen in front of him. Direct collision course with orbital body 1.9 AU away. Engaging autopilot to recorrect vessel. Advise crew to take up emergency positions.

There was no other choice…

The man grabbed the override manual key, opening the case to the big, red button that would disengage the autopilot. He released a heavy huff, turning the key and pressed the button. And what was a small, but what he initially thought was a loud blinking noise, turned into blaring sirens, the force of the decibels rattling his eardrums and quickening his heart rate.

WARNING.

CRASH IMMINENT.

As if a fog cleared, feeling the space vessel rumble, shaking his whole body, the man stumbled out of the cockpit with heaving breaths, unable to stand any longer, falling to his knees when he was a better distance away from the flight deck. Holding his head in his hands, he sobbed. He just doomed himself, and his crew. What have I done?

Before The Crash

When you took this job, you thought it would be more…well, more. Not that space travel in itself wasn’t an amazing opportunity, but the vessel you would be traveling in wasn’t that much to see. You couldn’t even see outside the craft, only a giant pixelated wall pretending to be night and day, which you couldn’t decide if it was depressing or hilarious…you silently decided on the latter.

You were a nurse, well, a doctor in training. You were running a little low on money and you couldn’t really afford to say no to this job. Your family begged you not to go on this journey, offering to help you out, but you refused. You were too stubborn and wanted to be independent, you didn’t want your parents to constantly pay for your living. You refused to rely on them, so being one of the onboard nurses for the Tulpar it was.

You heard that the crew usually only consisted of four men, why did the Pony Express decide to change it? You’d never know, but you were grateful for the opportunity nonetheless; so were the other crew members. You only knew one other crewmate, but you didn’t care for them that much. Dibs. She creeped you out for whatever reason. Maybe because of her aloof attitude. How she was able to become a doctor was beyond you, she had some of the worst bedside manners you’d ever seen. It was a shame she was technically your boss. In fact, she was the one who wanted to take you along, “better to learn on the job” was her words. You couldn’t complain, she was a good teacher, if not a bit unorthodox in her teaching style.

You didn’t really have a chance to meet the other crew members until you actually boarded the vessel to take off into space, even then it was only brief introductions, i.e. your name and occupation on board. Once the vessel was comfortably on its course to the destination, then the more in depth intros could begin.

You immediately took a liking to Tcherny, the ship’s captain; he was friendly and outgoing, the type you'd enjoy having a beer with at a bar. You were warned he had a bit of a temper, but it wouldn’t be an issue if you stayed on his good side. He was appreciative to have medical assistance aboard this time around, “too many cuts and bruises I had to mend myself along with these idiots,” he said, the “idiots” in question being the original three of the four men working aboard the Tulpar.

Monte, the ship’s mechanic and maintenance man, which suited him, he was abrasive but otherwise not that threatening. And Chandra, well…bit of a space cadet, which was ironic.

The co-pilot on board…Ettore…just looking at him gave you the shivers. His eyes were as cold as ice and glassy, as if there were nothing behind them, but perhaps you were just being too judgmental. At first glance, this man was very handsome, your type even, but the way he looked you up and down like a piece of meat made you, for the first time, made you regret ever setting foot onto this ship.

After The Crash

You stared down at Tcherny on the med bay cot, bloody and covered head to toe in bandages. He was in so much pain, you could tell by his almost inaudible moans, what was left of his arms and legs twitching uncontrollably. You knew no amount of painkillers in the world would help reduce his pain, and the ship was running out faster that you’d care to admit. The captain wasn’t going to last much longer…maybe it would be better that way. But for now, the least you could do was give him his daily dose of oxycodone, even if he didn’t deserve them. You weren’t a monster.

Opening Tcherny mouth almost made you vomit, the sticky bandages clinging to your palm. There weren’t any more to replace the bloody ones… You tried to find the best way to get the pill down his throat. He couldn’t swallow, so you had to force it…

Tcherny started to gag around your hand-

Yeah, fuckin’ take it-

You froze, tears coming to your eyes, and quickly pulled your hand out of Tcherny’s mouth, almost dropping the pill onto the floor. You covered your mouth to hold in a sob, and you could see some kind of regret in Tcherny’s eyes, still conscious even with his horrific injuries.

You sighed heavily, you couldn’t do it and it’s not like Dibs was around anymore to take over…

“How’s he doing?” You froze at Ettore’s voice, your body tensing uncomfortably.

That’s a good girl.

You blinked, wrapping your arms around yourself tightly. “He doesn’t want to keep still anymore.” You spoke softly.

“What about the painkillers?”

“He-” You heard Tcherny’s gagging in your head, the sound all too familiar as you heard it in your dreams constantly. “It just hurts him so much. I can’t stand the noise.”

Ettore huffed a condescending chuckle, raising an eyebrow at you. “You did make it through nursing school, right? Pony Express sure does know how to cut corners, if nothing else.” He snarked with an eyeroll.

The comment cut deep, especially coming from him, but you chose to ignore it. “Oh, also..um…” You started shakily, so afraid asking Ettore this would make him lash out at you, “I was hoping you could help me with Captain-”

“Just Tcherny now, love.” Ettore corrected, his eyes dark despite the pet name.

Your heartbeat quickened in fear, your hands clamming up, having to rub them on your uniform pants. “Right, sorry…with Tcherny’s medication?”

“People have to be worth their titles.” He snapped. “Don’t you think, nurse?”

Your face must’ve been bright red, the fear and embarrassment coursing through you like tidal waves. “...Y-Yeah, forget I asked.”

Ettore huffed, unimpressed by your display. “I’ll take care of it.” And without any word about it, he grabbed the pill from your hand and started to shove it down Tcherny’s throat without any care or thought into the action. The bandaged man gagged loudly, involuntarily coughing and choking. The sight brought tears to your eyes, but Ettore’s face was plain as stone face and you couldn’t take it anymore.

“I-I can’t bear to listen…Excuse me, sorry!” You ran out of the med bay before finding a fake potted plant to puke in, tears rolling down your face and your nose stinging. You sat outside the hallway towards the med bay, trying to calm yourself down, but Ettore found you.

“We don’t have a lot of painkillers left, but you still want to keep-?”

“Why do you think he did it?” You interrupted.

Ettore sighed, already annoyed with this conversation. “Does it matter? What answer would make you feel any better?”

You sniffled, looking up at him. “I have to believe our worst moments don’t make us monsters, Ettore. I have to…even in his case.”

Ettore’s expression hardened, refusing to look you in the eye. “Tcherny tried to take us all down with him. The way I see it, there’s only two reasons to keep him alive at this point. Guess the important bit is that we all agreed to it. For one reason or another.”

Your mouth feels so good…

You gagged, closing your eyes tightly. “...I’m still feeling nauseous. I need a minute.”

Ettore rolled his eyes yet again, but seemed to agree to let you take that minute. “Alright, but we’re all meeting at the cargo hold. Gonna find out exactly what we’ve been transporting and see if it’ll lengthen our lifespans on this godforsaken rock.”

Mouthwash…the goods you were transporting was fucking mouthwash. Everyone looked at the thousands upon thousands of cardboard boxes containing the minty blue liquid. You could vaguely recall seeing the ad on television, “All day fire fresh! Dragonbreath mouthwash!” You wanted to cry, you couldn’t even use it as a cleaning agent, the sugar content was way too high. Though Monte found better uses for it, the alcohol level was high enough to get you intoxicated if you drink enough of it. That’s the last thing this journey needed: drunk crewmates.

You sighed tearfully, sitting next to Tcherny, so many thoughts in your head that you wanted to voice but you knew he wouldn’t be able to talk back, save for groans or sharp breaths. You placed your hand on your stomach, the slightest of bumps, rubbing back and forth gently…you felt nothing.

Before The Crash

You stared at the monitor, a little speck on life swirling around inside your uterus. You couldn’t feel it, just the cold of the ultrasound applicator. It’s like it wasn’t even your body, or your life, not anymore.

You couldn’t look at Dibs’ face, a wide creepy grin plastered on her porcelain skin. How could she be happy about this, knowing this meant either of two things: your death or this baby’s. How could she really think she could sustain this extremely fragile life in these conditions? How could she force you to go through something you’ve been the most terrified of your entire life? How could she go through this knowing what you had to go through to get here?

“This is a miracle.” She tried to convince you, you had to restrain yourself from stabbing her with a scalpel. This was no miracle, it was a curse. You never wanted this, and if he found out…

Tcherny told you not to tell him yet, wait for him to be there; wait for him to be there to make sure he doesn’t hurt you again. But you didn’t listen, you told him and it was the worst decision you ever made in your life.

The first time Ettore fisted his cock to the thought of you, not even a week into the journey, he knew he was in for a long, impulsive time.

Aboard the Tulpar, there was not that much room to have your own space. It was a ship to transport goods, that was it. The crew was supposed to only be four, and all men, but the Pony Express higher ups decided that the crew required more diversity, that’s where you came in, and the other bleeding cunts. You were a vision, like an oasis in the middle of the desert. Ettore knew he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off of you.

There was a reason this was one of the only jobs Ettore could do, or even be hired to do. Being a registered sex offender didn’t offer many career fields and having a crew of only men on this job made his parole officer really, really happy. No tits as far the eye could see, no temptations or triggers. So much for that…Ettore couldn’t even keep his eyes off your chest wherever you walked past…they were gonna need a bigger ship.

It wasn’t the best job in the world, but it did pay well. As for how his parole officer convinced the judge to let him have a job that required space travel, well, it’s not like there was anywhere to run if he tried escaping; it would’ve been suicide. Perhaps it would’ve been better…better than having goodie two shoes Tcherny as the boss and captain. Ettore found the man absolutely insufferable. Never allowed to break the rules, never allowed to have fun. They weren’t even allowed to know what “goods” they were transporting. There was one thing about him though that worked in his favor if he gave into his temptations, Tcherny always tried seeing the best in people, even at their worst. Even if Ettore did something unsavory, he wouldn’t even get a slap on the wrist. Tcherny was one of those, “I’m not mad, just disappointed” and “just do better next time” types. Those types of people never got anything done, and were not meant to be in positions of power. What it came down to it, the rest of the crew couldn’t really count on Tcherny to do anything other than captain this vessel.

Ettore watched you, and he knew that you knew he was watching you. He could tell you knew what he was. He saw it in you the first day you met. He looked you up and down, admiring your full features, the way your breasts and ass creased the Pony Express uniform you were all forced to wear. He saw your eyes, full of suspicion and something akin to fear. He was going to have you, whether you accepted it or not.

It’s not like you could ignore him either, the ship was not as big as you would’ve liked it to be. Most of the time, even Ettore felt it was claustrophobic at times, especially with the other crewmates on board. He could sense you tensing every time you were in the same room, or even passed each other in the halls. What was worse for you was the scheduled psych evaluations, to make sure everyone was keeping their sanity, but Ettore lost his long before this job. Ettore took these times to really mess with you. “I have begun to find myself sexually excited by cartoon horses,” Ettore once told you, referring to the Pony Express’ creepy mascot, Polle. He smirked when you frowned in discomfort; after that, Tcherny started doing his evaluations. Ettore thought you were a coward. You were a nurse, weren’t you? You had to be tough about these things, or else you’d never be the doctor you wanted to be. He also didn’t want you to poke his brain either, he’d be dead before he let you therapize him.

It seemed, in his poor rationale, what the captain announced to everyone at his birthday dinner was the final straw that broke the camel’s back. Pony Express was shutting down. He, and everyone but the captain, was going to be out of a job. Tcherny had connections, he would be fine, but everyone else, and Ettore…

Up until that point, Ettore had been good about not harassing you…completely, that is. He had already broken multiple boundaries by fisting his cock to completion every night to the thought of your mouth wrapped around it instead. Yeah, he might’ve copped a feel or two by “accident.” He might’ve made some explicit jokes at your expense, but that was it. Ettore would’ve been proud of himself if he had any normal amount of shame or regret, but he always thought holding himself back was a waste of time. He didn’t believe in himself to not hurt you, it wasn’t how he was wired. He was a predator, a sadistic one at that. He relished seeing the fear in a woman’s eyes as he took them by force, their cries for him to stop, to go easy at least. But their cries only made him go harder, faster, until they broke and bled. He wanted to do that to you too. He needed release.

There were no locks on the crew quarters, a feature that made everyone but Ettore uneasy. He knew no one would even think of breaking into his room, unless they wanted a sudden termination from this job. Ettore often thought of entering your room while you slept, knowing there would be nothing to stop him from taking you, but he never crossed that boundary. But now, he was going to be out of a job. He would have nothing once he got back to Earth, so there was no reason to keep up this charade of being a good copilot now.

Ettore didn’t even think about knocking, he pushed open your door with a heavy clang, startling you. You were already on your bed, your eyes red and puffy, obviously crying because of the news. “I don’t have any savings,” you had weeped. And who’s fault is that, bitch? He thought. He didn’t get the weepy nature of women, always crying and crying. If something needs to get done, do it. If there’s nothing to be done, there’s no use crying over it. The sight made him uncomfortable, but his cock stirred in his pants knowing that sound never travelled far in such tight quarters. He could do whatever he wanted…and no one would bother them.

“What are you doing here?” You asked shakily, your brows creasing together and fists clenching at the inappropriate intrusion.

Ettore shrugged nonchalantly, “Came to check up on ya.” He chuckled unhumorously, he couldn’t act caring even if he tried; you knew that too, that’s why you slowly got up from your bed and went to your sink at the other side of the room. He didn’t spot much you could’ve used as a weapon: a comb, a toothbrush and floss. It was cute that you thought you could try fighting him off with such measly items. You grabbed the comb under the guise of straightening up your hair for whatever reason, and he couldn’t help but smirk. “Whatcha gonna do with that, love?”

“Ettore…” You started, “I know we’re all upset about the captain’s news today, but that shouldn’t excuse…outbursts. We need to keep our heads here. We can’t do whatever we want, we still have a job to do.”

Ettore grinned widely, an unhinged aura surrounding him. “Upset?” He laughed, “That’s an understatement if I ever heard one. I am livid.” With every sentence, he took a small step closer to you, taking his time, like a lion. “You think I wanted to be on this fuckin’ death trap? I only took this job to avoid prison.” He laughed darkly.

Your eyes widened, clutching your comb in your hand until it almost shattered. “What were you convicted for?”

Ettore smirked. “Sexual assault, on multiple counts.” And with that confession, he lunged for you and you didn’t even have time to react. He was faster than you, and more agile. You tried swinging at him with your comb, but he grabbed it and easily snapped it in half. “You’re cute.”

“Ettore, please, you don’t have to do this!” You cried out as he forced you on your knees, the cold floor sending shivers up your body even through the thick uniform pants.

“Yes, I do. If you want me to keep co-piloting this ship to the best of my ability, I need some release. You can think of this as keeping the rest of the crew safe, yeah? Be a good little nurse and be selfless for everyone else.”

You were hopeless, as much as you told yourself out of flight, fight, or freeze, you were a fighter…you weren’t. You froze. You silently cried as Ettore took his cock out, shoving it in your mouth without proper care or finesse. It was thick and long enough that it made you gag violently as the weeping tip hit the back of your throat. “Oh fuuuuuuck…your mouth feels so good.” Ettore moaned, his body shivering as he felt your throat clench around his cock, trying to expel the foreign intrusion. You hit his thighs with your fists, coughing and choking while trying to push him away. “Hmm…” He groaned as he pulled out, your heaving gasps making him smirk, “You’re not a proper slut, are you, love? Am I breaking you in?”

You, in fact, were not a slut. Between university and a busy schedule, you didn’t have time for dating anyone, much less a sexual partner. You weren’t a virgin, but you had only been with one person for a few years before mutually deciding it was better to be friends. He was a kind man, never forcing you to do anything you didn’t want to do, including pleasuring him with your mouth. You didn’t mind it, but it definitely wasn’t your favorite. You only did it to please him, his pleasure important to you as well as your own. But whenever you did it, it was always gentle and not messy, not like how you saw porn stars do it, and your ex never set an aggressive pace, he always let you do it how you liked. Ettore was no such gentleman.

Ettore set a brutal pace, only letting up when you were about to pass out. You couldn’t count how many times you thought you were going to throw up, your gag reflex being bruised every time he hit the back of your throat. Tears streamed down your face, drool pouring out of your mouth, but the sight must’ve aroused Ettore as he twitched in your mouth and threw his head back in ecstasy. You thought, maybe if he orgasmed he would be satisfied with that and leave you alone. But he came, and he made no move to leave. “Fuck, I wanted to use your mouth ever since I saw those pretty lips of yours.”

You sobbed on the floor, his seed leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. You wished for the floor to open and the strong suction of space swallow you whole.

“Get up.”

You blinked up at him. “W-What?”

Ettore rolled his eyes, grabbing you by the hair and forcefully lifting you from the cold floor. You yelped in pain, trying to pull away but that only made the pull on your roots more severe. “On the bed. Now. I’m not done with you.” He ordered coldly, his cock standing at full attention already.

“Please, Ettore, no more…” You cried, only to get a harsh slap across the face.

“What the fuck did I just say? On. The. Bed.” He didn’t give you another chance to disobey, tossing you onto your small bed as if you only weighed an ounce. You grunted in discomfort and panic as Ettore followed, settling himself on top of you, pushing your back into the mattress with both of his hands, his full weight on you making it hard to catch your breath. You yelped as he roughly pulled your trousers and panties down in one swift movement, placing a stinging smack against your ass. “Fuck, you’re so soft.” You could hear the smirk in his voice, his rough palms soothing over the dark mark he made on your sensitive skin.

“Don’t, please…” You felt like a broken record, pleading to a man for empathy he never had for you in the first place. It was the way he always talked to you or Dibs, the lack of respect even for medical professionals solely because you were women. It was only a matter of time, wasn’t it?

You tensed as you felt Ettore’s hands spread your ass cheeks apart, you blushed as you felt him inspecting you, running one of his thumbs over your folds, gently prodding your entrance, humming in disapproval when he found you weren’t wet at all. “You’re just making this harder for yourself, love.” You tried squirming away, clutching your sheets in a desperate attempt to claw yourself out from under his grasp, but Ettore simply took your arms and locked them behind your back, using his belt to keep them there. “Be a good little nurse and stay still for me.”

You sobbed loudly as you felt the tip of his cock prodding at your entrance, your tears spilling off your face and creating a dark spot on your pillow. “Ettore, don’t-!” You shouted in pain as Ettore forced himself inside you, filling you up completely with no preparation, a loud curse coming from his mouth. You winced and whimpered as you felt your walls being torn up by the forceful friction. “So tight, damn.”

“Mmm…” You whimpered, your breaths coming out shakily as you throbbed in pain, your eyebrows in a perpetual furrow. You buried your head in your pillow as Ettore started to thrust, your cries being muffled and your tied hands curling into fists, your nails digging into your palms. “Ah-!” You yelped as Ettore jerked your head back by the roots of your hair, pounding into you with abandon.

“Let me hear those noises you’re making, slut.” Ettore grunted, the loud plaps of his thighs hitting your ass making you cringe. You shivered as you could feel his low hanging balls slap against your clit with every thrust, a heat building inside you, though you did not want it. You started to hear your pussy click with the arousal you were starting to produce, the slimy slick coating Ettore’s cock and making the pain become pleasurable. Your clit ached and throbbed as Ettore kept hitting deeper and harder inside you. “Yeah, fuckin’ take it, bitch. Take my big fuckin’ cock. I can hear how much you love it, fuck.”

“I hate you…” You moaned, unable to hide how good you were feeling. You were close, and it terrified you. You did not want to give that asshole the ego boost, but you couldn’t control it. “No…god-!”

“Oh yeah, baby, cum on that cock. I know you want to. I can feel your pussy squeezing me. Let go, let it go.” Ettore demanded, pistoning into you harder until you couldn’t help but scream. He reached around to rub your clit harshly, making you hiss until you spasmed with the first shocks of your oncoming orgasm. “That’s it, that’s it…”

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and you braced for the onslaught of pleasure that wracked your entire body, your legs shaking until your knees couldn’t keep yourself up anymore. You felt like a boneless fish as your orgasm left you, leaving only guilt and pain in its wake. Though, that didn’t stop Ettore from continuing his assault on your cunt, groaning loudly as he dick twitched inside you. You were so out of it that you almost forgot you weren’t on birth control. “Not inside, please, not inside!” You begged Ettore, sobering from the haze of unwanted pleasure. And for the first time that whole night, he listened.

Ettore seemed to make a muffled whimper before pulling out of you, stroking his cock roughly; you sighed in relief as you felt his sticky spend lightly dusting the expanse of your back. There was still a chance, but at least it would be less than if he were to release inside you…at least, that’s what you hoped.

Ettore, without another word, rose from his place on top of you and left your quarters while you continued to lay on your bed in a mess of cum and tears. You figured that was the end of it, but you were sorely mistaken.

It almost became a routine. Next thing you knew, you started counting the days your period was late and then one day cycle, you were stuck with your head over the toilet heaving up your breakfast.

Ettore fucked up. He knew he fucked up. If you told anyone, if you told Monte…even the captain maybe.

Ettore didn’t know why, but he was scared of death. The thought of the life draining from him, it was terrifying. He deserved worse for sure, but that didn’t stop him from regretting it at least a little bit. But you felt…so good. And he couldn’t give that feeling up, even if you wanted to.

The next few days seemed to blur together, he was surprised he didn’t feel that way before. For Ettore, it was only working on autopilot until he could be inside you again. But there was a wrench thrown into his plans.

Doctor Dibs, or the witch doctor as most called her, was found dead in her quarters, a scalpel in one hand and a letter in another. Clearly, she hadn’t taken the news that she was getting laid off so well. Understandably, you were a wreck. You didn’t exactly care for her as much, but she was the only other woman on board, even if her reaction to your pregnancy was elation. You were now completely and utterly alone, with your abuser.

Ettore figured he’d give you a respite from your nightly activities, women tending to need more time to grieve. It was only two days, which seemed more than enough time for Ettore, but you kicked and screamed as he entered your quarters, his cock already at attention. “I’m giving you a distraction, be grateful,” He told you.

You never wanted this, you figured nobody did. And when the ship crashed, all hope you might’ve held on to, which wasn’t much, disappeared. Tcherny was useless now, but you had a feeling he never would’ve been in the first place. When you finally told him about your pregnancy and the cause of it, he would’ve rather you kept it quiet than confront the issue. You knew he was a pushover, but you didn’t think that would stop him from keeping his fellow crewmates safe from each other. How wrong you were…

When you told Ettore, it was mostly out of spite. You were scared, but you thought, “What’s the worst that could happen?” Turns out, so much worse than you could even imagine.

“...I’m pregnant.”

Ettore froze. But…he always pulled out, he always tried to be careful, in that aspect. He was livid. How dare you tell him this? How dare you mess up this nice arrangement you had between the two of you? But then he started to think, what would happen when they got back to Earth? He surely would be out of this job, and probably back in prison. No…he couldn’t have that. Not again.

Ettore said nothing as he walked away from you, his fists clenched, heading towards the cockpit. Tcherny tried talking to him, but he wouldn’t have any of it. In his mind, he had already made a decision. It wasn’t the best one, but there was no other choice for him.

An orbital body has been detected 21 AU ahead of the vessel. Please make a manual correction 1.4 degrees leftwards to avoid impact with unknown mass.

Ettore sat in his copilot’s chair, staring at the big bold letters blinking on the screen. He sneered, all he had to do was slightly tilt the wheel to the left, and the ship would continue to sail through space smoothly. He clenched his fist tightly, feeling the blunt tips of his nails bite into the skin of his palm, the pain not doing much to dissuade him from his idea.

With a shaky exhale, Ettore steered the ship’s wheel to the right.

After The Crash

None of you were sure how things ended up like this: a ship covered in foam, your pilot unable to even move without screaming in pain, food and drink resources running dangerously low, the source of a poor excuse of nutrition being stupid bottles of mouthwash, and you, a pregnant woman with no support system and the father being the stuff of nightmares.

There was nothing to live for anymore. Nothing. You were sure none of you would even make it out alive anyway, not with Ettore running things now, and surely not with the ship floating aimlessly in space with no way to ask the company on Earth for help. The more you thought about it, the more you felt validated and the more an idea of your own seemed to make more sense.

You sat by Tcherny’s bedside, giving him your last looks of pity before swallowing down the rest of his painkillers with the foul mouthwash. “I’m sorry, Tcherny, I’m stealing your medicine. But hey, it’s the least you could do for me, right? After all, this wouldn’t have happened if you just talked to Ettore.” You huffed a shaky breath, tears streaming down your face. “I forgive you, if it matters. I know you just wanted to avoid conflict, maybe if we made it back before everything that happened, I have a feeling you would’ve stuck up for me.”

A banging on the door shook you out of your one sided conversation with the former captain. “Hey, I brought Ettore!” You heard the voice of Chandra through the medical bay door, “We’re here to rescue you!” You almost laughed, if anything, he was going to need to be rescued from Ettore, sooner or later.

“Hey, heard the lock is broken.” Ettore called out, “Hey, can you hear me, little nurse?”

You cringed, “Yeah, I can hear you, Ettore.”

“The rest of our medicine stash is in there too, did you really put your back into it?” Yeah, you did, into blocking the door to make sure no one got in through there. “Is the door stuck?” You heard Ettore’s voice drop an octave, if you could see him, you were sure he’d have an expression of dark annoyance.

“...no.” You sighed, your hands shaking, your stomach started to hurt badly. You sat on the cold floor next to Tcherny’s cot, your vision speckled with dark spots.

Ettore huffed, “Look, we’re all stressed. But you can’t go breaking down at every little hardship. Open the damn door.” His tired, condescending voice boomed through the metal of the door.

Your lips quivered in fear, the tears falling nonstop. You started to vomit, but you held it in. You didn’t want to waste a single pill. This was it.

“It’s okay, Ettore, I always believed our worst moments didn’t define us. Didn’t make us beyond repair. You think I wanted this either? Make no mistake, this isn’t my worst moment. Far from it. It’s the best one I’ll ever make.”

“Open the door, love...” The door boomed with the force of his fist hitting the metal. “Open the fuckin’ door!”

“I’ll take care of it, Ettore.” You can’t control me anymore…

You were never a malicious person, or at least you thought so, that’s why you were almost shocked at the weak smile that crept onto your face as you felt the life slowly drain from you.

He’d never be a father, he’d never be able to meet this child. Whether he wanted to or not, you reveled in the fact he had no choice, as much choice as he gave you in the first place. The cramps were excruciating, another almost life that you felt draining from you…but you smiled, smiling at your last petty thoughts for Ettore.

…I hope this hurts.

*gestures vaguely towards the fic vaguely*

#high life 2018 #high life #ettore high life #ettore #ettore smut #ettore imagine #ettore x reader #ettore x fem!reader #ettore x f!reader #dark

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ultraintrovertedgryffindor · 5 months ago

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𝐬𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐥𝐟, 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐞.

┊ count orlok x fem!reader.

✠⠀༷ ゜ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: after uncovering an heirloom thought to be long-buried and forgotten to time, your flesh is joined as one with the enigmatic count.

read part one here.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 8.0K.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: heavy smut, willing consent, vampire antics (bloodplay, blood drinking, scent kink), extreme possessive & obsessive behavior, biting, scratching, making out, tearing clothing, unprotected p in v sex, loss of virginity, sex with a rotting vampire, cunnilingus, cockwarming, multiple orgasms, title kink (use of my lord), dracula references, a relationship based on lust/obsession/possession and not love.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: writing this has given me joy about writing again & it’s a fantastic feeling! loved working on this fic! thank you to everyone who has shown such love and support for my work, this is why I write and it means a lot to me! I hope you guys enjoy!

𝐃𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐭𝐨𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐚𝐰𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭. 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐧 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞.

Each night since he had first fed from you followed a similar pattern, lulled into a sensual subservience by his shadow, soothed by the allure of his voice. There was an innate lack of physicality that perplexed you, as if he were waiting for something else.

This enforced isolation by daylight allowed you to traverse the castle grounds, to explore the hallowed halls of this macabre mausoleum — you never felt truly alone. His presence stayed with you, a shadow haunting your steps.

Beneath the crunch of frozen undergrowth, you wandered. Within the shroud of the Carpathian Mountains, the fortress had seemed monumental, but in the flesh, it was smaller, a labyrinth of stone. It gave you ample time to admire the architecture and study his home.

The village became a mere afterthought, abandoned to the recesses of your mind, buried away, never to be uncovered. Your Lord was not physically present, more often than not, and you began to burn for his touch.

Phantom caresses and arduous visions could only sustain your craving for him for so long. He was not unkind, simply aloof and enigmatic, a being that seemed to give you everything you wanted, and nothing at all.

He had swathed you in clothing finer than you could ever imagine, fit for a noblewoman, lavished you in fine trappings and allowed you your own chambers. Even then, you wanted more — you wanted to be with him, beseech him to stay.

Wisps of warmth emerged from your lips as you stepped beneath an archway, the stone older than your predecessors. The grounds, still and eerie, retained a wealth of history, his ancestors still buried somewhere within the catacombs.

Orlok, you’d learned, was his ancestral surname, passed down through a noble lineage of a royal bloodline that far exceeded that of your own. He spoke nothing of his own beginnings, preferring to keep it all concealed within the dark.

For most of your life, you’d been taught to fear strigoi, tales of bloodsucking predators looming in the night, coming to snatch the innocent from their beds. You still felt some unusual uneasiness with your Lord, but it was humans you feared more than anything, those that tried to kill you.

Timeworn rags of your old life were left behind, scattered to the wind like a shattered memory. Whatever void was left within you, he filled — like a goblet overflowing with wine, leaving you satiated.

Within dust-laden corridors, you managed to find your way from the castle’s exterior grounds to a spacious hall, one that you had not yet seen. A singular door, tall and scaling, sat before you, the doorknob possessing the head of a gargoyle.

It was untoward for you to go prowling around within the Conta’s private dwellings, and yet, curiosity seemed to get the better of you.

Left unlatched, you gently pushed against the wrought-iron surface, chest lurching with a flurry of anxiousness as it groaned in protest. Sluggingly, it began to fall open, revealing a private study, wreathed in still-burning candlelight.

It was dark, lacking any windows or inklings of natural light. Scaling stone walls were lined in archaic paintings, several massive portraits gilded in frames of tarnished gold. Shadows danced along the bannister, uncertainty swelling within your stomach.

Each painting must’ve been familial, finely-crafted imagery of his ancestors. There was only one that seemed torn to shreds, almost nonexistent as you approached. The name was worn by time, difficult to read, Dacian muddied with the rotten gold of the frame.

The study seemed to have little use, chaotic and visually disorganized, with books and parchment strewn about, the fixtures dilapidated and old. An oaken desk remained scattered with various documents, but it was one item that had ensnared your attention.

A locket, the silver having faded to an ugly, distorted brown, all color and liveliness stripped away. It was inappropriate of you to pry like this, but some unforeseen force compelled you to take it, to open it and peer inside.

Trembling digits slipped around the ornate chain, finding the hinge of the trinket as you opened it. To your surprise, there was a small, painted portrait of a young woman — beautiful, in your eyes. Her attire was ripped from that of royalty, with delicate features and a regal, dignified posture.

Upon closer inspection, she resembled you to an uncanny degree, eyes beset by kindness.

A soft exhale of surprise tore past your lips, thumb tracing over the curve of the locket, brows furrowing together. This stranger’s likeness seemed to replicate yours, almost supernatural, and yet, you couldn’t be farther apart, separated by class and the insurmountable reach of time.

It hadn’t been disturbed for many ages, but the peculiarity of it did not seem to leave you, even as you placed it back down. Perhaps, he’d known of your presence all along, but it did not seem to fit the mystique of it all.

Departing from his study, you closed the door, greeted by the vibrant rays of sunset.

It became a tedious game of awaiting dusk’s arrival, watching as the sun began to slip beneath the mountains, orange rays turning to violet. With twilight encroaching, you knew he would soon awake, emerging from the shadows.

A sliver of your being felt compelled to ask about the locket, but you did not want to invoke his ire, if he were anguished over it. He had left it behind for a reason, buried beneath mountains of parchment, and there must’ve been a reason for it.

The forlorn dinner hall remained empty, save for the roaring hearth, brought to life by your Lord. As you entered through the massive set of wrought-iron doors, you caught a glimpse of his form, sitting closer to the fire.

Even from afar, your gaze was ensnared by the bundle of white, gossamer cloth he carried, the fabric reminiscent of your nightgown. Claws pinched at the material, twisting it between his fingertips as he brought it closer to his visage.

A strange spark stirred within your stomach, a familiar heat that seemed to ignite some crackling tension, allowing it to permeate the air. A hitch formed within your throat as you closed the door, the thump of it reverberating throughout the stone ceilings.

A hoarse rasp emerged from Orlok, an unsteady inhale as he absorbed the scent of your garments. In the time between, when he slumbered within his tomb, it was your smell he longed for, akin to that of some mortal addiction.

As you entered the hall, he withdrew your gown from his countenance, able to sense your beating heart, growing erratic in his presence. Black hues craned to peer over his shoulder, masked by the thick fur of his overcoat.

The bane of his being, his obsession, his lifeblood — during his days of arduous slumber, his thoughts crawled with you, of your amorous cries and keening body. There was a newfound ecstasy in the coming of dusk, when he could see you again — no vision placed within his mind’s eye.

He was not an oblivious creature, not impervious to your misadventures within his castle. Your scent lingered, permeating each corridor with a peculiar bouquet of warmth, one that only you possessed.

Your living presence breathed a certain exuberance into the veil of his shadow, where life was little more than a meaningless sentiment. His decay only seemed stilled by your heart, a precious thing, something that he deeply coveted.

It was in his nature to possess, to consume — he welcomed you into his tangled shroud, a dark haze that often invoked such fright. Your terror had subsided into carnality, a frenzied passion that he shared in, but had not yet acted upon.

Peering into your heart, the Count saw your wandering about within his study, mesmerized by paintings of his predecessors — and then, cradling a tarnished locket. A growl of agitation rippled through him, coupled with a rousing anger.

“Thou has traversed to places of grave importance,” The gravelly, thunderous lull of his cadence sent shivers of dread down your spine, born out of a gnawing anxiousness. He knew that you’d gone into his study, a place he considered to be private. “Why?”

A stab of lurching dread lunged for your stomach, sending a shiver throughout your body. It was foolish of you to believe that he wouldn’t suspect your prying, hands idly clutching at the fringe of your dress, an attempt at relieving tension.

Slick perspiration licked along the back of your neck as you faced his sharp accusation with a shrewd countenance. “I am sorry, my Lord, I did not intend to disturb your study.” It was a feeble attempt at mending the friction between the both of you.

“But you did,” A living reminder of terror — of his true nature, that of undeath and obliteration. Despite his innate obsession with you, he was still capable of wielding an icy wrath that made you tremble with trepidation. “I command thee to speak.”

A guttural growl erupts from his rotten diaphragm, a snarl that causes you to straighten, gooseflesh raking along your spine. He beseeches you to tell the truth of what you saw, something that your eyes were never intended to see.

“The locket,” A wisp of a murmur slips between your lips, tone softening in a valiant attempt to uncover the mystery of your ancient doppelgänger. “Who was she?” It was an innocuous inquiry, born from a naive heart.

Centuries without a thought of the past, only centered around you — you had brought an onslaught of lamenting with you. The Count did not answer, neglecting to shed any clarity on the woman who bore your own visage.

It was his own hubris that brought about his use of necromancy, thinking he could resurrect one that had long been dormant to the world. For such an action, his flesh was cursed in undeath, roaming the nocturnal world as a harbinger of pestilence, of one’s darkest desires.

“Of little importance.”

There was a fracture within you, a war that waged as you stood with bated breath, pondering his statement with perplexity. You did not believe him when he said this, digits curling into the rough embroidery of your gown.

“I do not believe you.” Lacking an ounce of defiance, your tone screamed of someone who yearned to know more of this shadow that haunted your every step. The Count’s displeasure was visible, countenance twisted into something of sheer anguish.

Within the space of a singular breath, he manifested before you, firelight draining from your surroundings until all that was left was pitch and silver. He was intimidating like this, leering over you like a dark statue, black hues swirling with an unbridled fury.

He was often indiscernible, a presence without any sentiment, and only you could taste them upon your tongue. Now, he seemed to bristle with an unsteady rage, cold breath fanning across your face, his scent one of the yawning grave and frostbitten flesh.

“You do not know what you speak,” His voice was like a poisonous thorn, a clap of thunder that rattled the castle’s foundations. The Count still cradled your nightgown in one hand, twisted in a fist between his claws. “It is a lament, nothing more.”

Clinging to a misbegotten past — within your marrow, you knew that it was a shadow of someone he once coveted, just as he possessed you now. Swallowing the growing lump within your throat, your gaze flickered to the bundle of pale fabric bunched within his grasp.

A flutter stirred within your heart, a skipped beat that elicited a soft gasp from your lips. His shadow blanketed you in his carnality, his obsession, his veneration — it sparked a fire within your belly, one that nearly seared your bones into ash.

Words died upon your tongue, stuck within the depths of your throat as you searched for a proper retort, and nothing emerged. A void of silence seemed to stop you in your tracks, allowing for a tumultuous tension to brew instead.

The Count lingered, hovering in above you, the tip of his nose brushing across your scalp. A gust of your scent invaded his senses, euphoric and overwhelming, a most wicked affliction.

“This lament shares my face,” Threads of a darker temptation began to pull at you, his allure unmistakable, like that of the great unknown. Your utterance gave him pause, body sharing in your space. “Why?”

He would have you in every lifetime, in every century — he would devour time if it meant that he could possess you. It was an ugly obsession, a vexation that you did not fully understand, this hunger that only you could satisfy.

A singular claw languidly danced across the exposed flesh of your neck, pulse pounding away beneath your jaw. It was a sensual touch, one reserved for lovers, a caress that seemed to make your knees tremble.

“𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐦𝐲 𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.”

There was a weight to his confession that stole every shred of air from your lungs until you were left with nothing but a burning. An audible hitch formed within your chest, nerves set ablaze. A fire smoldered within your belly, one that demanded to be extinguished.

Crimson strings of fate, tethering you to him — perhaps, you were intended to be here all along.

Through black forests and silver blades, through snow-laden woodlands and the maddening cries of your once-kin, you had found him. His salvation was not in the form of some fantasy or fairytale, but through him alone, this carnivorous darkness — you were made for him.

With an unsteady exhale, you happened to feel your back lean against that of the hall’s grand door, the steely bite of icy iron sinking through your dress. It wasn’t the uncertain gait of fear, but of bewilderment — exhilaration.

To be coveted in a way that transcended the bonds of humanity, to anchor yourself to this being of carnage and lust — it was a sensation unlike any other. Your tongue felt like lead, heavy within your mouth as you attempted to conjure the right words, anything to convey your devotion.

It was unspoken, your need for him — he could smell it, oozing from your pores like sap from a tree, wafting from your being, the sweetest of scents. He cornered you, his impenetrable darkness corralling you against the door, and yet, you felt not an ounce of dread.

“This flesh is bound to thee, the object of all that I desire,” He rumbled, the lull of his cadence nearly bringing you to your knees, and the flame only grew tenfold. You had not known such reverence in your lifetime — and you knew that you never would again. “You are mine.”

Through bated breath, your heart heaved with ardor, body crawling with the lap of a lascivious heat that refused to cease. “I am yours.” It was a promise, made in the throes of your Lord’s possession, vocalized.

Without coherence, your hand blindly clamored forth, reaching for him in a way that you hadn’t before. Warm, silky digits found his chest, which expanded with each hoarse rasp, a low growl escaping him.

Your embrace evoked a dark, ravenous famine within him, one that threatened to devour you whole. He watched with a thinly-veiled rapture as you sank forth, hands finding his haggard form, clinging to him like a drowning woman.

Rough-hewn furs drifted beneath your fingertips, and at last, you felt him — as real as the dust-laden stone beneath your feet, no longer feeling like some ghostly omnipresence. Claws languidly dragged themselves against your crown, perusing through your tresses in one drawn-out caress.

The soft, pliant curve of your mouth enticed him so, the very essence of temptation, like the lull of a siren’s song from oceanic depths. He wanted you to invite him in, as one would invite a godly presence, let you crawl to him.

Black hues bored into you, indiscernible with an amalgamation of emotions, some hidden to you. A sharp exhale split through your ribs, one that shook with an encroaching exhilaration. Your gaze did not tear away out of fear, transfixed upon him.

“Kiss me,” It emerged as a whimper, a plea of such intense desperation. He had only ever appeared to you as a veiled shadow, never to feel the lively flush of your skin, or the pulsating of your heart within your throat. “Please.”

It was as if his breathing became unnaturally laborious, more than it had before, threaded with a desirous exhale. This act of physicality would inevitably lead to a point of no return, flesh bound as one in some grim eternity.

Your mind had never wavered — not once did you show an ounce of spite or a will to depart from his side, digits beginning to curl into his tunic. You hoped that your touch would beseech him to act, and yet, he remained eerily still.

“You know not what you desire.”

He wanted to hear your devotion firsthand, spilled from your throat, laid bare like a sinner’s shameful confession. A twinge of pathetic frustration began to burn your features, body pressing closer until your chest had brushed against him.

“I do, my Lord, I do — I beg of you,” Breathy, wanton pleas left you in myriads, gaze glistening with an unrestrained ardor. Whatever he wanted from you, he would have it — you belonged to him. At last, his rotting lips ghosted above yours. “Take me — all of me.”

Control seemed fleeting, and you danced along the knife’s edge of desire, hoping to let it plunge into you like a mortal wound. Those elongated claws brushed across your cheek, coming to cradle your jaw in a way that only a lover could.

A throaty sound erupted from your chest, wisps of air ripped from your diaphragm when his lips collided with yours. You had not tasted anything like him before — a decay sweeter than demise. Passion took root, followed by lust.

The prickled coarseness of his mustache scratched against your mouth, and yet it hadn’t felt so heavenly before. Elation rushed through you like the swell of a tempestuous tide, prompting you to mold yourself to his own frame.

A growl stirred within him, one that evoked his possession over you, his domineering will. He tasted life within your lips, the warmth of fire, burning away the forlorn chill of the grave.

It was as if your surroundings had melted away, reduced to an endless sea of darkness, with only him as your guide. A ravenous pull laced itself into his kiss as he pressed you further, a sharp nail tracing across your jugular.

“To your chambers.”

The sharp, gravelly rumble of his cadence tore at your thoughts, ensnaring your attention as you straightened. Pitch-colored hues glowered upon you as you peeled yourself from him, obeying his command as you returned to your quarters.

He had not followed, manifesting beside the window as you shut the door, wrought-iron groaning in protest, echoing throughout the halls. The penumbra of his oppressive shadow fell across you, tangling you within the visceral gnarl of his obsessive desire.

Moonlight pooled through the singular window of your room, liquid silver casting a ghostly light upon his towering physique. No longer aghast by his haggard features, a man reanimated, you inched closer, seeking him once more.

You yearned for his mouth, for his all-consuming kiss, stepping forward until you were merely breaths away, lacking any shred of nervousness. Had you not been fantasizing of this for some time, you might’ve been terrified — instead, you felt excitement.

“Reveal thine flesh, for it belongs to me.” He rasped, desiring to see you closely this time, unable to flee from his gaze. With each visit of his shadow upon you, left him unable to truly revel in your eternal beauty.

Gooseflesh raked across your spine, accompanied by an arousing flame that ignited within your belly, burning so intensely that it threatened to scorch you, too.

You had not experienced an exhilaration quite like this — as longed-for like dusk that yearned for the moon’s enchanting silver.

Trembling digits found the front ties of your dress, untangling them with insistent tugs before you turned, back facing him. A gathering of silken ties and string pieced it all together, and your hands attempted to make swift work of their hindrance.

The feather-light embrace of claws raked across your bare shoulder, roughened pads of his spindly digits absorbing the heat of your skin. A wisp of icy breath rasped from him, hoarse and labored along the nape of your neck.

A shiver of elation rolled across your spine, lips parted with bated breath as he loomed ever closer, towering over you. God, did you want him, needed him — needed him like air, a strangled gasp of desperation.

Gnarled talons bunched themselves within loosened threads, and with an inhuman display of strength, he ripped your dress. Dark hues seemed to flicker, swirling with such lust — he wanted to bite into your passion, let it consume him.

“My Lord.” A wanton mewl slipped past your lips, listening to the shred and rending of fabric as the Count tore it from your body. Tugging your arms from the puffy sleeves, your breasts were exposed to the chill of your chambers.

His dismembering of your garments continued, elongated fingers and talons prying it all away, unraveling you, revealing you to him. Those large, gnarled hands smoothed over the curve of your hips, pushing the dress down, down.

A guttural growl unfurled from within his chest, a sharp noise that rattled your bones with a needy thrill. His initial tenderness was entirely unexpected, silently admiring the unblemished plane of your flesh.

The sharp bridge of his nose slipped against your throat, lips pressing a vigorous kiss there, roughened tongue lapping over your saccharine skin. With a keening moan, you sank into his hold, bristling at the sensation of a hand encircling your breast.

Teeth grazed across the hollow between your throat and shoulder, temptation oozing from your pores before he bit. A ripple of pain spread from his bite, enough to taste the coppery pool of your blood.

It was not a harsh bite, not intended to feed — that would come last. His penchant for your cruor called to him like a hymnal, rough tongue dragging over the wound he’d made. Talons caressed your breast, kneading at the pliant mound.

One palm closed around your neck, caging you in against his frame as he greedily lapped at oozing droplets of crimson. You felt euphoric, eyes pleasantly half-lidded as you stepped from your dress, bare-skinned and willing.

His touch evoked an enraptured ardor from you, a need so overwhelming that it seemed to wash over your core. Arousal hung heavy within the pit of your stomach, molten heat that oozed like honey between your thighs, scent ambrosial to Orlok.

The cool metal of his signet pressed against your jugular, nails cupping your chin. As he withdrew his lips from the hollow, stained in a sheen of crimson, he continued his trail of kisses along the nape of your neck, rumbling with a low rasp.

Each ragged, raucous breath he drew was accompanied by an invasive gust of your musk, vetch and bellflower, native wildflowers found within the Carpathian Alps. It was intoxicating, and he inhaled once more, lips sealed to your shoulder.

At last, he permitted you to look upon him once more, noticing the doe-like sheen to your gaze, the unusual fondness you held for him. Your desire mirrored his own, softer in-nature, but just as vivacious.

Without hesitation, your hands silently clamored toward his gaunt visage, a mask of ghastly appeal, features sharp and haggard. You wondered what he might’ve looked like in life — comely and regal, handsome; a true pylon of nobility.

Warm palms cradled his face, pads of your fingertips wandering across his cheekbones, over patches of decay and rot, over tangles of scars that would never fade. He seemed enamored — obsessed in an unholy sense, drawing to you like a shadow to a pious moon.

“Without thee, this hunger remains eternal — without thee, I cannot be sated.” The thunderous purr of his raspy cadence sent shivers down your spine, body calling out to him. This lust he filled you with was one of sheer ecstasy.

A simpering gasp ripped through your diaphragm, bringing with it a wave of want. It was as if your entire being was tethered to him in some supernatural manner — two souls, once adrift — now, two bodies joined as one.

Words turned to ash upon your tongue, and yet you conveyed your sentiments through your lips, coaxing him in for another kiss. This entanglement was of a primal sort — impassioned mouths, teeth, a moan emerging from your throat.

His hand held your throat, claws sweeping beneath your chin, along your jaw as he reciprocated with his own famine. He was ravenous, kissing you with a yearning fervor that made your flesh scream with a pleasurable fire.

“I burn for you,” It was a mewl, a wanton utterance that made his bones sing. Orlok snarled, a possessive sound, one that seemed to savor your vocalized lust. “Please, do not stop.” You pleaded, seeking his rotten lips once more.

There was a crawl to your kisses, but a necessary one. He withdrew, enough to shed his overcoat, a mountain of fur and fine fabric, now discarded alongside your dress. A hitch formed within your throat, longing to see his flesh.

A nail traced across your lower lip, holding your face with a smoldering possessiveness. Your gaze did not falter from the Count’s, whose pitch-dark hues burned with lust. Tenderly, you kissed the pad of his thumb, able to hear the hitched rasp of his breath.

With a longing embrace, your digits fluttered to the front of his fur-lined tunic, weathered and worn by time, finding the column of embroidered buttons. He did not recoil or foil your movements, pressing slow, hungry kisses to your jaw.

As you sluggishly began the process of disrobing him, you caught glimpses of rotting flesh, grey and ashen, preserved in his current state. To lay with a strigoi often meant that you would be forever tainted by darkness — tainted, you would be.

In life, ages ago, the Count was imposing and well-muscled, much of it still preserved, beginning to succumb to the slow gnarl of decay. Each warm stroke of your fingertips brought him to heel, craving you in a most abhorrent manner.

The silken-and-cord wrap that held the elongated tunic together came next, working in gentle silence as you untethered it from his person. Talons continued to grope at your body, leaving behind faint scratches, some deeper than others.

No longer burdened by the weight of sin, you felt weightless — able to drown yourself within his veneration, his obsession. It was a dark and twisted thing, an ungodly sentiment, and you remained unfettered.

It was your mouth that beseeched him for another kiss, mouths entangling, rough and hungry. The stiff, coarse bristles of his mustache scratched against your silky skin with each kiss, a low moan stirring within your throat.

He tastes dreadful — of ash and brimstone, like damp earth pulled from a tomb, and yet, your lips urge him to continue. Crimson stains sharp indents of teeth in the hollow of your shoulder from where he bit, now bruised.

Pushing his tunic aside, you were exposed to taut, haggard arms, his complexion grave-like, rotting — his perfection was unparalleled, in your eyes. Your palms spread wide against his bare chest, as cold as ice-laden snow, able to feel each heave of his hoarse breath.

The warmth he draws from you is akin to bloodletting, sucking the rot from a festering wound. He savors it, a kiss of light that he shall never taste, your passion blanketing him like sun warmed rays.

Wordlessly, you pull away, bare feet dancing across the deteriorating rug covering cold, stone floors. You move onto the bed, gossamer sheets ruffled from use, the curtains seeming to flutter of their own accord.

Sinking into the feathered duvet, you await his presence with bated breath, and he moves like a liquid shadow. You do not recall seeing him shift onto the bed to join you, clothing entirely absent. His physicality is pointed, spindly, gaunt — your breath hitches with excitement.

Patches of sinewy rot blanket his flesh like blotches of colour upon a canvas — time was not a generous creature. A lonesome beast, awakened by the grace of the maiden, you. He crawled over you like a shadow, a growl reverberating within his throat.

Drawing your legs apart, his tall, taut frame slithers between your thighs, each ragged breath one of obsession. His putrid musculature covers you, hand coming to cup your chin, elongated digits extending toward your crown.

Talons brush through your tresses, downy and soft, a stark juxtaposition to his wretched state. His gaze meets yours, evoking a subtle gasp from your mouth as you reach for him, palms finding their purchase at the nape of his neck.

The protrusions of bone are felt beneath your fingertips, the icy temperature of his flesh. Exhilaration stings your lungs, liquid heat becoming a swirling tempest within the pit of your stomach. One palm cradles the back of his skull, inviting him in for a kiss.

A moan sears your throat, bubbling forth before his mouth devours yours — frighteningly hungry, hips beginning to still against yours. You feel the swell of his member press into your core, setting your nerves ablaze.

Teeth scrape across your lower lip, dangerously sharp, like the serrated edge of a blade. His kiss is like that of a tempestuous storm — dark, foreboding, consuming — you wade into his waters with a girlish giddiness.

Reciprocating his kiss, you feel his claws begin to dig, raking against your scalp as his obsessive nature rages like a gust of furious wind. Whatever fleeting prick of pain you feel, it pales in comparison to twined mouths and the lap of his tongue.

A leathery palm encircles your breast, covetously kneading at the pliant flesh, nail flicking over the sensitive peak of your nipple. A gasp tore from your chest, lips colliding with his with such desperation, reveling in his caress.

Before him, before pledging yourself to him, you had never been touched — any kisses you received were fleeting and lifeless, momentarily bliss that lacked want. It was obsession you craved, the repressed desire to be coveted.

Lips moved in an ecstatic dance, a fervent union of flesh and lust, a twisted reverence. Carnality bled into your ministrations, your mouth paling in comparison to the domineering force of his kiss.

In one swift breath, his lips peeled themselves from yours, only to greedily smooth over the column of your throat. He worshiped your flesh, listening to the erratic pounding of your heart, hastily galloping with encroaching excitement, a sensual thrill.

Down, down — in a sluggish descent, Orlok continued his wet string of kisses, a low rumble coagulating within his chest. Like coarse bristles of a comb, his mustache tickled your flesh, mouth finding the pliant curve of your breast.

A myriad of whimpers escaped you, hands continuing to cradle his head, thumbs caressing along the nape of his neck. His noises were sounds of satisfaction, savoring the lively smolder of your skin as you stroked him.

Vigorous kisses planted themselves across your breasts, your sternum, above your heart — he did not bite, not yet. He was agonizingly slow, drawing out your pleasurable torment, causing you to writhe beneath him.

“My Lord,” You mewled, palms drifting towards your sides, fisting at the sheets as he slithered downward. A violent warmth stirred between your thighs, now slick with arousal. “Please, please …” Delicate pleas tapered off into whispers.

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝, 𝐦𝐲 𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.

It was his voice, so crystalline within the recesses of your mind — your body trembled, awaiting the inevitable wave of bliss. He offered his lust freely, like that of a shadowed plague that swept across you, gnawing away at your bones.

He inhaled — a hoarse, horrible sound that expanded throughout his diaphragm. The feminine scent that had mounted between your legs was nearly as tempting as that of blood, saliva beginning to pool within his maw.

With a lingering kiss pressed to the angular curves of your hipbone, the Count growled, mouth dipping further, until he reached the heat of your core. Claws raked across your thigh, pressing down into your supple flesh, leaving behind the marks of his possessiveness.

His tongue raked hot embers over your cunt, wet and ravenous as he began to lap at your core. Your noises emerged, unrestrained moans that tapered off into wanton whimpers. It was unexpected, his actions, yet not unwelcome.

Talons searched for your hand, dainty and delicate within his massive palm, fingers intertwining with your own. You used this as an anchor, heels digging into the bed beneath you as he greedily lapped at your aching slit.

Legs twitched and quivered from exhilaration, gooseflesh taking up residence along your spine. A wash of icy air fluttered across your stomach, over your breasts, nipples beginning to pebble with the sudden draft.

Sloppy, damp sounds resonate from below, the noises of a greedy, covetous creature whose hunger knows no bounds. His tongue possesses a mind of its own, dragging over your cunt in desirous strokes that leave you wanting more.

Fire unfurls from within you, a lustful burn that seeks to sear the both of you. It only grows in intensity with each flick of his tongue, snaking across your cunt as he savors your taste.

Joined hands rest atop your hip, his digits splayed over your lower stomach, claws occasionally piercing your flesh. No longer a stranger to the blissful pain he brings you, a moan leaves you, one that vocalizes the depths of your enjoyment.

“More,” You croak, back arching from the feathery surface beneath you, as if pulled into his darkness by some invisible force. He can taste your want upon your flesh, yearning oozing from your pores like sap from ancient bark. “More.”

The soft, desperate crooning lulls the Count into sating you, mouth greedily exploring your cunt, dipping into each crevice. It is then that his tongue laps over the pearl of your slit, causing a spasmodic tremor to pulse through your body.

A raspy, guttural growl shakes his throat, seeking the pearl of your cunt once more, dragging his tongue over it. You squirm, prompting him to continue, delivering long, wet strokes of his tongue to that sensitive clutch of nerves.

A crescendo of moans escape you in droves, your ecstasy vocalized to the black nothingness of your chambers. The curtains flutter, with bluish moonlight pooling in, its silvery glow tarnished by wisps of dark cloud, dancing across your body.

The Count continues to devour your cunt with his greedy laps and light graze of his teeth, hand snaking down to hold your thigh aloft. A tendril of drool drips from his lower lip, slavering as a wild animal would over their prey.

His tongue leaves you, shaking and forlornly, head angled towards the supple, velvety flesh of your inner thigh. With a sickening, wet sound, he bites into the skin, breaking it with ease as his mouth is filled with your tantalizing cruor.

A hapless mewl leaves you then, and from his wound, you feel a startling wave of ecstasy. Pain becomes pleasure, bliss — your hands are left to claw at the sheets, bringing the fabric into the confines of your tightly-wound fists.

Dexterous fingers seek to stimulate you even still, circling around your clit with a peculiar expertise. The muscle in your forearm flexes from use, tugging at the sheets with desperation. As he laps at your blood, your hips jolt into his palm.

He sups of your blood, tonguing over the freshly-made indent, still oozing with crimson. With a lap of his mouth, he moves to the pearl of your cunt once more, thin maw wrapping around it, stimulating you with his suckling.

Slurred cries of ecstasy slip past your lips, back arched, keening into any sliver of friction he offers. The air is stale, the scent of copper and decay fresh upon the wind, invading your senses like some noxious plague.

There is a primal messiness to his devourance, chin steeped in your blood, mouth latched to your cunt as he evokes bliss from you. A rush of white-hot delight sears your bones, blanketing you in a wave of pleasure, stomach swirling with a violent heat.

He brings you to your peak, claws digging into your hips, caging you in against his mouth. It is his unorthodox appetite that entices you so, an amalgamation of crimson ichor and your arousal, tongue sluggishly raking over your core once more.

Pitch-dark hues rove across your body, drinking you in, bewitched by your devotion. With a sluggish crawl, he begins to make his way along your form, mouth scraping across your flesh as he ascends, seeking to join you together.

The aftermath of your release lingers heavily between your legs, matted with your nectar and remnants of blood. A low snarl erupts from his throat, welcomed by the sensation of your silken digits cradling him once more.

It is he who kisses you — rough, unyielding, the piquancy of darkness. He ensures that you savor it all, the concoction of blood, your nectar, his unwavering veneration stinging your mouth.

Instead of repulsion, you were elated, clamoring to reciprocate his devouring kiss with one of your own. Your hand cups the back of his rotting skull, the other caressing around the nape of his neck. A wheezing inhale leaves him, as if he is attempting to swallow down your beguiling scent.

The incessant swell of his member nudges against your core, causing a shiver to roll down your spine. Talons rake along your flesh, scratching you like a hot-iron brand, his mark emblazoned upon your soul. He gropes at your breast, nails beneath your chin.

Each heated, consuming kiss leaves you struggling for air, each gasp one of desperation as you draw him closer. The closeness between you is one of a strange intimacy, his garish form bared to only you, a creature of gaunt bone and grey flesh.

Take me, take me, take me — your voice screams within your mind, like some incantation that you become transfixed by. Your Lord hears your cries, teeth drawing forth a drop of blood from your lower lip, skin breaking apart to reveal a pearl of crimson.

Without hesitation, his tongue drags across your mouth, taking with it your blood, setting fire to his lust. His spindly frame is enough to keep your legs apart, hips urging themselves against your own as his cock pushes into you.

The sudden intrusion makes you moan, foreign and unfamiliar, yet terrifyingly wonderful. His ragged breathing seems to hitch, his member taking root within your cunt as he sluggishly rolls against you. The pace he sets is somewhat erratic and rough, made to rut.

It had been many torturous centuries since he had last lain with a woman, the one who bore your countenance. The Count did not think of her now, focused upon you, this enchantress.

Some omnipresent force bids you to search for his gaze, black hues ensnaring you, visceral pits of carnality as his hips cascade into yours. Your body is flush against him, breasts heaving with delighted cries as you cling onto him like a drowning woman.

Friction dances between conjoined bodies, igniting your flesh with a feverish pitch as you feel his mouth clamor for yours once more. Unabashedly, you kiss him, tongue reaching into the cavern of his mouth, able to hear the soft wheeze from his throat.

Each prolonged snap of his hips send you reeling, cunt clenching around his cock, as if you are coaxing him deeper inside of you. He is sheathed like a blade within a scabbard, claws groping, scratching, reaching within you.

A brief ripple of pain wafts from your kiss-swollen lips, puffy from the bite he delivered. As tongues perform a desperate ballet, you hear him growl, a half-groan that coagulates within his maw, expressing his satisfaction.

Miraculously, your body bears the oppressive weight of his obsession with ease, blood slowly oozing from bites pressed into your hollow and thigh, marked by garish talons. Some have broken the skin, and yet your ardor for him remains entirely unvanquished.

The needy rut of his hips brush against your pelvis, cunt stretched around the swell of his cock. With another drag of thrusts, his possessive kisses come to a crawl, filling you with a twinge of disappointment. You miss the gravely chill of his mouth as he makes his descent.

He seeks your chest, a surge of sanguine ichor pumping throughout your veins, beside your breast. The Count does not intend to drain you, merely keeping himself satiated until the next dusk.

The rough pad of his tongue smooths over your jaw, planting a string of covetous kisses along your neck. Spindly, narrow digits press beneath your chin, holding your throat with a light pressure, claws extending toward your splayed tresses.

The notched bridge of his nose brushes along your jugular, teeth lingering beside your delicate flesh. You remind him of fine velvet, perfection beneath his hold, a plane of softness, all belonging to him. Invidious is he, seething with a yearning that only you can satisfy.

Still, he continues, his path of darkness one that leaves you wrought with exhilaration, continuing to rut your hips into his. The vigorous ministrations of his thrusts seem to momentarily pause, cock still inside of you, filling you in a way that only he can.

A pleading moan flutters from your lips, palms rooted to his ashen flesh, pillowing his rotting skull as he kisses along your body. Your back begins to arch, an incessant release mounting within you, arousal warm and slick between your thighs.

Honed, wet fangs seek the warm cavern between your breasts, sternum rising and falling with excitable sighs. A low, wanting snarl reaches your ears as Orlok bites into your chest, beside your left breast.

The damp crunch of teeth rending through flesh echoes throughout your chambers, accompanied by greedy, putrid gulps as he sups your blood. Pain blossoms throughout your breast, unfurling like the petals of a wilting flower.

There is an understanding of his appetite — you know that he would not bring about your demise, even if he willed it to be. The sudden swirling of your cruor within his maw seems to invigorate him, hips urging to life as his cock drives deep within you.

A whimpered gasp rips through your diaphragm, body reacting viscerally to the sudden drive of his being. Again, his pace is erratic, driven by lust and primal instinct above all else.

Wandering digits caress the nape of his neck, fingertips nearing the base of his skull, your other palm splayed out between his shoulders. You cradle him against you, feeling the arch of his physique as he ruts into you, pounding away at your cunt.

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞, 𝐦𝐲 𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. 𝐆𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 — 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐜𝐮𝐦𝐛 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞.

The hoarse baritone of his thunderous cadence invades your mind, making your thighs twitch, legs involuntarily squeezing near his pointed waist. Your cunt clenches once more, evoking a growl from within his chest as he drinks.

His head lifts, chin stained with crimson, teeth hidden behind his mustache. Pitch-dark hues rove across your pleasured countenance, finding you to be enchanting, beauteous.

Warm palms dance along his frame, causing him to hiss, a low, delighted sound that instills him with desire. The bite embedded within your chest oozes with crimson, crescent teeth indents likely to scar. He laps at your blood, feeling you shiver beneath him.

Nearing your peak, you writhe, clutching onto him, begging for more through strained whimpers. The Count does not cease, sluggish thrusts of his hips forcing his cock deeper, deeper — until there is nowhere else to go.

Reaching for one of your hands, he pins it out to your side, claws dragging across the feeble flesh of your wrist, coming to interlock your fingers together. It is a gesture that makes your bones burn, flesh searing with such fervent desire.

His hands dwarf yours in size, locking your arm into place, your other palm left to cradle his head. Warm, vermillion ichor oozes onto your chest, rivulets of blood trickling over your breasts.

Without hesitation, he openly rakes his tongue over the trails of crimson, seeking your sanguine cruor, cock urging into you with a sense of finality. It is then that his attention is drawn to your lips, swollen and agape, deliciously tantalizing.

Mouths join together through the ecstasy of your shared release, hips beginning to stutter as you rocked against him. His cock drove deeper still, driving into your cunt as you reached your climax. It was relief he felt, the sensation of fullness.

Upon his lips, you taste the coppery sting of your own blood, accompanied with his own stale breath, the coarse prickling of his mustache. You cry out into him, feeling him swallow your moans, eating your pleasured sounds.

Squeezing at his hand, he seems unfettered by your grasp, nails digging into his ashen flesh, body rolling into him once more before you begin to settle. The aftermath of your release is a dizzying one, white-hot haze blurring your senses.

A low purr reverberates from his diaphragm — a drawn-out sound that blankets you in a strange sense of comfort. He stills, mouth receding from your own, ogling the remnants of cruor left behind from your heated kiss.

“You are mine.”

Dacian is known to you, a captivating language that only sounds mysterious and dark from his tongue. You sink into the mattress, able to feel his cock inside of you, ministrations having ceased, and yet he remains.

You welcome it, digits stroking from the base of his skull to his sharp, defined features, like warm kisses peppering his icy flesh. Exhaustion floods through you like the crash of an ocean wave upon the rock, and you recline completely.

He does not move from you, blanketed across your body in a possessive way, head coming to rest entirely against your collarbone. It is your saccharine breath he feels wafting across his visage, like the first inkling of springtime.

Joined hands rest beside your head, and you feel elated — a joy not felt before in your melancholy lifetime. His monstrous frame does not detract, and in the silvery pools of moonlight, he seems more picturesque than ghastly.

“I am yours,” Through a tender whisper, your eyelids grow heavy with encroaching sleep, tired from what proved to be a lengthy entanglement. He had supped enough of your blood this night. “Forever yours, I will remain.”

As you drift away into a blissful slumber, your paramour remains, claws perusing through your tresses, allowing such twisted obsession to eat him alive. You sate him in a way that no other has done before — whole, fulfilled.

By the time the first light of dawn creeps over the line of the Carpathian Mountains, he is gone — but the stains of his teeth are not.

With contentment, you know that dusk shall come again, and you will be sated once more.

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ultraintrovertedgryffindor · 5 months ago

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I DIDNT KNOW THERE WERE MORE PARTS AHHH I LOVE THIS SO MUCH

Pomegranate Seed (mini-series)

Demon!Aemond x Reader

summary: When your life goes downhill, you take the plunge and summon a demon to make a pact. But the dream life comes at a price.

warnings: !MDNI! Dark themes, mature content.

a/n: the support for chap. 1 was incredible, and I’ve become so obsessed with the demon au that I’m turning it into a mini-series to celebrate dark and steamy kinks (because why not?:) If you’d like to be tagged, let me know in the comments! 💋

UPD: Loves, don’t worry if I don’t reply to your tag request. It's easier for me to check if I’ve missed anyone or if new people want to join the taglist. I see everyone and will tag everyone! 🩶

Chapters

➤ chapter 1 ➤ ➤ chapter 2 ➤ ➤ chapter 3 ➤

Moodboards*

➤ Reader (writer) aesthetic ➤ Aemond (demon) aesthetic ➤ Aemond + Reader aesthetic ➤Aemond + Vhagar aesthetic ➤ Reader’s flat aesthetic ➤ Chapter 1 aesthetic ➤ Chapter 2 aesthetic

*If you feel inspired to create a moodboard, send it to me via message, tag me when you post it or drop it anonymously in my asks - whatever works best for you 🩶

#fic rec

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ultraintrovertedgryffindor · 6 months ago

Text

Something to Prove

Pairing: Osferth (The Last Kingdom) x f!reader Warnings: Smut. Word count: ~3k

Summary: Osferth is keen to sate curiosity when questions are raised as to why he has women fighting over him.

Author's note: Day eleven of Smuffmas - party and position changes. No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

She was exhausted, and hot. It was a chilly winter’s evening, and yet her skin felt clammy. The air in the tavern hung humid and heavy, the place more crowded than it had ever been. Loud cheers, laughter and the crash of wooden flagons being knocked together in joyous toasting filled the space, the cacophony of it all so loud that she could scarce hear the shouts for more ale that rang out in chorus each time a group had drained their mugs.

Her tired feet carried her ceaselessly from behind the bar and back again each time she emptied her jug and needed to refill it from the cask. The flagstone floor was sticky underfoot, and she had to be careful not to add to the mess by spilling what she carried, as the shoulders of revellers jostled her while she worked her way through the crowd, refilling and topping off the drinks of those that held their cups out to her. She did not mind though, they had every reason to celebrate; Wintanceaster had achieved victory that day against the Danes. With the aid of Uhtred and his men, the city had been defended from invading forces. The battle had been fierce, yet those that had taken up arms against the Danes had fought bravely, cutting down the opposition and causing what little remained to retreat. Wintanceaster was safe once more.

Everyone present was eager to toast to Uhtred, to thank him for his help, and congratulate him for how valiantly he fought, yet it was another person entirely who captured her attention. Osferth, a warrior monk who had pledged his loyalty to Uhtred, fighting alongside him and his men – ordinarily, he wasn’t a man she would have looked twice at, yet tonight she could not keep her eyes off of him. Two days previous, she had witnessed two women fighting viciously over him, to the point that his lord had had to step in to separate them. She could understand such jealousy being expressed over Uhtred, Finan or Sihtric; they were surly, confident, everything one would expect when envisioning bravery and heroism. Osferth, though he stood at least a head taller than the three men he travelled with, was wiry, his demeanour timid and apologetic.

She was desperately curious about him and, without even being conscious of it, her eyes sought him out each time she made a pass of the room. He was lost in merriment, laughing and joking with Finan, slopping ale onto the floor each time he raised his drink. Perhaps she would never know precisely why he inspired such feelings of jealousy from other women, at least not from simply looking at him anyway.

“I need some air, will you be alright for a moment?” she asked the other barmaid, shouting to be heard over the noise, as she placed her empty jug back upon the bar.

The older woman nodded. “Go on, can’t have you fainting on me. Don’t be long though, they’re a rowdy bunch tonight.”

The bite of the crisp night air made her skin prickle as she pushed outside, rapidly cooling her sweat-dampened skin and making her shiver. It was refreshing. She leaned back against the rough stone wall of the tavern, the noise inside muffled to a dull hum as the wooden door thumped heavily closed behind her. She huffed a sigh, her breath puffing out into a white cloud against the inky black night sky.

A burst of the din from the tavern startled her as the door swung open again, quieting as quickly as it had come as the person who had stepped out gently pushed it closed. She looked over, her lips parting in shock as she saw Osferth, moving to lean his back against the wall on the other side of the door, next to her. She masked her surprise, offering him a tight lipped, polite smile in greeting, before looking away again.

“Are you alright, lady?” he asked her softly, a hint of concern in his voice.

“Mmm,” she affirmed quietly, smoothing her hands over the white apron that was tied around the waist of her linen dress. She kept her eyes fixed upon the ground, “it is warm inside. I just needed a moment to breathe.”

“Me too,” he replied, “I don’t think I have ever drank so much ale…may I…ask you something?”

She lifted her eyes to meet his, not moving her head as she cast him a playful sideways look and a smirk. “You already have.”

Osferth grinned, bowing his head as his eyes crinkled in amusement, and she lifted her face fully to watch him. “Yes, I suppose I have. But–” he turned fully to face her as he tucked his hands inside of the brown leather breastplate that he wore over his robes, “I have noticed you staring at me tonight, lady. May I ask why?”

Turning to face him too, she leaned her shoulder against the wall, her fingers fidgeting nervously with her apron. She didn’t want to tell him the real reason why, it was gossipy and impolite. “You fought bravely today, surely that is deserving of admiration?”

She watched his cheeks flush pink in the pale moonlight, as he looked through the window of the tavern, the soft glow of the lamplight inside illuminating the sharpness of his profile. He was quite beautiful to look at, she decided, as she studied the sharpness of his profile; an aquiline nose, strong jaw and high cheekbones.

He offered her a shy smile as he looked back at her. “It is my lord, Uhtred, who is deserving of your praise. Most do not even know my name.”

“You are Osferth, are you not?”

His eyebrows raised slightly as his lips parted in surprise. “I am,” he answered, pulling his hands free of his breast plate to fold them over his chest as he studied her face. “Might I know your name, lady, and the real reason for your interest in me?”

Her skin grew warm with embarrassment, despite the frost that had begun to settle upon the ground. She told him her name, hesitating before revealing the real reason for why she had been looking at him throughout the evening. “I saw those women fighting over you the other day, and I was curious about it. Forgive me, it is not my place to wonder. I should get back inside, I have been gone too long.”

Without another word or a glance back, she pulled the door open, enveloped in heat once more as she weaved her way back to the bar. She concentrated on keeping the ale flowing for the rest of the night, doing her best to keep both her mind and her eyes off of Osferth.

By the time the tavern closed for the evening, her body was practically crying out for the comfort of her bed and, thankfully, she did not have far to go. Her job included lodging – a small room located above the tavern, accessible from the outside of the building by stairs located at the back.

As she rounded the corner of the building, headed for the back of it, she gasped as she felt a hand grasp the top of her arm, accompanied by a soft whisper of her name. Heart hammering wildly and eyes wide with fright, she rounded on her assailant, preparing to defend herself against the worst.

She relaxed considerably as she stared up into the face of Osferth. He quickly let go of her arm, stepping back as he saw her fearful reaction. “Forgive me, I did not mean to frighten you.”

His eyes were unfocused, his posture suggestive of a state of drunkenness that he had not been affected by when she had spoken to him earlier; he swayed slightly upon his feet, his posture not as rigid as it had been before. She worried that his group had left him in such a vulnerable state, and wondered if perhaps he had sought her out for help.

“How much ale have you had, Osferth?” she asked softly, gently grasping the leather cuffs that encased his forearms, holding him steady.

He blinked slowly, a lazy smile spreading across his face as he stared fondly down at her. “Enough that I feel no shame for what I am about to ask, and not so much that I will regret it in the morning.”

She furrowed her brow in confusion, tilting her head slightly. “What do you mean?”

He turned his arms in hers, his own fingers gripping her forearms in return. She could feel how cold his fingers were through the sleeves of her dress. “Your question earlier…I should like to sate your curiosity.”

Her skin grew heated with embarrassment at his brazen suggestion, yet the chill of his skin worried her more. “Come, let’s get you inside where it’s warm.”

Osferth trailed after her up the rickety wooden stairs to the room she occupied above the tavern, hovering quietly behind her as her fingers, numb with cold, struggled with the key in the lock. It wasn’t much better once inside, but it was a roof over their heads at least – a roof much closer to Osferth’s head than hers, in fact. She had to stifle a laugh behind her hand, once she had gotten the lamp lit – Osferth stooped within the small place – she had never taken the time to consider his height before, but seeing him dwarf the space around him really emphasised just how tall he was.

She cast her eyes around the modest room, as though seeing it for the first time – the small double bed that was pushed up against the far wall, and the tiny window above it, the chest that sat at the foot ot it, and the rickety table and chair tucked away in the corner, with a cracked and dusty mirror that rested precariously upon the tabletop, alongside the wooden tub that she used for washing.

Looking back at Osferth, her tone was apologetic. “It’s not much, I don’t even have a fireplace, but it’s better than being stuck outside. It was wrong of Uhtred to just leave you like that.”

“I asked him to,” he admitted, as his gaze moved around the room, lingering on each item until he looked upon the bed. “May I?” he gestured towards it, “I’m going to end up bumping my head otherwise.”

She allowed herself to laugh then, and he laughed with her, the drunken haze of his blue eyes shining in the soft lamplight. She simply nodded, gesturing for him to sit on the edge of the bed, before joining him.

“Why did you want Uhtred to leave you?” she asked after a moment, acutely aware of how his thigh pressed against hers as they sat side by side.

“I told you before,” he said, turning slightly so that his body faced her, though he looked at her through his lashes, as his head was bowed, “I wanted to show you why those women fought over me.”

She scoffed in amusement, shaking her head. “That is highly presumptuous of you. What if I had said no?”

“You didn’t though, did you?” he asked, reaching out and gently taking her hand. The contact made her pulse race, but she didn’t pull away.

“It would have been unkind to leave you out in the cold…”

“You could have given me a blanket and allowed me to sleep it off in the tavern,” he reasoned, as his thumb stroked gentle circles against the back of her head, “but you invited me up here. And I think we both know why that is.”

“I just–”

Osferth shook his head as he lifted it, his eyes imploring as they stared into hers. “I was a novice. I know what it is to deny yourself what you desire. I saw that same look in your eyes tonight every time you looked at me. I no longer deny myself, and I don’t think you ought to either.”

Her breath hitched at his words, the weight they carried stirring a nervous fluttering within her. She hadn’t realised it until now, but her grip on his hand was now vicelike. “You’re drunk,” she whispered.

“You are beautiful,” he said sincerely, as his free hand reached up to brush a loose lock of hair behind her ear.

The moment that his lips were upon hers, something inside of her snapped, all restraint and sense of proprietary leaving her. She let go of his hand, both of hers coming to ball into the fabric of his robes not covered by his breastplate as she pulled him close. His nimble fingers tangled into her hair, causing her to moan, allowing his tongue to lick against hers as their kisses grew more urgent, the sticky sound of their saliva and panted breaths filling the small space.

She helped him to disrobe, unbuckling his cuffs and giggling as the straps of his leather armor tugged at his hair as she helped him to pull it over his head. Once both fully undressed, she was scared to look upon his naked form, afraid to let him see her, in case she lost her nerve. Before she had the chance to change her mind, she crawled on all fours onto the bed, presenting herself to him. It was how every other man she had allowed to hump her had taken her, so she didn’t see why Osferth would be any different.

He surprised her when he didn’t immediately grasp her hips and force himself inside of her. His fingertips trailed the length of her spine, making her shiver. She felt the mattress dip as he knelt upon it, leaning over her, his chest against her back as he nuzzled into her neck. No one had ever treated her with such tenderness before, especially not while intoxicated. She turned her face towards his, her heart almost skipping a beat as she saw the soft reverence in his eyes. He pressed a tender kiss to the corner of her mouth as his fingers dipped between her thighs.

His touch was gentle, exploratory. He stroked her in a way that made her ache and throb, gathering arousal from her opening before circling her bud with it. It felt nice to be prepared in this way, no one had ever taken such care with her before. Only when she bucked and mewled under his ministrations, the ache between her legs growing almost intolerable, did he notch the head of his cock against her and press forward. The stretch was slow, but pleasant, the fullness of him inside of her made her push her hips back against him, impatient to feel more of him.

She heard him exhale shakily, before giving her hips a playful squeeze and beginning to thrust into her. It wasn’t hard and fast, as she was used to, he took his time with each pull back and forward motion, as if he was getting to know her body, learning what movements made her whimper and sigh softly in pleasure. When he pulled out altogether, she whined in protest at the loss of him, looking back over her shoulder at him in annoyance. Osferth chuckled softly, before coaxing her onto her back.

“What are you doing?” she asked, feeling prone and exposed in this position. Her eyes raked over him, he was thin, but corded with lithe muscle and small faint scars that covered his torso. His cock stood proud between his legs, flushed at the tip and shiny with her wetness.

He stared at her with similar appreciation as he grasped the base of himself. “I do not wish to rut you like an animal,” he told her. He pushed her thighs apart, leaned down and dragged the flat of his tongue against her dripping sex, making her cry out in surprise. Osferth grinned as his face reappeared from between her thighs, grasping her calves and placing them over his shoulders, before plunging back inside of her.

The angle knocked at a spot inside of her that made her throw her head back, screwing her eyes shut, her legs shaking as his hips started to move again. She clutched the bedsheets to ground herself, her knuckles blanching with the force of her grip.

“There you go,” Osferth whispered breathlessly, holding her legs firmly against his body as he rocked his pelvis, “this is how you should look – worshipped and carefree.”

She dared to open her eyes, lifting her head to look upon the place where their bodies joined. She watched in rapt fascination as he disappeared inside of her, drawing back each time to reveal his glistening shaft and the light thatch of curls that sat at the base of it.

His eyes were hooded as he watched her and he let go of her thighs, allowing her legs to rest of their own accord against his shoulders as one hand moved to tweak one of her nipples into a stiffened peak, while the other snaked between their bodies and began circling her sensitive pearl with his thumb.

“It is too much,” she protested weakly, writhing beneath him, the dual assault on her senses making her feel as though she would lose all control.

“Nothing is too much for you,” Osferth reassured her. The hand upon her breast moved back to her thigh as he turned his head to kiss the inside of her knee. “Almost there, I can feel it.”

She could feel it too. The insistent bullying of his cockhead against her sensitive walls, coupled with the relentless rubbing of his thumb against her swollen bundle of nerves were rapidly tightening the coil in her lower belly. She felt his erection begin to pulse, and the sensation pushed her over the edge. He pulled out as she cried out in ecstasy began to spasm, groaning as he painted her lower belly with pearly ropes of his spend. Their bodies shuddered together, utterly lost in the throes of their shared peak until, finally, Osferth collapsed beside her, panting heavily.

He gathered her against his chest, holding her close, not caring that her skin was sticky with his release, and she couldn’t help the contented smile that spread across her face.

“It has never been like that for me with anyone before,” she confessed quietly.

“Do you feel like you understand now why those women fought over me?” Osferth asked playfully, “if not, I’d be more than happy to show you again.”

She giggled, lightly swatting his chest. “You have certainly proven yourself, though I would never say no to another demonstration.”

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