#why are you making up rapes disgusting person | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

anjelicawrites · 29 days

Text

The one looking out for you

Paring: dark!Michael Gavey x fem!reader Synopsis: fill for this ask: “Hii can I request a dark Michael gavey x fem reader smut where they're coworkers and reader don't really know Michael because he works in IT and they only pass each other here and there but Michael is obsess with reader and one day he overhears reader telling a coworker that she's ovulating but her fiancé (who's been cheating on her without her knowledge) is out of town and they've been trying for a baby. Michael digs up dirt on her fiance and leaks the info anonymously and then he "coincidently" finds her crying and kinda drunk and he "comforts" reader”. Warnings: NONCON (reader is drunk while having sex), rape, rape drugs, stalking, obsession, sexist language, fatphobia, pictures and videos taken without reader’s consent, vomiting, alcohol usage, reader being drunk, p in v sex, chocking, titty sucking, fingering, creampie, baby trapping, breeding kink, lactation kink, talk of reader reduced to a basement wife, talk of pregnancy sex. A/N: reader is AFAB but not described. Where needed, she/her pronouns used.

Michael knows how special you are, how gentle you heart is; he sees you in all the ways other people don’t. Some might call his behavior obsessive, stalkerish even, but the world doesn’t understand that, when you finally find your person, you need to take all the necessary steps to keep that person safe. Take today, for example. You had worked overtime, your team leader needing your expertise for the latest company project, and are going home just now, after 9 pm on a cold winter night. You should wait for the bus, or hail a cab, but you’re too tired to wait and just want to go home thus cutting through the city park. Michael knows because he’s following the GPS of your phone, to make sure nothing happens to you, and is using the speakers of your phone to hear what’s happening around you and call the cops if someone tries to approach you.

He shouldn’t have cloned your phone, he knows it’s frowned upon, but you pull shit like this: how is he supposed to keep you safe? You are too gentle, too trusting of the world and in need of a protector, someone who will really look after you, not like your useless fiancé, who doesn’t treat you the way you deserve, nor he loves you, otherwise he wouldn’t be having an affair with the girl living in the next door apartment. The discovery had been casual, the Trojan he used to clone your phone had infected your fiancé’s as well and Michael had been the unwilling witness to his sexual escapades with that whore. He had been so disgusted by the way the asshole talked about you, that he would have disconnected from the phone, if he wasn’t digging for dirt on him.

Michael knows he’s invisible, he’s always been: no friends, no girlfriend, only him and his brilliant mind; when he was younger he had suffered because no one acknowledged him, now he understands he has a superpower that helps him navigate corporate life, absorbing all the relevant information, without anyone realizing what he’s doing.

You greet him whenever you stumble upon him in the corridors, still grateful he solved a computer issue you had the day of a big presentation, the reason why he’s met you in the first place and every gentle smile you direct his way, adds fuel to the fire of his obsession. He’s racked his own brains for days, after that first fateful encounter, wondering how he could start a conversation with you, cloning your phone had been the only way he thought he could find something you two had in common. It saved him a gaffe, when he saw all the photos with your fiancé, and gave him so much insight inside your brain, to understand you were the woman for him; of course you are far more creative that he’ll ever be, your soul gentler than his, but you are smart and being so different will only add to you two’s relationship, once he’s gotten rid of your boyfriend.

Michael is working on the new firewall, hidden in his own basement office. He’s thankful that the other IT people are misanthropes as he is and don’t mind that he’s working with his headphones on, on the contrary, everyone is wearing headgear to focus better on their task, the difference being, he’s listening to you. Your day is slow, with the big project finished, you and your team can kick back a bit, have a chat while ironing the last wrinkles.

Michael has been listening while you were chatting with that stupid cow, Marissa, about the last movie you’ve watched at that theater that shows mostly old black and white flicks; Michael has managed to garner quite the knowledge about old time Hollywood and Cinecittà and has discovered a fondness for old Hammer movies himself, even though the movies he prefers the most star you while you’re pleasuring yourself (something you’re doing quite frequently, since the asshole doesn’t seem to be that interested in you anymore), the theater? Your webcam and your apartment.

His focuses his attention when you go to have a coffee with your ‘work wife’ Jenny; through your phone he hears that you two are going downstairs, to the cafeteria of the building: one day you and him will do the same, pick a place to call your own, just to have a break. You have only bought your phone with you, it’s easy for him to listen to the inane chat, even though the cafeteria is packed; he’s not truly focusing on the conversation, just to the sound of your lovely voice as you wait for your coffee (espresso, a splash of oat milk and half sugar) and your favorite pastry (pain au chocolat, vegan); it’s when the asshole’s name drops that he stops working and focus only on you.

“You know we’ve been trying truly hard, at least we used to.” You say with a defeated tone he doesn’t like. “Then we stopped for his big project, I understand that he couldn’t follow that and my hormonal cycle.”

Michael grits his teeth; he’s been looking out for you for the better part of the year, before? He wasn’t your guardian angel and it had been difficult for him to put together the pieces, since you don’t use that many apps to store your personal life and information.

“Wait.” Jenny stops you. “Wasn’t he the one who wanted to start trying again?” “Yes.” From your tone only Michael can imagine you pinching the bridge of your nose. “He’s been repeating me to check my ovulation, write everything down or use those pregnancy like sticks, and what does he do the weekend I am at my peak? Leaves for work!”

Michael has to clench his fists when he understands what you and Jenny are talking about: children. You and the asshole having a baby!

Michael has to leave his small office and storms to the bathroom where he can pace around like a caged beast: that son of a bitch wants to knock you up, while he’s having an affair with the whore next door?

Calm, he tells himself, you need to stay calm and focused.

“What kind of trip is that?” He hears Jenny ask. “Work. His firm is trying to promote a new kind of prosthesis during this orthopedics conference; he has to be there.” “Why can’t you go with him? Take the weekend off? You wouldn’t be the only partner to go, I think”. “There have been some issues.” Your voice lowers conspiratorially. “Some of his colleagues had gone with their mistresses, on firm expenses and now all family members are banned from going.” “Hmm.” Jenny doesn’t seem too convinced. “Are you sure he wants to truly try?

Michael hears you sigh and wished he was there, not in this stupid bathroom!

“We are more distant. I keep telling myself that we had to both work on big projects at the same time, that we were forced to focus on work more than we would have liked and that, after the storm, things would go back to normal.”

Michael hears you sniff and the soft sound of Jenny’s hand on yours.

“What’s your gut feeling, love?” She asks, with a quiet voice. “That is not a storm and that he’s asked to try for a baby again because he doesn’t know how to handle all of this.” “Perhaps him going away for the weekend isn’t such a bad thing.”

Michael likes Jenny, she’s smart, calls IT only when she has a real issue and treats all of them like they are people, not the weird nerds hiding in the basement; he reckons Jenny is a bit of a nerd as well, based on the Star Trek knickknacks on her desk. Yes, when you and him are together, she’s one of the friends he’ll advise you to stick with: you’ll have to drop many of them, too stupid for you, and for him, but not Jenny, she can stay.

Michael hides in one of the stalls and opens the secret app on his phone where he keeps all your photos and videos. Some are racy, you pleasuring yourself using your favorite dildo and clit sucker, your sobs of pleasure going straight to his cock every time, but that’s not what he is looking for as his thumb swipes through all the pics he has, until he’s found the one he loves the most: you on the sofa, dressed in an oversized jumper, as you read your book. You look homely, the picture of what he wants your lives to be: quiet and filled with each other’s presence, you two don’t need anyone else, Or perhaps...

His mind goes back to the conversation he’s just heard. Michael doesn’t truly care for children but for you? He’ll give you a soccer team of babies if only you asked, fuck you full of his cum until he’s sure he’s bred you, only to fuck you some more once you’re full. His finger slides through the photos until he finds one of you in your bathing suit, just to imagine your tummy full of his child and your breast swollen with milk, begging to be sucked: yeah, the idea of knocking you up becomes more and more appealing as the minutes pass. He just needs to make sure the asshole doesn’t manage before he does.

Michael goes back to his cubicle with a lighter heart, now that he knows what the stakes are; he even whistles his favorite song as he orders a bouquet of the flowers you love (white callas and light pink lilies), to have them sent to your workstation: this has been his only outward way to express his feelings for you and today you need something nice to look at, after your heartfelt conversation with Jenny. As he focuses again on the firewall, Michael mentally pats himself on the back for having cloned the asshole's phone by mistake: you will have to know what is going on, it will hurt you, but he’s going to be there for you, unlike your fiancé.

Later that night, Michael is storing all he has on the asshole on the USB pen he’s bought on the way back to his small apartment; as one of the computers is working on the background, out of curiosity he checks if what the asshole has told you about the ban on partners going to conventions is true or not: if he’s lying, he’s going to add to the mountain of proofs he has, if not, well, it means that even him plays fair sometimes.

He stares at the desktop, before clicking on his browser icon: obviously is a picture of you, a selfie you’ve taken on holiday; you look so relaxed and happy, the shadows the straw hat you’re wearing paint on the skin of your cleavage are so elegant: he’s never met a woman who can be classy even when wearing a skimpy bikini. You are truly a Goddess among your kind, the best and the smartest, created just for him. He hopes you’ll let him snap racy pictures of you, once you two are together; nothing obscene or pornographic, just to celebrate your beauty and grace. Michael thinks he will be able to convince you, otherwise something in your water to make sure you’re pliant will make do.

You don’t want to be at this stupid office party. Yes, your last project was a success, all your colleagues want to celebrate, but you are in no mood, thanks to your cheating, asshole of a boyfriend.

You don’t know who sent you the USB pen, you’re not sure you’ll ever thank them for opening your eyes, but the truth is in front of you and you have no way to stop knowing what has been happening behind your back; given the chance, would you rather not have received the envelope and the USB? Nursing your umpteenth cocktail you’re not sure of the answer.

The envelope was white and lacked a return address, which was unusual but not overly so: the local Catholic Church leaves leaflets when Christmas and Easter are near, to promote the activities during these periods of time, never envelopes but you thought they were changing their strategies and opened it once you were home, alone as usual. The USB had surprised you, the printout of the reservation made of your fiancé and the girl next door, for the conference, propelled you to the bathroom, where you threw up your lunch and afternoon snack.

There was another message, smaller, that invited you to check the USB pen in your hand, if you wanted to know the truth; you stayed rooted on the spot for the longest time, torn between wanting to ignore everything, or let the bomb explode. Time passed, punctuated by the old clock in the kitchen, until you made up your mind, and choose the latter, you’re a daughter of Pandora after all, and plugged the USB in your computer: a barrage of text, photos and audio messages attacked you, you managed to go through a small percentage of them, before you had to run to the bathroom to throw up again, your stomach churning bile until you had nothing left to give. After this onslaught you cried with your knees tight against your chest, until you felt so tired you’d sleep on the cold bathroom floor, but you forced yourself to go back to the living room and went through all the proofs of your fiancé’s infidelity with the whore next door.

You didin’t know your personal guardian angel was listening to everything and looking using the smart TV you’ve bought last year. Michael’s heart hurt with your pain, he wished he was there to comfort you; if only you had waited for him, instead of being with the asshole, he wouldn’t have to make you go through all of this. It was your fault for not having faith that your true love was waiting for you: you’ll go through this cathartic experience and then be free to start your new life, the one Michael will tailor for you, and for himself.

With gritted teeth he watched the fight you have with the asshole, all the excuses he spewed, and then the insults against you, before he left slamming the door. He saw you angrily drink and cry until you passed out on the couch and he stayed up all night, watching you through the TV to make sure you were still breathing. It hurt him that you were hurt, but it was the price to pay for a better future.

You have been on autopilot for the rest of the week: went to work, where you used a mere fraction of your attention on the last details of the finished project, and then returned home to cry. You fiancé, better, former fiancé at this point, didn’t even try to patch things up with you, on Thursday, after you returned from work, all his stuff had disappeared and he hadn’t even left a note or sent you a message. You truly spiraled after that, called your best friend and wept on the phone for hours, until you head hurt; on a whim you had even thought about not going to work on Friday, but you couldn’t, not with the presentation of the bloody project and the celebration party afterwards. You decided to settle with finishing the alcohol at home and sent disparaging texts to your ex, who never answered them (little you knew that your own guardian angel had to do with that, and with the fact that he had disappeared with all his belongings; that was not something Michael thought you needed to worry your pretty head with).

You played your part on Friday, said your little spiel and shook hands on command, wore a fake smile for everyone to see, until you could hide in the conference room, nursing glasses after glasses of cheap alcohol, until you felt like enough time had passed to return home.

You’re sitting at the big desk, facing morosely the incredible view from such a high floor, with a glass and bottle you’ve taken from the open bar. You’re drunk, it's so easy to ignore the little voice in your head that’s telling you to stop, call a Uber and go home when your tummy is sloshing with alcohol. You’re so detached from your body that the door opening with a small creak doesn’t scare you.

“I thought nobody was here.”

You turn your head slowly and feel the strain of your eyes as they focus on the intruder. On first sight you don’t recognize him, then his name comes back to you Michael, one of the IT guys who solves all your technical issues. You’ve met him a couple of times, once when Marissa had some issued with her computer. You had felt bad for the guy, who had to come upstairs to simply turn the switch Marissa had swore was already on the right position. He had said something nasty about your colleague under his breath, ‘vapid cunt’, or something among those lines, as he was leaving. You didn’t approve of his language, but understood his frustration: he probably had to deal with stupid accidents like that all the time, his patience must have slipped; you had stopped him before he entered the lift and said you were sorry on your colleague’s behalf. You could have sworn his eyes had focused on you, behind his tick glasses, as if he was assessing you, judging you, but it was just a moment, then his blue eyes seemed to clear and you had repeated yourself that you have been consuming too much true crime, if such an innocuous man could cause weird thoughts in your head.

You had seen him around, he had saved your arse when your computer stopped working the day of a big presentation, tall and gangly, and always greeted him with a smile and a wave, which he would awkwardly respond to: he was one of the many people you knew, but weren’t truly friends with.

“Hi.” You try to sound sober. “Far from the madding crowd as well?”

Ok, you tell yourself, that’s not too bad.

Michael gently closes the door, you don’t see it but he locks it as well, before he walks towards you.

“Something like that.”

You stare at him, truly taking his appearance in for the first time. He’s awkward, standing the way he does a couple of chairs away from you, but not ugly: he should dress better and wear more stylish glasses, but he is handsome, in a nerd kind of way; his eyes are a beautiful shade of blue, and he is tall, not imposing but with large shoulders.

“Come.” You say, patting the chair next to you. “Don’t stand where you are. Fancy a drink?”

Almost knocking a chair over, Michael walks where you are and stiffly sits.

“I think I am full for the night.” He answers, when you offer him your own glass. “Are you sure? I’d loathe to drink by myself.” “Sure.” He answers. “Uhm, congratulation with the project.” He adds.

You pour yourself a generous amount of alcohol and drink it down in one go.

“That? Child’s play.” “Still, a great amount of money coming this way.” “Yeah.” You’re suddenly more morose than before. “All I am good for.”

You sway on the chair and distantly feel Michael’s hands, his very large hands, grab you by your shoulders before you can fall.

“I’m fine Mickey boy.” You slur with your face dangerously close to his. “I’m nothing but trash worth kicking anyway!”

You shrug him off and try to keep an upright position.

“Don’t say that about yourself!”

Something in his tone forces your drunken mind to focus on him.

“What do you know?” You bare your teeth at him and he has to keep you upright again. “I’m with this guy for years, years! I turn down the position in the USA office for him! Lose weight! Learn how to cook like his sodden mama and what does he do? He fucks the next door neighbor, that fat cow! I have to starve myself and be shamed when I can’t be a bloody size 8 and he fucks her! Sends her dick picks! Talks shit about me!”

The same way rage had possessed you, it disappears, leaving you a shaking handful of nerves; before you even realize it, you fall against Michael and start crying, fat, inconsolable sobs against his ugly sweater.

Michael holds you tight, reveling in the fact that you are in his arms, never mind the reason: you’ve opened up your heart to him, you’re seeking him for consolation! Not Jenny, not your best friend, but him! Because you know, in your heart of hearts, that Michael is the one for you!

He knows he’s awkward as he caresses your back and tries to murmur soothing words against your hair, but it doesn’t matter, not when all his hard work has come into fruition!

“I’m so sorry.” He hears from the general direction of his chest. “I don’t know what happened.” “That’s fine.” He answers, his arms still caging you. “Truly Michael, I don’t know what possessed me.”

When you finally manage to lift your head from his chest, you stare into his eyes, now dark pools your drunken brain can’t read.

Michael loses himself in your beautiful face and in the pain still marring your features: you need consolation and not the kind that words offer. He hadn’t planned all of this when he had followed you in the conference room, but you are in his arms, needy and sad and his cock is rock hard. You are causing all of this, he tells himself, because you need this and him. And he can’t say no to you.

His big hand sneaks into your hair to pull you closer to him; in your drunken state you don’t realize what’s happening, if not when his lips crash on yours, uncoordinated and dry. You try to push him away, to beg him to stop, but he uses your parted lips to slip his tongue in to deepen the kiss, his free hand grabs your hips and he pulls you on the table, slotting himself between your parted legs, his erection shocking you. When he starts kissing your neck, you try to push him away again, too drunk and weak to manage and he grabs your wrist in his big hand, to push you against the cold glass of the table; his free hand slips under your skirt and his fingers sneak under your panties.

“If you don’t want me, why are you so wet?”

He towers over you, his eyes unreadable behind his glasses and you can’t help but sob again: your drunken brain can’t find an adequate response, your body on fire after such a long time without another person’s touch.

Your body arches when his fingers slip inside your cunt, warm and wet, to fuck your hole hard and fast: he’s seen you masturbate so many times he knows how you like it, how you want his thumb on your clit, how to curl them to find your G spot and bully it, while you trash and cry, your muscles impossibly tight around him. He knows the sounds you’re making, those high pitched sobs that mean you’re close.

“Nooo…” You moan when his fingers leave your body.

Michael’s stare his cold and burns you at the same time, you have to hide your face because you can’t stand it deep into your soul; roughly he forces you to look at him.

“Look at me when I fuck you.” His palm cups your cunt cruelly. “You don’t get to come if you stop staring at me.”

Your drunken mind wants to come, wants an orgasm to take the pain away, it doesn’t matter who gives it to you, as long as your heart stops hurting. Then you will forget all about it.

A scared sound escapes your mouth when his big cock is revealed to you: you’ve never had anything so tick inside of you, you’re scared. Michael seems to revel in the fear he sees in your eyes, he can feel his erection grow with it, the knowledge that you’re finally at his mercy fueling his desire: you’re going to take all of him and be grateful that his seed will grow inside your belly, he’s going to give you all the time to adjust, but he’s coming inside of you and you with him.

Impatient he pulls your shirt and bra out of the way to free your beautiful breasts and he jacks himself faster at the sight of your tits. He bats your hands away when you try to cover yourself and curls one hand around a breast, until you cry out in pain.

“You’re all mine to see.” The vise on your breast is so tight he’s going to leave imprints. “Say it!”

You’re drunk and petrified, you don’t understand where this violence comes from, you just want to come and be done with all of this.

“I’m… I’m all yours to see.” You manage to say with tears threatening to fall from your eyes. “It wasn’t so hard.” Michael’s hand travels from your abused tit to your cheek to dry the tears already there. “I want to make you feel good, but you have to behave. Will you be my good girl?”

If you weren’t this drunk you’d fight him off you, scream bloody murder until someone comes to your rescue, but you’re drunk and desperately need all the human connection that you can scrape. You’d never sleep with Michael, not in a million years, but you’re not in your right mind and you just slump against the cool glass, incapable of stopping him.

Michael’s bulbous head nudges your wet entrance, slowly he slides in and groans at how wet you are; he hasn’t had many partners but no cunt has felt as perfect as yours, the ripple of your muscles as your body desperately tries to adjust to his size makes his blood boil, your pained moans and keens spur him on and his pushes become faster and faster, the more your cunt opens up for him. Desperate you try to relax, the pain of his intrusion mixes with pleasure, your drunken mind is confused, your body arches when he bottoms out and your eyes roll in their sockets: you’ve never been so full in your entire life.

Michael has to stop once he is sitting fully inside of you, your hole strangles his cock in ways no other cunt has ever managed, your nipples are erect with the pleasure he’s giving you and you’re making those small sounds that have him want to fuck you hard and fast, but he’s promised you pleasure, and he is no liar. Your tearful eyes are on him as he bends his back to envelope one nipple in his mouth to suck, gently, the other is getting pinched by his long fingers; slowly the pleasure mounts over the pain you’ve been feeling, your drunken body responds to his ministration and you moan, eyes on his as he switches between nipples with satisfied groans, your hips even lift to invite him to move, and he follows your movements, picking up speed when he feels your muscles give up to his ownership of your body.

You moan and keen when he picks up speed and he pulls your legs over his arms to fold you and fuck you faster, your wet cut squelches with every push, his cockhead bullies your G spot mercilessly and you try to squirm away, the pleasure too much and not enough. Michael bends against your body again and kisses you, tongue proprietary in your mouth he snuffs your scream when you come, your cunt so tight around his cock that he follows, copious in your hungry hole, and keeps fucking you, his erection still at full mast, fueled by your desperate sounds of overstimulation: he’s dreamed about this for too long to stop now.

You try to beg, to scream, but his hand around your throat cuts off your desperate prayers, your scratch his wrist and he simply fucks you harder, grinds against your poor clit tighter and your legs kick against his back, spurring him on: he knows you like it hard and even if you don’t? It’s what you’re getting now.

With a groan he pulls out and turns you face first on the table, fast he enters you again and grabs your tits to use your body as leverage to fuck your hole savagely, his hold the only reason your body is still up, your hands try to grab uselessly at the glass, his heavy balls slap against you and pleasure burns through you, painful it courses through your body and you squirm with it, tears falling from your eyes as his cock rapes your hole deeper and deeper, until he comes, panting your insides again, triggering your own orgasm.

You pant, the cold of the table nice against your over heated skin. Distantly you feel Michael’s lips on your nape, he’s leaving small kisses and nibbles on the soft skin, when you try to move you moan, your cunt curling around his still erect cock.

“Michael, please.” You beg, so sore already. “If you didn’t want me, why is your cunt strangling my cock?” He whispers cruelly in your ear.

Michael can’t believe his body can still be in need of yours, but he’s not going to say no, not when your cunt is massaging his erection so deliciously. Fast he removes his cock and plugs your cunt closed with his fingers, he can’t risk his seed to go to waste, not when he’s trying to knock you up; one handed he turns you on your back again and enters your hole with a groan: he’s found his home and he’s not going to leave it.

“Please Michael.” You sob. “I’m so sore!”

He cups your cheek and kisses you again. You submit to his ownership, afraid of triggering his rage; distantly a part of your brain is screaming that you don’t want this, that you should fight him, but you don’t have the strength to, not when you just want to forget your ex for a while ans are so scared of his rage: you will feel dirty afterwards and will drunk yourself in a stupor to forget, but that’s problems for future you, now you can't do anything else, you just want the pain to stop.

“I was too forceful, was I?” Michael caresses your body, already getting used to the feel of your skin under his. “I’ll go slow this time, love. Give me your last one and we’ll stop.”

For now, he thinks. He’s not done with marking all your holes as his.

“Don’t hurt me.” You sob, small and pathetic. “Never.”

His hips move slowly against yours, long and deep pushes that you feel everywhere in your body. His hands are at your breasts again, massaging them in tandem with his pushes inside of you; you squirm, your muscles sore with the abuse he’s subjected you to, your clit inflamed with the way he grinds against it, still sparks of pleasure explode in your muddled brain, your cunt clenches around him, pulling him in tighter and tighter, that he can’t help but grind against you, the image of the ring of his come and yours around his base and the squelch of your hungry hole spurring him on. He’s not going to last long and you’re coming with him again, sucking all your seed inside of you, until it takes. He’s going to fuck you through your pregnancy as well, his hips grind faster when he imagines the added pressure of your full belly and your tits, leaking milk he’s going to be all the happier to suck.

“No Michael please!” You beg when he starts fingering your clit. “Be my good girl.” He groans, punishing you with hard thrusts. “You’re going to come and drain my cock dry, or I’m not going to stop until you do.”

Your body arches at his words, the part of your mind that’s still coherent reels at the realization that he’s been fucking you bareback, your cunt clenches at the thought, tighter and tighter as he fucks your deeper and faster, until you come with a pained sob and he follows you, emptying his balls fully inside of you.

He stays rooted inside of you, willing his seed to take as your muscles massage his soft cock to the point of overstimulation; you’re a mess of tears and ruined make up under him, still too shook after so many orgasms, and he uses your fragility to enact the last part of his plan.

He grabs the glass and bottle still intact after your coupling and fishes for the small packet of drugs he’s bought on less than savory websites (the wonders of the deep web, if one knows where to look) and dissolves one capsule in the remaining alcohol. Gently he raises your head and forces you to drink everything: you need to be pliant for this part, he can’t risk you acting silly if you two meet some coworkers on the way out.

Once you’ve drunk everything, he stays inside of you, just enjoying your body as the drug takes effect, only then he’s going to dress you and help you back to your apartment, where he’s going to fuck you for the whole weekend. Hopefully his purchase will not be needed, but if you misbehave he’ll have to give some more of it, he needs you to be pliant, ready to follow his breeding project. As you stare at him with glassy eyes, Michael decides he’s going to drug you anyway and once the effects drain off your system, hopefully you’ll buy his story, that you two went on a weekend binge of alcohol and sex. If things will go as he’s planned, come Sunday you’ll be embarrassed and he will buy you breakfast and ask you out on a proper date, if you start complaining, then he has to use plan B, the one he had devised when he had found out you had a fiancé. You don’t know it, but if you are going to be a silly goose, he’s going to hide you away in the small farm out in the country he’s bought under a false name (he is a man who needs little to survive and has managed to put away a big sum easily), until he can break you and remake you into his perfect little wife. He will have to lock you in the basement for a time and use the fake posts he’s prepared in advance to justify you disappearing from your life, but he’s positive that’s not going to be needed: you are his other half, after all.

#michael gavey #michael gavey x reader #michael gavey x y/n

217 notes · View notes

melodygatesauthor · 7 months

Text

Then I Saw You

Basil Stitt X f!Reader

Beta Read By: @xbellaxcarolinax - Using prompts by @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction, a few Nonnies, and my own ideas.

PLEASE READ TAGS/DISCLAIMERS/WARNINGS BEFORE READING THIS FIC. THERE ARE DARK THEMES!

Summary

You moved in next door to Basil Stitt two weeks after his incident. After everyone he cared about ignored his calls and acted like he didn't exist, he was starved for affection, and your pretty voice caught his attention immediately. He decided he'd do just about anything to have you all for himself...anything.

Tags/Warnings

Disclaimers: There is heavy non-con in this fic, it's not for everyone. If you're sensitive to that sort of thing in fanfiction, please keep on scrolling thanks.

NSFW, non-con, rape, sex, unprotected sex, praise kink, masturbation, obsessive behavior, possessiveness, porn with some plot, smut, creampie, breeding kink if you REALLY squint, non-consensual somnophilia, drugged sex, non-consensual drug use, minor mention of suicide but NO actual death or implied death in fic, also me making some shit up like how peepholes work, neighbor!Reader, dark fic, dark Basil Stitt. DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT (that means that what you see in the tags WILL be in the fic, don't act surprised when you get exactly what you were warned about.)

Word Count: 9.8k

Basil saw the moving truck outside when it pulled up by the curb. Two men got out, opened up the back, and started to bring someone’s belongings inside. His apartment was only one of the two on his floor. The old man across the hall went to a nursing home a couple of weeks ago…was he getting a new neighbor? Sure enough, he heard them opening the door across from his and moving things inside.

He looked around at his living space, a disgusting mess of old pizza boxes, empty alcohol bottles, and his broken belongings. No doubt he’d need to get a better handle on his outbursts. He’d already received a notice from the landlord with all the banging and shouting the person living below him had dealt with. Depending on the kind of person the new neighbor would be, he might get more than just a warning if they heard him being too rambunctious.

That’s when he heard your voice, a sweet thing that crept under the gap between his door and the hardwood floor that he was likely to lose his security deposit for after destroying it. He ran to the peephole, looking through the lens and seeing you for the first time.

His heart felt like it stopped beating. His entire body shook as he pressed his palm to the door. You were…beautiful.

“What the fuck…” he whispered to himself, as you walked into your apartment. “W-what the…” he stepped away from the door, “fuck.”

The second your door opened again he was pinned to his own, his good eye glued back at the peephole to get a glimpse of you. He whined, seeing your pretty smile as you handed the movers some money. Why were you smiling at them like that? Basil paused. Why did he care?

Maybe it was that you sounded, and looked, so nice. His calls to his girlfriend had still been unanswered, and the same could be said for his parents. You looked like someone who would care about him. Someone who could look past…

No.

Despite wanting to stare at you longer, he stepped in front of his mirror instead. There was no way you would be able to stomach looking at someone like him. He touched the reddened, rippled deformity on the left side of his face. An overwhelming dread poured into his chest, making him feel heavy with sorrow. How could anyone love him? His own mother couldn’t even be bothered to speak to him, even after all the voicemails he left.

“Yeah absolutely, I’d love that,” you giggled in the hall.

You’d love what? Basil thought, rushing to the door once again to see who had you feeling so upbeat.

You had a piece of paper in your hand. He didn’t like how one of the movers was smiling and looking at you. Was he flirting with you? Basil’s hand reached for the door handle, but he stopped. What was his plan? Was he going to walk out there, someone you’d never seen or met before in your life, and just tell the guy to fuck off?

In a perfect world…yes.

He’d step out there, no paper bag on, and tell the man off. Basil imagined you’d be so enamored with his actions that you’d kiss him, smiling at him the way you were smiling at the mover right now. You’d touch his cheek and look at him as though his face were normal, like it was just a couple of short weeks ago. Your lips looked so soft.

Basil whined, pressing his entire body against the door, cock rubbing between the wood and his abdomen. He saw you go into your apartment again, closing the door behind yourself. Over the next couple of hours he sat in front of the door, waiting…listening for your voice. All he heard was the sound of the movers going in and out, until finally there was nothing.

He stood there in the still of the silence, breathing slowly and trying to contain himself. He thought about opening his door again and knocking on yours, introducing himself as any good neighbor would. His breath hitched in his throat when he considered your reaction though. What if you saw his face…

What if you saw the monster he’d become?

“No, no, no…” he shouted, feeling emotionally overwhelmed at the thought of your rejection.

He would rather spend his life watching you through his peephole than risk your outright denial of him. At least in his mind, he could think up a million fantasies where you loved him, let him take you on a beautiful date, and where you were pinned underneath him, screaming his name while he made you come over and over again.

He was still so fucking hard. He needed you to step out of your apartment. He needed you now. Just the sound of your voice would do something for him. If he could just hear it, just a little bit, it was all he needed. He slowly opened the door and stepped into the hall, ensuring no one was there. He walked up to your door, looking through the lens to see if he could get a glimpse of you.

You walked by, and he thought he might collapse. You’d changed into something more comfortable, a pair of cotton shorts and a tank top. As you should, it was rather warm that day. You deserved to be comfortable, perhaps even naked. Basil’s thoughts consumed him as he watched you bending over to open a box, pulling some things out, and disappearing from view. How lucky he was that you put those boxes right there by the door.

His hands gripped the doorframe tightly, and he rutted his hips involuntarily against the door. His whole body shook, watching you move so freely around your new home. He wondered what would happen if he just walked in and took you while you were bent over in a box. Your pussy was right there, hiding behind such a thin layer of fabric. Surely it would be easy to just…

He bit his lip so hard he tasted iron, rolling his cock faster against the door. His breathing was labored, needy, and desperate for you. Basil knew he wasn’t good enough for you, but you might like him if you just gave him a chance. He could thrust into your wet, velvety heat and make you scream out like it was the best thing you’d ever felt. Or maybe you’d cry out in terror because no one wants to fuck a monster.

He let out a low growl, feeling his cock ache while it leaked in his pants. You’d heard the sound, stopping what you were doing to turn and face the door.

That was it.

That was all he needed to see before he lost it. His body shook against the door while a soft whimper left his lips. Hot cum spilled out through his clothes, leaving a wet streak on the wood he’d been rutting against. He sighed, finally feeling some sense of satisfying relief. Even after all the nights he’d spent palming his own release, he’d never felt so good.

You did this to him.

He had to move, looking into the peephole to see that you were coming closer. Basil darted from your door, opening his quickly and locking himself inside silently. He didn’t want you to know he was there. He couldn’t let you know he was there. He couldn’t let you see his fucking face.

----

It only took him a few days to get your schedule figured out.

In the morning when you left - he presumed for work - you were dressed so nicely. He would’ve followed you but, on account of his horrific deformity, he couldn’t. So he settled for what little bits of you he could. He loved it most when you’d come home, tired from the day and retreating to your apartment so he could sneak over to your door and peek at you.

He would only allow himself a few moments of watching before his conscience forced him back to his own place where he would fuck his fist raw, passing out on the couch. Everything was fine, and he could see himself doing things that way forever, until it wasn’t enough anymore.

He needed more.

Basil found a gift card to a coffee shop up the road that he knew only had a dollar and some change left on it, and made his way to your door late one night about a week after you’d moved in. You were already in bed, at least, he assumed you were. It was two in the morning and he couldn’t hear a sound coming from your apartment. Basil stuck the card in between the frame and the door, wiggling very slowly so as not to make a lot of noise.

Click.

When your door opened slowly, he felt his heart fluttering wildly. This was it. This was the moment that he finally would get to see you. He stepped slowly, sock-covered feet treading silently over your floor. Your apartment was laid out exactly the same as his only mirrored, making it easy for him to get to your bedroom. He stopped when he got to the doorway though. There was a mirror on the wall to his right.

Turning to see his appearance, he lost all confidence. The grotesque creature looking back grounded him. He couldn’t go in there, not like that. What if you woke up? Maybe if he was still attractive he could make you understand why he was there, standing over you and watching you sleep, but not like the way he looked now. If he tried that now, you’d scream, calling him a freak, or a monster. He couldn’t risk hearing such horrid words coming out of such a pretty mouth, so he backed away.

“Another day…I’ll see you another day then,” he whispered with a soft cry leaving his lips. “Goodbye.”

On his way out, he stopped when his foot landed on something unexpected on your living room floor. He reached down, feeling something soft in his hands. He knew immediately what he was holding, but he brought it to the dim light coming through the window from the moonlit sky to look at it anyway. They were black, made with delicate lace…your panties.

----

Basil stared at your panties on his bed for at least two hours. He hadn’t smelled them yet because he wanted to pace himself. He wanted to savor them, enjoy them as long as he could before he had to steal another pair. Deep down he hoped they would fix him; that they’d be enough to satisfy the unquenchable thirst you seemed to fill him with. At the same time, he knew deep down that this was likely only the beginning of what would become something very, very, dark.

Taking the delicate fabric in his hands, he brought them to his face, rubbing the place that touched your cunt along his nostrils and inhaling so deep he thought he might faint. He shuddered, falling back and catching himself on his desk. He moaned, feeling them against his face once more.

“Fuck, fuck baby…” he whined, breath coming out in a ragged pant.

His tongue darted out, dragging along the place where your flavor was most potent. He whimpered, squeezing the desk so hard his knuckles ached. He licked again. You tasted too good, so delicious he thought he might die if he never got his mouth on the real thing.

Basil’s elbow brushed against the handle on the knife he’d stabbed into his desk multiple times. He snatched it up, holding it and turning it in his hand, letting the moonlight shine off the metal. He could see his mattress just over the edge, and had - what he thought was - a brilliant idea. His cock ached, and it was your fault. Once again he needed to satisfy his urges because you wouldn’t.

He stormed over to the bed, knife in hand, before stabbing a hole deep into the center, making sure it was big enough to take him. He didn’t even know where the knife landed when he threw it to the other side of his apartment, and he didn’t care. Basil wrapped your panties around his pillow before hastily removing his pants, hands shaking in the process. He’d never felt so fucking desperate.

If he closed his eyes, he could almost convince himself that the stuffing in the mattress was a good substitute for your beautiful pussy. It wasn’t, nothing would ever be a good enough substitute for you, but this wasn’t too bad. He slid himself in all the way, body shaking at the sensation as the cotton moved aside for him. Basil buried his face into your panties, taking in your smell some more, and licking them to breathe in your taste.

The bed rocked against the floor, probably loud enough to piss off the occupant of the apartment below him. He didn’t fucking care, he was busy.

“Mm, that’s it, baby, you feel so fucking good,” he whispered the words he wished he could say to you. “So tight, you’ve been waiting for someone like me to come stretch you out hm? Fuck.”

He wondered if you’d like the way he sounded when he was grinding into you. Would you like listening to his hungry moans and low growls? What about when he whimpered and whined? He always thought he sounded a little pathetic, but would you judge him for it? He couldn’t help it, when the pleasure overwhelmed him he had to vocalize it.

“Honey, you’re so sweet,” he kissed your panties, imagining that you’d squirm for him when he did. “Such a pretty little pussy.”

He was good with his tongue, he knew you’d like it if you’d just let him have you. There wasn’t a man alive that would spend hours with his tongue flicking over that swollen little clit until you were nearly pissing yourself from overstimulation, not the way Basil would. No one could love you the way he would.

His drool made your panties wet, the taste and smell already mixing with his own while he fucked the hole in his mattress sloppily. He got louder, practically yelling in a loud rasp while he mouthed at his pillow.

“You’re so good, s-so g-good.” His voice became heavier, deeper, more like a low, feral growl as his climax closed in.

Basil’s body stopped with his cock buried to the hilt inside the mattress. His body trembled and shook while he pumped shot after shot of hot sticky cum into the cotton. He was practically screaming, face buried into the pillow to muffle the sounds. His mind went blank, except for your face. He felt his cock twitching, emptying every bit it could into the damn mattress.

It was just a fucking mattress.

Basil’s heavy breathing slowed and eventually turned to sobs. He held the pillow close, crying into it, soaking the fabric with his tears. What kind of loser fucks a mattress? He thought to himself, feeling his cock getting soft inside the hole he’d made.

----

Basil woke the next morning with his drool adhering your panties to his scarred cheek. His cock was dried with cum to the hole in his mattress. He groaned, feeling like he’d had the night of his life…only to quickly realize that he looked like a pathetic mess that his own mother couldn’t even bring herself to love. He’d fucked his mattress.

What kind of loser…

His thoughts trailed off before he could finish repeating the sentiment of the night before. He peeled his face off the pillow and winced in pain while pulling his dick out of the bed. He heard your voice in the hall, calling him like a siren song to his peephole. He looked out there, and you were standing in the hall laughing with your phone to your ear.

“Yeah you can pick me up at seven, that would be great,” you said as you disappeared out of view.

“The moving man…” Basil said to himself, turning away from the door and running both hands through his hair with his eyes wide, his anger building.

He saw himself in the mirror again, face dropping as he was reminded of his disgusting appearance. His hair was everywhere, cock limp and just hanging there like a sad, pathetic thing. His shirt had pizza sauce stains all over, and discoloration under the armpits. In a moment - a very short moment - of clarity, Basil realized that even if he did manage to get you to move on from the scar, he wouldn’t be able to impress you looking, and smelling, the way he did.

“Alright, you’re going on a fucking date with some fucking loser huh?” He said, feeling the pain ripping through his chest. “Let me show you what you’re missing!”

He showered, feeling clean for the first time since the incident. When he stepped out of the shower, he noticed the good side of his face for the first time in over two weeks. The way the steam covered the mirror, only the unblemished side was visible. He touched it, feeling comfort in the fact that he could pretend for a moment that he was normal, that everything was normal.

He turned the hot water in his bathroom sink on, keeping the mirror steamed up while he took his razor blade and shaving cream out of the cabinet. He had to keep wiping the mirror so he could see himself, and that was probably why he nicked his cheek a little. He cursed, finishing the shave and then holding a small bit of toilet paper to the wound. As if he needed more deformities on his face.

Once composed, Basil walked out to his living room, realizing finally what a mess it was. He couldn’t possibly bring you in there with it looking like that. And he was going to bring you in there one way or another.

It took him all day to get his apartment back to a, somewhat, normal state. Basil had to push through several mood swings in the process, fantasizing about how impressed you would be, complimenting how nice his place was, and reality creeping its way into his mind and reminding him that you were going on a date tonight…

A knock on his door forced all the thoughts to a stop. Who the fuck was knocking on his door? He hadn’t bought pizza or groceries. The new mattress he ordered wasn’t expected until next week. Basil walked up to his peephole, peering through only to nearly collapse when he saw you. He stepped away from the door as if it were made of hot coals.

“Holy shit,” he whispered. His body immediately started trembling. “Um…I can’t come to the door right now!”

“Oh!” He held his chest when you spoke. You were speaking to him. “Well that’s okay, I just wanted to leave you some cookies.” You chuckled softly. “I honestly didn’t even realize I had a neighbor until I heard you playing some cool music yesterday.”

“C-cool music?”

Basil was still so in shock that you were even speaking to him that he’d forgotten how inconsiderate he’d been yesterday afternoon. He remembered playing music so loudly it probably could be heard by you and the downstairs neighbor.

“I’m sorry if it was annoying, I’ll keep it down next–”

“No it’s alright! I actually like it!” You couldn’t be that perfect, you couldn’t be. “Well, I hope you like chocolate chip, I’ll leave them here! I’m not the best cook but I tried.”

Your little giggle would be the death of him.

“I would like anything you made for me…” He said softly as he was struggling to breathe.

“What did you say?”

He cleared his throat, “I um…thank you so much I’m sure they’re great.”

“Okay well, have a good day! Maybe I’ll see you another time.”

With that, you were gone, and Basil’s knees felt so weak he had to sit on the floor. You talked to him. You fucking talked to him. You really did like him. You must have liked him, why else would you have come to his door and left him such a nice gift?

Basil waited by his door until he was sure you were gone before opening it and pulling the cookies inside. They were still warm, you must’ve just made them and waited for them to cool off before bringing them to his door. He held one in his hand, turning it around to decide which side to bite first. He finally bit into it, feeling the sweet flavor fill his mouth, forcing a smile over his lips.

You made those for him.

Basil ate too many cookies, and with the pang of despair rushing through him periodically at the thought of you going on a date in just an hour, he found himself with his head in the toilet bowl, vomiting uncontrollably. He groaned into the bowl, beginning to cry in frustration. He couldn’t keep himself together. You deserved to go on that date with someone else, someone who wouldn’t flush the delicious gift you brought them because they didn’t know how to establish self-control.

Your door opened at 6:55pm on the dot. Basil was, of course, watching you. He felt his cock aching immediately at the sight of you in that tight black dress. Watching the way it shifted as your hips swayed down the hall made his heart rate rise quickly. He couldn’t believe that someone else would be seeing you in that, touching you in that.

He had the urge to be destructive again, feeling his breathing become rapid and labored in panic. He went to the window where he could see the street below to watch you get into the man’s car, only to see you standing there shivering. Why hadn’t you worn a coat? Basil looked over at the clock, 7:01pm. The guy was late.

While he didn’t enjoy seeing you waiting in the cold, Basil did like knowing the man was unreliable. He watched you pull out your phone, likely calling your missing date. He could tell the man didn’t answer by the way your arm dropped to your hip and head hung in disappointment. You waited though, still hoping he would show up, just standing there in the cold.

For ten more minutes Basil watched you wait, full of hope, only to end up disappointed in the end on your walk back into the building. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so happy, wanting desperately to rush out into the hall and offer to take you out. He couldn’t though…that stupid fucking scar was ruining his life.

It hit him suddenly, that you would be hungry. He couldn’t let you go hungry, not after how sweet you’d been to him, so it was time to repay the favor. Even before the incident, Basil couldn’t cook for shit, and he wasn’t about to try now. This opened the door for another opportunity though…an opportunity to see you in person…

“No, no you’re crazy,” he said, looking at himself in the mirror.

He couldn’t see you like that, not with the horrible scar. And showing up at your doorstep with food in hand and a paper bag on his head would be even weirder than the scar. But if you were asleep, well, it would be hard to be afraid of him then…wouldn’t it?

With a plan in place, he called to order a pizza. He didn’t know what you liked yet, but everyone liked pizza, right? You were nice, you’d probably eat it even if it wasn’t your favorite. Plus you’d be hungry. He was banking on you being hungry.

The food arrived at his door a little while later, and the delivery man knew to just leave it on the floor. Basil took the sleeping pills he was prescribed and crushed them, sprinkling the dust over each slice so you were sure to get some in your system. Every bit of reasonable thinking was gone. He needed more than just your damn panties and a cum filled mattress.

He needed you.

Basil put the pizza in front of your door and knocked before scrambling back into his own place. He watched through the peephole as you stepped out, dressed in a comfortable pair of sweats and a loose t-shirt. You sniffled and looked down at the pizza with a confused expression. It was obvious that you’d been crying.

That’s what you get for thinking someone else could do better for you than I can. Basil thought to himself.

You lifted the sticky note he’d adhered to the box, reading over it slowly before a smile appeared on your face.

Thought you might be hungry.

The cookies were really good, here’s some pizza.

Your neighbor, Basil

Basil’s heart nearly stopped. You were smiling because of something he did. You were smiling because of him.

“This is so nice of you,” you said softly, looking at the door. “Would you…would you want to come in and have some too?”

There’s no way this was real. There’s no way you were actually inviting him into your apartment. Basil looked down at his clothes and straightened out his shirt. His breathing became shallow at the thought. This was so unexpected, he couldn’t believe it. Basil looked over at the table next to the door and caught a glimpse of his reflection in the bowl he usually tossed his keys in.

“Um…I can’t, but you should enjoy it,” he said with a crack in his voice.

He was surprised to see the look of disappointment on your face. This must be his delusions toying with him again. You weren’t disappointed that he wouldn’t come to your apartment, that would never be the case. He stood there awkwardly, watching you through the peephole, waiting for you to leave.

“Well, you didn’t have to do this, but thank you so much, I actually am hungry.” You paused and sighed, “I’m glad you liked the cookies,” you said to him before retreating to your own apartment once again, pizza in hand.

Basil was trembling at the door for the better part of a half hour. He was stunned by your reaction, by the fact that you invited him over. It couldn’t be real. You’d fucking invited him over! If you’d known what a loser he was, would you have still invited him? If you’d known he fucked a hole in his mattress while intoxicated by the smell of your cunt would you still want him in your home?

----

He waited until it was late and he knew you’d be sound asleep. He walked into your apartment, noticing the pizza on the counter, the box still open, and three slices missing. Surely you’d consumed enough to be comatose for the time being. He stepped into your bedroom and froze.

“Wow,” he whispered, staring intently at your half-dressed form on the bed.

You hadn’t even covered up. Did you know there was a chance he might creep into your house and you wanted to be ready for him? Did you wear that tank top that barely covered anything and those lacy panties knowing he would like them? What about the way your lips parted…were you expecting him to kiss them?

Basil knelt down, reaching his shaking hand out to touch your cheek. Your skin was so soft. He felt a sob swelling in his chest. If his face was still soft, would you let him touch you while you were awake? Would you be able to actually look at him without being disgusted? He couldn’t even look at himself without being disgusted anymore.

“So pretty…”

He leaned in, brushing his nose against yours, in a small way he was testing to see if it would wake you. You stayed asleep, and so he moved forward, pressing his lips against yours. He stayed there for so long, just letting his mouth linger, feeling the way his skin felt against yours. He felt his cock growing already, aching and pressing against the zipper in his jeans. He wanted to feel your mouth in other ways, a kiss wasn’t enough.

“Someday I hope you’ll be able to enjoy this while you’re awake but…for now this is how we need to do this, okay?” he looked at you, knowing you wouldn’t answer, but hoping your subconscious would somehow hear him and understand.

Basil unbuttoned his pants, sliding the zipper down slowly and pulling the waist down with his boxer briefs as well. His fat cock bobbed out, already leaking from the head, slick strands dripping to the floor beneath him. He held the top of your head with one hand, and his length with the other, bringing the weeping tip to your pretty lips.

His body trembled immediately, feeling the way your mouth opened around his girth. He moved in further, feeling the wet heat of your tongue on the underside of his shaft. If he gagged you would you wake? He tested it, sliding forward more, watching those lips stretch around him. If you were awake you’d look up at him so pretty, eyes filling with tears as you struggled to take him all the way.

He stuffed himself all the way into your mouth, the tip of his cock resting in your throat. He could feel your body responding to the foreign object naturally, throat closing around him while you gagged, but you stayed asleep. The feeling was indescribable, causing his entire body to shake and tremble while he kept your head impaled on him.

“You’re too good baby, too good…you're gonna make me come…gonna make me come too fast! Ah!”

Basil pulled his cock out of your mouth and jerked his spend onto your cheek. He fisted himself angrily, beyond pissed that he couldn’t hold it in for more than one fucking minute. If the time ever came - which he expected it wouldn’t - that he managed to get you in bed while awake, if his face didn’t scare you off, the fact that he was a minuteman surely would.

He looked all around for something to clean you up with, but anything in your apartment would have to be taken out, or else you’d know someone was there. Basil decided to peel off his t-shirt, using that to wipe your face clean. He leaned against the wall, looking at you, still scowling and infuriated with his inability to perform, even while you were sleeping.

The longer he looked at you though, the more aroused he became all over again. Maybe getting off so quickly wouldn’t be a dealbreaker…not with you being his own personal aphrodisiac. He walked over to you again, touching your hip and squeezing your flesh. He pushed you onto your back, hooking a finger into the waist of your cute little panties. To his surprise, between your lips was sticky, warm, and wet. Did he do this to you? Did he have this effect on you?

Basil pulled your underwear down your beautiful legs slowly, staring at the slit between them hungrily. He felt some drool spilling over his bottom lip that he wiped away quickly. Tossing your panties aside, he crawled onto the bed, lowering his head between your thighs. He could smell you as he closed in, the same familiar smell he’d spent the other night drowning himself in.

Using two thick fingers, he spread your lips, watching the slick strands of your arousal stretch and break as they moved further apart. Everything was glistening and wet, and it was all for him. He leaned in, licking a stripe up and collecting what he could on his tongue, bringing it in past his lips and letting the taste settle in his mouth before swallowing.

He became immediately addicted, going in and pressing his face against your mound, moaning loudly into it. He wondered if you’d notice the feeling of his textured skin against your thighs. Would you find that disgusting? Of course you would. You’d probably yell at him and throw him out of your apartment just for looking at you with that milky broken eye in his head while he ate you out.

Not while you were asleep though. While you were sleeping he could plunge two fingers into your tight little hole and feel your cunt clenching around him. In your sleep you wanted him, you were pulling his fingers in deeper like you were starving and needed to taste him. It wasn’t enough, his fingers just weren’t going to do it for you, you needed more.

Positioning himself between your limp legs, Basil brought his cock to your entrance, gliding it between your folds to get it slick with your juices. If you were awake he imagined you might be moaning, whimpering, maybe even begging for him. He tested your threshold, seeing how well the last man in there had stretched you out. Not very well it would seem.

Slowly, he slid himself in, shuddering as he felt your walls closing down over every inch. He used two fingers to hold your puffy lips open so he could watch your cunt swallowing his cock. He needed to last, he needed to keep himself from coming too soon again. He might be a pathetic freak, but he wasn’t going to spill his load like one.

Fuck.

He wondered if this was how he would keep you. It was entirely possible he’d just pumped a baby into you without your knowledge, but that was okay. It was perfect actually. You wouldn’t want to have a baby without someone around to help you, right? He’d be able to swoop in and be there for you, to care for you.

He touched your stomach as he pulled out of you. He shuddered on the way out, looking down at the mess he made as it trickled from your pretty little hole. Basil had never been so proud of something in all his life. He may have been a hideous monster, but he made you look so beautiful just by stuffing you with everything he could. He wanted to do more. He wanted to do it again.

But he wanted you to be awake this time.

----

Another week went by of you and Basil trading food and notes throughout the day. It started the morning after he fucked your sleeping body that you came by with breakfast. He smiled and nearly cried again as he watched you put down the plate with a metal lid keeping it warm as if he’d ordered room service.

“Good morning. I don’t know if you like coffee but, you can come over and get some if you want,” you said, waiting to see if he’d respond.

He didn’t, instead he just stood there staring at you. He didn’t want to come over yet. Not while you were awake anyway. He couldn’t stand the idea of you seeing him and being afraid of what you saw. The thought of it was devastating and it hadn’t even happened yet.

“Um, no thank you. Thank you for the breakfast though I’m looking forward to it. You’re a great cook.” He said through the door.

You looked disappointed again. Were you lonely or something? Why did you care if your neighbor wanted to come over or not? You didn’t even know him, wasn’t that dangerous? He sniffed out a laugh at his own thoughts.

“It’s fine, my offer stands,” you started for your apartment again.

“I’ll cover lunch,” he said quickly before you disappeared.

When lunch came, he wanted to do something better than pizza. You deserved something good after what you’d done for him the other night, so he ordered from one of the fancy restaurants nearby and had it delivered to your door. When you retrieved your food, you furrowed your brow and smiled widely.

“Really? Gino’s? That place is pretty pricey.”

“Well, you’re really kind so… I thought I’d do something nice for you,” he felt nervous every time you spoke to him.

To his surprise, you left the bag in the hall and disappeared into your apartment. Did he do something wrong? He started panicking, thinking maybe he’d offended you somehow. Did you hate expensive food? Did you not like Gino’s? He reached for the handle, ready to pull the bag into his apartment and hope you forgot about it altogether when your door opened again and you stepped out with a folding chair in hand.

“Well, if you’re going to buy me an expensive meal, the least I can do is join you for lunch. Did you get something to eat?” You asked, sitting down and pulling out the meal he’d bought for you.

“Uh, well…” he felt his stomach grumble suddenly when he realized he hadn’t thought of his own hunger in the slightest, “I had a big breakfast.”

You chuckled, “Yeah so did I…here…”

Basil watched in awe, still shocked you were even giving him the time of day, as you sorted the containers of food and made two meals out of the one he bought. You reached for his door and then stopped, dropping your hand at your side.

“I know you like to keep to yourself, so I’ll leave this here and turn around so you can get it, okay?”

Why were you so understanding? Were you quite literally the epitome of perfection wrapped up in the most beautiful looking person he’d ever seen? Basil, at this point, was nearly certain he was having visual hallucinations. It wouldn’t be the first time since the incident that he’d thought he’d seen things…or heard things. Maybe this was just him going completely nuts. Maybe this was just an extension of his psychotic break. You put the box of food down and turned.

Slowly, Basil opened the door, not peeking his head out far enough that you’d be able to see even if you did turn around, and he pulled the food back inside. You didn’t even try to peek. You didn’t let - what he assumed to be - your morbid curiosity get the better of you. Basil pulled a chair over and sat with his half of the meal on the other side of the door.

He couldn’t see you now, but he could hear you, and that was good enough for him.

“So, you obviously saw me get ridiculously embarrassed last night,” you said from the other side of the door.

He smirked, thinking about how much he enjoyed you last night, and how much you seemed to enjoy him, despite not ever knowing he was there. You called it embarrassing, but to Basil, it was an amazing, and unwasted, opportunity to show you something better.

“Well, maybe it’s good that he’s doing this now instead of wasting your time later,” Basil said, taking a bite of his food.

He thought about Katherine and the way she’d been to him. She cheated on him for so long, and yet he stayed. Since seeing you, Basil considered that he never really loved her, he just hated the thought of admitting someone could cast him away so easily after so many years. He further hated the thought of losing the social status that came with having a girlfriend. Everyone seemed to respect you and treat you differently if you had a pretty girl on your arm. He would’ve dealt with the cheating to avoid the shame of admitting she’d cheated on him, but he never really loved her.

Not the way he loved you.

“You’re very right about that,” you agreed with a mouthful of food. “What about you? Are you seeing someone?”

Basil laughed loudly, “me? Is that a joke?”

“Hey, just because you’re a hermit doesn’t mean you don’t have some online girlfriend or something.”

“No…no, no one would be interested in me,” Basil felt the weight of his loneliness on his chest again.

“You seem like a sweet guy, and you do have great taste in music, I’m sure there’s someone out there who would love to date you,” you chuckled, “this kinda feels like a date.”

Basil put his food down, having completely lost his appetite in favor of this conversation with you. He stood, going back to the peephole. You must’ve heard him because you looked up at him with those beautiful eyes of yours and stared.

“Why?” He asked. “This is weird.”

“What’s weird? Me talking to you about my dating life when you literally live next door to me? You probably know more about what’s happening in my personal life than anyone,” you said, shaking your head and putting your food on the floor too.

You got up and walked to the door, putting your palm on the wood paneling and resting it there.

“When I came in from that date, well, lack thereof, I called my best friend and my mom, and no one answered,” you looked at the floor and then back at the peephole. “Some stranger who I hardly know, but who also seems to be going through something, was kind enough to send me a pizza. That kinda checks off a lot of boxes for me as far as someone I might be interested in getting to know better.”

“What if you find out I’m actually a horrible person? Like you said, you don’t know me,” he retorted, thinking about what he’d done to that pizza you were so grateful for.

“Are you a murderer?” You asked bluntly, keeping your eye on the peephole.

“Well no, no I’m not.”

“Okay then I don’t think–”

“What if I’m hideous?”

“I don’t give a shit about looks really,” you sighed and sat back down in your chair. “I know this is weird, that’s why I just want to talk to you, get to know you a little. Is that alright?”

You were right. There was no harm in getting to know him, except it gave him hope. The last thing he could handle was the thought of you leading him on and then turning him down once you saw his face. What if getting to know you only made his obsession grow? How would he ever recover from the crushing despair if you rejected him once you saw what he really looked like?

“Fine,” he said, sitting back down.

For days you shared meals and stories, taking turns sitting outside the other’s door while getting to know one another. Basil was falling for you. It was more than just that obsession to fuck you now, it was that need to call you his. It was the need to have you smiling and laughing with him on a lazy Sunday morning or while apple picking in the fall. Simultaneously, it was the need to have you moaning his name while you took every inch he had.

He would overcome anything for you, even his greatest fear, which was risking your potential rejection of him.

He gave himself the excuse he needed to knock on your door and come inside. You’d had a heavy package delivered, and while he was certain you could handle it, he decided to offer some help. Basil knocked on your door, heart pounding with every step he heard you took toward him. He adjusted the paper bag on his head, knowing he looked foolish, but he wasn’t ready to show you everything yet.

You opened the door, and he saw your eyes scanning him up and down. This was the first time he was seeing you in the open while awake, and you took his breath away. It was evening, so the two of you had already had your dinner date. The UPS driver came late, and you probably hadn’t planned on company, hence the short shorts and ill-fitting tank top.

“Basil?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

You were judging him, he could tell. His palms started to sweat and he lost the ability to speak. Could he remember how to breathe?

“Oh, my package!” You exclaimed, walking over to it and trying uselessly to lift it.

“I got it,” he said, coming out of his stupor and rushing to aid you.

You thanked him as he brought the package into your apartment and placed it down on your floor by the couch with a heavy grunt. He stood up, stepping away from the package. His paper bag rustled as he did so.

“Thanks. I probably could’ve dragged that in here myself but…I appreciate the help,” you sighed, giving Basil a smile that nearly stretched ear to ear.

If you could see his face, you’d see how flushed his cheeks were at your charming expression.

“What?” He asked, keeping his eyes on you.

“I’m just happy to see you out of your apartment,” you explained sincerely. “You don’t have to keep the bag on unless you want to, but it’s going to be kinda hard to drink some wine with it on.”

You went to one of your cupboards and pulled out a bottle of Barefoot Moscato and two glasses.

“All I’ve got is white, and it’s cheap,” you said, pouring the drinks.

“Oh um…I’m not…I was going to go back…”

“Come on Basil, please just stay for one glass?”

How could he say no when you looked at him like that? So sweet and begging that it nearly brought a tear to his eye to even think about turning you down.

“Y-you really want me to s-stay? You don’t think I’m weird or–”

You laughed, “I mean, you are wearing a bag on your head, I can’t lie and say that’s not odd but…” you trailed off as you handed him the glass of wine. “We’re all a little weird right? I mean, I’m letting a guy I barely know have wine with me in my apartment with a bag on his head. Who’s weirder?”

Basil couldn’t help laughing. You made a good point, so he decided to try and relax, and the wine certainly helped. Three glasses in each and you were both feeling a bit more loose, but he was also feeling something else. While you were laughing and telling him about how annoying this girl at work was, your breasts were bouncing with every wild movement of your arms. He was mesmerized.

“-And when I tell you that’s all she ever does…are you listening?” The bag on Basil’s head shifted as he looked back at your eyes.

“Yeah, yes.”

You chuckled, looking down at your chest and back up at him, shaking your head.

“All you men are the same, just after one thing huh?” You asked, downing a fourth glass of wine.

Basil’s heart stopped in terror. No. No, you couldn’t possibly think that of him could you?

“No, no it’s the wine I’m sorry I was zoning out and I wasn’t even looking at them I…I’m so sorr–”

“I’m kidding. You think I would’ve answered the door when I saw it was you out there wearing this if I didn’t want you to look at me?”

Basil let out a half-hearted chuckle, trying to breathe again, “kidding, right…” he finished off another glass as well. It was then that he realized what you’d said. “You want me to l-look at you? Like…like you…” he gulped, “you want me to…”

You laughed, nodding and sighing at him affectionately.

“Basil, I think you’re a nice guy, I want you to look at me.”

His mind was fuzzy, and even with only one good eye, he could see clearly as you started to bring the straps of your tank top down. Either your self-esteem was so on the floor, and you’d take your top off for any man that gave you the time of day, or you were really into him. He didn’t want to get his hopes up only to have them crushed, so he took what he could get, and enjoyed the moment, watching you lower your top down, showing your beautiful chest off in a lacy bralette.

You couldn’t see the way Basil’s jaw dropped, or see the way the drool dribbled down his chin, but he couldn’t breathe again.

“I’m going to assume that you like what you see, even though I can’t tell what you’re looking at…” you raised your eyebrows.

“Yes, yes I’m sorry I’m just…wow…”

“Wanna feel ‘em?” You asked with a hiccup.

Could you get cuter? Your big, gorgeous eyes were looking at him from the other side of the couch, begging for validation. You really needed someone as pathetic as him to validate you? Someone so beautiful needed his reassurance to feel adequate? You were practically asking him to tell you just how much he loved your tits and wanted them. Who was he to deny you?

“Um…I…”

Before he could stutter any longer, you were crawling on the couch over to him, sitting on your knees, your chest perked up for him to admire. Basil’s cock had been at half mast for the better part of the hour, and now it was threatening to bust through the seam holding it back. With a shaking hand, he reached out, touching your breast underneath the thin fabric of the bralette. You bit your lip as his thumb brushed over your hard nipple.

“You have really big hands,” you said with a giggle that made Basil’s body spark with an electric shock.

“You like that? Big hands?” He asked, bringing his other hand to cup your neglected right breast.

“I do,” your tone was sultry and sweet.

A breathy moan escaped as his hands massaged your tits, taking his time to rub his thumbs over your peaks, feeling the way they got harder under the bralette. He pinched them, enjoying the way you whimpered when he did. You were so sensitive, he knew you would be, he could feel it.

He felt something else too, the unmistakable and insurmountable arousal growing inside of him and pooling in his groin. He cursed under his breath, squeezing your tits tight while he felt the heat, shooting in spurts, and wetting his lap, making a mess of himself…right in front of you. Basil froze, afraid to move, afraid that you would see how pathetic he was, blowing his load after only touching you for a second.

“Did…did you just…” you started, looking down at the dark, wet spot on his lap.

“I’m so sorry, this has never happened to me before,” he lied, trying to cover himself with his hands. “I’ll go, oh my–”

“No wait,” you say, putting a hand on his shoulder before he could leave. “Are you kidding me? That’s so fucking hot.”

That was it, the proof Basil needed to convince himself that you were all in his head. Though he usually couldn’t feel his hallucinations, not like this anyway. He would’ve kissed you right then, but he couldn’t. You still didn’t know what he looked like, and no matter how much of his odd behavior you were willing to accept, he couldn’t be certain you would accept his deformity.

“Can you bend over for me?” He asked, voice soft and pleading.

You bit your lip and nodded slowly, turning around and putting a throw pillow under your chest. Basil removed the bag from his face, letting it drop off to the side of the couch. He could see you much more clearly now, bent over so nicely for him, rear poised and ready for him to touch. He stood up and unclasped his belt, then pulled down his soiled pants and boxer briefs, discarding them on the floor.

“Can you promise me you won’t look?” He asked, holding onto your hips as he positioned himself behind you.

You giggled and nodded, “yeah, I won’t look, I promise.”

He leaned over you, “thank you,” he whispered in your ear, feeling your body shudder in response, “such a sensitive girl.”

You whined as he kissed down your shoulder, bringing his hands to your waist and holding tightly. He ran his cock between your ass cheeks, feeling the sweet friction they provided was going to set him off again so soon after he just came. You said it was hot though…

“I’m sorry, it’s coming again I can’t stop–ah!”

Basil moved his hips faster and faster until he was shooting heavy ropes of white all over your back, getting some on the couch. He felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment, despite your saying how much you liked it. You laughed again, wiggling your ass a little and rubbing it along his length.

“Such a needy boy,” you taunted, “get it in me next time.”

He furrowed his brow, running the fat tip of his cock along your slit. You still made him so fucking hard, no matter how many times he came, he could keep going as long as you were around. Basil watched your lips part, swallowing him whole until his pubic hair was brushing against your rear. He whined, feeling your walls flutter around him and hearing your satisfied sigh.

“Yes, oh wow, you’re f-fucking h-huge,” you said, gasping as though he’d been pounding you for hours, but he still hadn’t moved since he slid into you.

“You really like it? You think it’s big?” He pulled back, seeing how wet you made his cock until he slammed forward again.

You cried out, “oh god yes!”

Basil squeezed your waist tighter, finding a smooth rhythm that kept you wailing and drooling on your own couch. He watched you hold onto the arm of the couch, burying your face into the pillow and screaming into it like he was killing you. He pushed on your back, forcing you to gasp and groan, face being forced into the cushions.

He leaned forward, kissing your shoulder, “tell me how much you like it,” he whispered, “please, I need to hear you tell me how good I feel.”

“I-oh god I can’t-mm!”

“Please,” he begged pathetically, kissing your back again, “tell me it’s good, please.”

“It’s good Basil it’s…oh!”

He felt your pussy squeeze around him, and when he looked down he could see it throbbing while you gushed over his cock. You were incoherent, making high pitched whines as you continued losing yourself in the euphoria. He’d slowed his movements, trying once again to contain himself a little longer. It was clear you wanted more when you started moving on him again on your own, taking what you knew you needed.

“Basil,” you mewled.

He leaned into you again, “yeah?”

“I want to see you, please,” you said, voice pleading for the one thing he never wanted to give you.

Basil would give you his soul, his body, everything in his bank account in order to avoid letting you see his fucking face. He slammed into your hips, growing a little frustrated with your curiosity. Did you want to see it so you could mock him? So you could laugh at the man while he fucked you full? Why did you need to see him so badly?

“I want to see your face when you come,” you said as though you could read his mind.

Basil pulled out of you.

This was it.

He couldn’t keep hiding from you.

He sat back, feeling the cool leather of the couch against his rear.

“Fine,” he said coldly, feeling dread weighing on his chest, making it hard to breathe.

You turned around slowly until you finally met his gaze. Your lips parted slowly, eyes scanning over his face as though you were mapping it out, memorizing the details. As you leaned in closer, Basil turned his face away from you, shielding the deformity from your eyes as though it might make you hate it less. He could feel the tears welling, he was already anticipating your harsh words.

“Why are you hiding from me? Pretty boy,” you cooed in the softest voice, reaching out a hand and touching his scarred cheek, turning him to face you.

“W-what did you just say?” He asked, a tear spilling over and running down his cheek.

“I can’t believe you’d keep your beautiful face hidden from me like that,” you climbed over his lap, straddling his hips.

“Are you playing with me? Huh? What’s your angle? Are you going to go to work tomorrow and tell all your friends you fucked a freak?” He was getting angry, but trying to keep it from boiling over.

You giggled, “do you really think that lowly of me, Basil?” your face closed in on his and your lips brushed against the rippled skin on his cheek softly.

He choked out a moan as you lowered yourself on him, stuffing your cunt full of him once again. You liked his face? You really liked it? He threw his head back, hair falling out of his eyes as he looked up at you. He guided you as you bounced up and down on his dick, feeling it bruising the deepest parts of you. You brought your hands to the back of his head, holding onto his dark curls tight while you kissed him deeply.

“Mm, you’re so so-good-baby,” he growled lowly, “use me, use me to get off again, I want you to come on me again and again I–”

“Shh,” you whispered, pressing your lips to his, forcing your tongue past his lips, and the second he tasted you, he let out a whimpering moan.

He squeezed your hips tighter, intoxicated by the feeling of you, and the sounds of your wet pussy slapping against his lap. He started rolling his hips upward, feeling himself getting deeper and deeper with every pass. It was like your body knew he belonged in there, making room for him as it should. You let out a guttural moan, deep from inside of you, and Basil could feel your cunt starting to flutter around him again.

He latched his lips to your neck, and you immediately held onto both of his shoulders and lurched forward, hips freezing while your cunt contracted over him in waves. Basil came once again, cock throbbing while it filled your little hole with everything he had. He pulled your hips down, placing both hands on top of your thighs and holding you there while he rutted upward, sobbing as he did.

He couldn’t believe you let him take you. He couldn’t believe you called him pretty. Most of all, he couldn’t believe that when you were both finished, panting heavily on the couch as clarity set in, you didn’t call him an ugly monster and scream at him to leave your apartment.

“So you…was that…did I do alright? You liked it? You don’t think I’m hideous?”

“Basil…” you leaned in and kissed his nose, “you’re perfect.”

Miscellaneous Character Masterlist

Main Masterlist

#basil #stitt #basil stitt fanfiction #basil stitt fan fiction #basil stitt x reader #basil stitt x you #basil stitt fanfic #basil stitt fan fic #lightningface fanfiction #basil stitt oneshot #basil stitt one shot #basil stitt smut #oscar isaac #oscar isaac fanfiction #lightningface fan fiction #basil stitt x f!Reader #basil x reader #basil x you #basil stitt headcanons

584 notes · View notes

r6shippingdelivery · 2 years

Text

There’s been a lot of talk about AO3 and censorship lately, due to one of the candidates to the OTW board. And I realised I have very strong Opinions:tm: about censorship and the freedom AO3 stands for.

Censorship is not a solution. It doesn’t work and it’s not even easily agreed upon where the line should be drawn. What some people might deem as immoral or reprehensible is not the same others will consider so. For example, you and me can agree that sexual stories about minors turn our stomach, yet other people would also include LGBT+ content there, even the sfw ones, and others might decide that any sexual content at all is immoral. So, how do we agree about what to ban, when nothing of it is even illegal?

because let’s be honest, it’s all fiction. As in, not real. Things like incest, rape and pedophilia are illegal irl, but not in fiction. Cause they’re not harming anyone. Really. You can find it disgusting, I certainly do, but I also recognize no person, no actual human, is harmed in the making of those stories. Because they’re made up and about made up characters. I won’t seek it out, and if I see someone making that kind of content I will most probably avoid them/block them (without harassing them), but they have the right to create any kind of fiction they want.

It always baffles me how readily understood that is when it comes to murder and violence in fiction. Nobody thinks that someone who writers murder mysteries or procedural shows really wants to go out and kill people. However, as soon as it’s about sex, people are up in arms ready to believe that those make believe scenarios are an indicative of someone’s real desires. Why is that? And since we’re on the topic of double standards: why are people clutching their pearls about fanfic, but literature gets a free pass, more or less? You go into a library and you’ll find lots of books with shocking and distasteful topics, including those that contain pedophilic content (like Lolita, to put a famous example), incest (Game of Thrones, among many others), rape, murder, etc. But they want me to believe that fanfic, the medium with severely impaired social acceptance and magnitudes smaller reach, is the actual problem that will “normalize” those ideas? Nah fam, I smell a moral panic, and people finding fanfic writers easier to bully into submission. Because this is all about controlling what forms of creative expression are deemed acceptable. Fanfic IS a form of art, popular art if you will, but still art. And by virtue of how AO3 is designed, it’s ridiculously easy to never see the kind of stories that you find objectionable.

Tags are a wonderful thing. I can specify what I want and what I don’t want in my story results when searching! Tags are the author being responsible and giving due warning. Especially the “dead dove: do not eat” tag, it lets you know that the content of the story will have questionable content, proceed at your own risk or keep scrolling. Same as the “chose to not use archive warnings” that one is a warning in itself that the story might contain triggering/upsetting content, and it’s the prerogative of each reader to decide whether they’re comfortable continuing reading or not. Ultimately, it’s all about taking responsibility for one’s decisions. People who are in favor of censorship in AO3 either don’t know how to control and curate what materials they access, or feel entitled to everyone else taking their morals into account instead of taking responsibility for their own experience in the archive.

None of the stories on AO3 is illegal. Fictional stories are not illegal, not even those dealing with unsavory topics. The archive makes people agree to continue reading whenever you click on a story with a certain rating (or without any rating at all, just in case!), so the reader is giving their consent to continue reading, they’re making an informed choice. Same as with the tags. They’re there, they’re a warning. If someone reads the tags, finds them displeasing and still continues reading, that’s on them. If I find a story with tags about rape/non-con, for example, I keep scrolling. Cause I know I will find the story displeasing and upsetting. The people clutching their pearls and going “but think of the children!” are, mostly, people who refuse that responsibility and ask the world to accommodate them and their morality. And then throw around words like pedohilia and accusations of “kiddie porn” careleslly, watering down the seriousness of such accusations. No, an explicit fanfic of twin, underage siblings going at it is not CSA. Cause there’s no real children involved in it. It might be disgusting for a lot of people (me included), understandably, but you can 100% avoid reading it and interacting with the people who write those.

Finally, let’s not forget the recent history of fandom spaces, shall we? LiveJournal and Fanfiction.net both had purges of content, after some campaigns for censorship gained traction and popularity. So now everything relating to certain topics is eliminated! Well, except that also includes communities of support for survivors of sexual abuse (it happened in LJ). Well, except that the people pressuring for censorship weren’t happy with the gay smut either, so a lot of LGBT related stuff is now also gone! (happened both in LJ and ff.net). Except, in some countries anything sexual at all, is frowned upon, so why not ban that too? Censorship supporters will always move the goalposts, forever shifting their aim whenever they accomplish something. Because it’s easier and more comfortable to make others conform to their standards than accepting some artistic expressions will be uncomfortable to some people. And trust me, none of them will care if the dark fic in question was written by a survivor of similar experiences trying to cope with their trauma or raise awareness, or if it was done simply for titillation or to safely explore different scenarios in fiction. And the topics that were banned in those websites didn’t disappear at all, they just weren’t properly warned for/detailed in the summaries, so anyone could stumblre upon them by accident. The complete opposite of what happens in AO3.

AO3 was created by people who lived through those censorship events in different fandom spaces, as a response to it. To seeing whole communities and swathes of fan content being unceremoniously deleted overnight. AO3 is an archive and an online library, not a social media platform. It’s a safe haven for anyone to host their fan creations, but that doesn’t mean it’s a safe space as people understand the term in other platforms. In AO3 you make your safe space by using the tags. Because that is the only real way we can have a safe haven for EVERYONE.

The thing about freedom of speech is that sometimes, you have to defend things you dislike (that, I repeat, are legal in this case), because experience has shown time and time again that as soon as you give an inch to the censors, they take more and more. And today they’re up in arms about “pedophilic fanfics”, but once that is done? It might be all nsfw content, it might be trans related content, it might be something else. But it will happen.

#ao3 #fanfiction #fanfic #censorship #freedom of speech #anti anti #okay I'm entering the discourse I'm sorry

4K notes · View notes

sunfyresrider · 11 months

Text

Love & Ruin 2

Synopsis: After being hidden away for most of your life your mother decided to stop being protective. However, there is one rule you cannot break, DO NOT associate with your uncle Aegon. Of course, it's the first thing you do, and you both quickly realize you will be each other's inevitable downfalls.

Pairing: Aegon Targaryen x You (daughter of Rhaenyra) Warnings: cursing, smut, dubcon, more smut, manipulation, possible murder, obsessive tendencies, incest, SEVERE mental illness, helaemond is canon, failed plots, a disaster wedding, just targ things, too many warnings to count honestly Word count: 10k Note: I am a bad person. Im sorry it took me so long to finish but my life is a cluster fuck of bad and worse and it is a blessing I havent yeeted myself into hell. Pt three is alr in the works unlike this one. PS Helaena's and Aemond's plan did work. I just didn't directly mention what it was...yet. Anyway, I hope you enjoy (if you're still interested) Tags: @lovelykhaleesiii @caffein8me @llearlert @introverbatim @ladybug0095 @yazzzmints @heavenly1927 @rinirinse @aelora-a (srry it didn't let me tag some of you.)

“Be quiet,” Aegon growled into the ear of the whore he chose to warm his bed this morning. The squelching sounds of his thrusts slamming into her cunt echoed throughout the room. She stifled a moan and dug her teeth into the pillow below her head. Her voice did nothing, only reminded him he wasn’t you. Aegon tried to get girls who resembled you but none pleased him the same.

Today was an especially bad day for Aegon and mayhaps he was taking it out on the whore too much. Her cheeks were stained red from his slaps and surely her cervix would be bruised by how hard he was pounding himself into her. He had good reason though; you were returning home.

It took five years, but he almost was able to move forward with his life. You still plagued him in his dreams and there was a constant tugging at his heart everytime your name was brought up. You simply existing reminded him of the only time he was ever happy, and he clung to the memory like a baby clings to their mother's tit.

His family was very determined to keep you away. It worked successfully, he hadn’t heard nor seen from you at all. Every letter, every flight, every potential unsavory way of stalking your whereabouts was immediately dispelled. That was only within the first year, at some point he gave up. Aegon knew you would come back at some point; you were in love with him. But days, weeks, months, and years passed and still he received nothing.

The idea they had turned you against him murdered the last bit of hope he had. It was one of the many things that formed him into the ‘monster’ everyone believed him to be. The first was being born the first son yet being ignored for his elder sister his entire life. The night at Driftmark was the second trauma that seared a mark into his heart and brother's face forever. The third was the forceful marriage to his sister.

Aegon scarcely remembers that day or the night afterwards. He used milk of the poppy to ease his mind to the point he could hardly stand during the vows… he doesn’t know if he actually attended the first dance. He does remember the bedding and it makes his skin crawl.

He was forced to walk into and perform his own rape. He didn’t want it and would never want it. There was no daydream or drug strong enough to make him forget. It was awful in every sense of the word. Aegon cried during it and then he cried after it. No matter how much he scrubbed himself in the bathing chambers he could not free himself of the feeling of disgust. Then there was the overwhelming guilt that came after.

Aegon never touched her again, never really interacted with his own children. Why would he? He was an accomplice in her suffering as much as his own. She didn’t want to marry him either, she didn’t want to bear his children. He could never be a good husband, lover or anything of the sort to Helaena. She deserved it, he thought, to have someone who could care for her. Someone who could love her like a wife… not like a sibling.

But that would never be him and it ate him alive like the disease killing their father. She was too kind, too pure for him or any other man at court. She was stupid, yes, but with a larger heart than any of the women he’s met combined. Yet, he never brought himself to do his duty to stay loyal and cherish her like Alicent told him to. The only good thing he ever did for Hel was leaving her alone, it made her happy to be free of him. In truth, it would make everyone happier if the world was rid of him completely.

Maybe his life wasn’t over yet, maybe there was still a shred of hope for him left in the world. The reason he used to be happy was returning to him. Even if it was to marry another man… He could sort that out easily enough. When Aegon first heard the news, he wasn’t as calm. He

He could take back what was his and become the man everyone wants him to be… Or he’ll drag you down into his depravity with him. It didn’t matter, either option was a severe improvement from the existence he was currently suffering.

“Are you ready to be back?” Jacaerys inquired whilst trying to tame the loose curls on his head. The carriage ride from the doc to the keep had proved to be dreadfully long and boring. Luke was seeping anxiety that made the entire car tense. ‘Aemond, Aemond, Aemond, he’s gonna take my eye! He’s gonna kill me if I go back!’ The chants of a scared kid really did threaten to send you over the edge. ‘Just apologize, Lucerys... He’s not going to do anything while grandsire is alive. Nothing is going to happen, just say sorry before it does.’

Everything you said fell on deaf ears. His fear was expected, he took his uncle's eye and received no punishment. Granted, after hearing both sides it seemed inevitable for someone to get gravely injured. You still genuinely believed or at least convinced yourself a simple apology might just keep Luke alive for a few more years. “No brother, I would rather be at home,” you muttered in a near whisper.

Jace, always the obedient son, was oozing confidence completely unbothered by the situation. He learned that from Daemon, never let them see you falter, especially the Hightower cunts. “It’s because of him, isn’t it?”

Your heart clenched, a sorrowful reminder of your childhood beginning to boil to the surface. A whirlwind of memories threatening to break you.

You learned how truly codependent you were on your uncle. Without him you had become a shell of whatever it was you once were. Your insecurities reigned supreme as you had an insatiable need for approval from everyone. That meant doing everything you were asked and then some to become the greatest version of yourself you could be. You took care of people, especially your brothers whom you felt the full burden for. You were the eldest and you allowed them into a situation that got them hurt and another child maimed.

It wasn’t just your insecurities; your moods would take a turn quicker than before. At the drop of a hat, you could be raging or hysterically crying. Sometimes you didn’t even understand why. You became obsessive over little things that didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. For example: how your dresses were fitted, how your hair was styled, and what you ate and drank. It wasn’t in the front of your mind at the time, but you did things in the way he always preferred.

Without him, deciding on things became hard. You never needed to think before because he did it for you. Not only that but you became a chronic liar. It wasn’t on purpose, sometimes things would just slip out. You were great at denying any problems you had and chalking them up to your blood moon. You denied any relationship with Aegon and defended him more than he deserved. Especially since he so carelessly abandoned you. No letters, no visits, he left you with fucking nothing. You started to convince yourself you never loved him; it was just pity. You had a burning desire to rescue him and mistook it for genuine affections.

Four years ago, almost to this very day the invitation to the prince and princess’s wedding had just reached your doorstep. You learned that day just how much you did love him because when the letter was read you cried so much you vomited. You stopped eating, stopped sleeping, stopped doing all the things you love and rotted in your bed waiting for the pain to subside… Or for the stranger to take you.

The image of him touching her the same way he did you, the idea of him whispering the same things he did to you, the way she would cry out his name like you did… It made you want to rip your hair out and peel your skin off. She probably had an extremely elegant dress; the throne room was probably filled with music and guests, and they would ride their dragons together to show off their union… You tore all the clothes he liked to shreds and punched a hole in your mirror…

Originally, you never had any disdain for your exceedingly kind and misunderstood aunt but now it was pure untamed hatred. The jealousy was incredible, truly you would be confined to a prison cell if you acted on the things you thought up.

You could kill both of them and end the war before it even started. You prayed she would miscarry the twins, it didn’t happen. You prayed he would get too drunk and die from alcohol poisoning, obviously it didn’t happen. You prayed the entire keep would be set on fire and everyone within it would die burning in flames just as your father did… it did not.

You were never good enough for him. He abandoned you and left you to rot after taking something so important from you. You were a fool, a naive idiot. The fear of being abandoned personified ever more when your mother gave birth to two legitimate children. Everyone was going to abandon you and it was driving you insane. You had mastered the art of pretending, no one was able to tell what was underneath the surface.

Jacaerys was really the only person who noticed the change. He was the only one who saw through your lies and facade. And he was the only one who genuinely helped you overcome the complete insanity you had sunk into. He pulled you out from drowning in a sea of madness and kept you afloat ever since. In turn, you felt a little guilty for your wicked thoughts and desires, but you were atoning for them by good will and actions.

Still, sometimes late at night when you were alone, he would come back. The memories would come flooding in and sleep would evade you. He had burned a scar into your heart that never fully healed and probably never would. According to your mother who said the first heartbreak is always the worst and most memorable. You didn’t want to come back. You didn’t ever want to see Aegon Targaryen again.

“No, it’s because- ” You hit your head on the back of the car, knocking the air out of your lungs. The carriage came to a halt, catapulting Lucerys forward into the other seat. Jacaerys bursted into uncontrollable laughter as he rubbed his forehead from the impact.

It was a great start to a visit, a crash landing. Surely, not foreshadowing the rest of your adventure. As you unpiled from the carriage a welcome party stood there waiting for you. It was unexpected, seeing your grandsire there in decent health, you heard he was much worse.

Then there were the Hightowers, looking as if they wanted to be anywhere but here. Your eyes scanned over them one by one, Alicent wore her plastered fake smile as usual, Otto stood too stiffly and only looked at Daemon, Aemond looked ready to murder you all. He was far different from what you remembered, tall, slender, and handsome even with one eye.

Then there was Helaena… Completely disassociated from whatever was happening and mumbling under her breath. You smiled, the rage you felt before when you imagined her was gone. You had actually healed and successfully moved forward. This was good, so great you could even hug her…

Until your eyes moved to her left. The sunken feeling in your chest blossomed into a new monster threatening to devour you. Your smile faded; your heart began erratically pumping blood to all parts of your body. Your knees locked in place trying to keep your balance.

Aegon… Aegon was only ten feet away and yet there seemed to be miles between you. It was a joke, a great joke, he looked more gorgeous than he ever had. His hair was cut to frame his face perfectly, his jaw was more defined, his dark circles brought out the beautiful sea blue that surrounded his pupils.

The smile that adorned his face was larger than any you had seen him wear prior. His eyes twinkled with childlike glee. The corset you wore became suffocatingly tight and the heat in King’s Landing began to make your head spin. Your breathing was rapid, a million emotions coursing their way through your head.

Aegon took a step down the stairs, your body wanted to flee but you were frozen in time. Another step, all the air in your body left you. A third step made all the bile in your stomach rise to your throat. His feet touched the ground, and he strode towards you, the world started to spin, your mind racing with the worst possible outcomes.

You blinked, for a mere second. You reminded yourself it had been five years; he had no hold on you anymore. He was a monster, a terrible man and a worse son. Aegon was not going to get under your skin, you were not going to falter in front of him. You were better now, you moved on, you were mentally healthy…

You opened your eyes, inhaling a deep breath. He was one pace in front of you, “Niece.”

Disappointment, Aegon was riddled with it every day and today was no expectation. He was so excited his soul wanted to jump out of its skin. But no, the second he approached you passed out and all the sudden he was the villain. What could he have possibly done a foot away to make you faint?

Unless you were too excited to see him, your heartbeat too fast and you fainted. It would make the most sense, reuniting with the person you truly love would send anyone over the edge. It almost made him faint when he first laid eyes upon you.

Gods you were so much more beautiful than he could have imagined. You had grown into a gorgeous woman, easily the prettiest one at court. Your eyes sparkled like diamonds, your hair flowed perfectly down your face, and your cheeks still flushed bright pink when you saw him.

Your dress hugged your figure in all the right places and the things he imagined laid beneath made him insatiably horny. Control, he had to remind himself it’d been years and he needed that. It was hard considering the two days you’d been here he had only seen one glimpse. One quick glimpse in the courtyard before you were stolen away again.

Your chambers were only a few hallways away and he could see you anytime he wanted. And yet, Aegon had to plot when to corner you. There was not only a hoard of guards following you around every step you took but Jacaerys clung to your skirts like a lost orphan.

So, he waited and waited… and fucking waited until he was practically ripping the hair from his skull. The lack of your presence was okay on the first day, the second it was tolerable but by the third day it became suspicious. Impatient and spoiled, his mother’s words rang true more and more each day.

It was increasingly clear that it wasn’t just them keeping you from him, but you were putting extra care into avoiding him. What did he do wrong? The stalking? The letters? The gifts that were never opened. It was all obvious professions of love… Why would you be uncomfortable with that?

Aegon was nursing another goblet of wine as he sunk to the floor. His face felt wet as if he were crying… Was he crying? His body to the point of numbness he could not tell any longer. Sadly, it seemed the wine was not working to cure the ever-disheartening thoughts in his mind.

You were going to get married and forget all about him. They hadn’t given him a single opportunity to attempt to carve his way back into your heart and most likely weren’t going to. What was the reason for living at this point? The one thing he yearned to touch was so close yet so far.

He scoffed at himself. Aegon was no tragic poet, but he was beginning to sound like one. It was the alcohol, a new type probably causing his episode. He went to grasp the corner of the table to stand up, but his legs could no longer withstand his weight. The contents on the table along with his own body fell to the floor.

Not one of his proudest moments to date.

“You’re pathetic,” an irritating voice laced with superiority drew him out of his head. “Brother, have you come to visit your- I mean my children? They aren’t here.” Aemond clenched his jaw once, twice until he let out a deep breath. There was no point in arguing with Aegon, there was no winning against someone fueled by pure delusions.

He would never come to see his- Aegon’s children in his room. They would be with their sweet mother far away from the monstrosity they called dad. “We’re all being forced to attend her wedding tourney.”

“When?” Aegon’s eyes lit up and the sunken expression finally lifted. “At dawn,” Aemond took a step back before the smell of wine, sweat and uncleanliness of three days seeped into his nose. “For the love of the seven take a bath!”

Hope, there was still hope left in the world! All of the sudden he had awakened, the whimpering pathetic mess he was a few moments ago was long forgotten. The gears in his brain began turning…

As Aemond strode out of Aegon’s chambers a new plan formed into the mind of the monster himself… “Little brother,” he sang with a cruelty only Aegon could possess. “Will our dear uncle Gwayne be participating?”

Aemond did not loathe his brother as much as everyone believed he did. Yes, he was jealous Aegon the wastrel was first born, and he was not. Yes, he was jealous Helaena was forced to marry the pig instead of him. No, he did not blame his brother for any of this. Solidarity was exceedingly important in times like these, future succession wars and all.

What he learned was, Aegon hated being married to Helaena as much as she did. Aegon didn’t want to be king and would gladly give it to Aemond if the time came. Lastly, as sad as Aegon could be he was fiercely loyal to his family. If it came down to it Aemond knew his brother would die for them… or take an eye instead.

“Has he stopped wallowing in his sorrow?” Even when she insulted people Helaena’s voice sounded like angels in his ear. “No, though he has come up with another borderline war crime plan.” She let out a deep sigh as she fiddled with the needle she used to sew. “Should I ask?”

“He’s urging Gwayne to kill the Fiance before they have a chance to wed.” Helaena stifled a laugh; she should be offended he would dishonor her or even vengeful since her husband dare tried to intervene on another woman’s affairs. Instead, she bit her lip from smiling, “I should be glad she is not as deranged as him or I may not be here today.”

Aemond rose from his seat and sat down next to her. His long fingers gently caressed the side of her face, pushing back the strands that obscured his view of her violet eyes. “I would kill her before she could ever lift a finger.”

Helaena gently tugged Aemond’s hands away from her face, cupping them in her lap. “Aems you are far too serious. She’s still as sweet as a rose I hear…”

There was a sudden silence between them, not uncomfortable in the slightest but eerily still, nonetheless. If Helaena was being honest with herself, she felt terribly for you. She couldn’t imagine what pain he had caused or what exactly he had done to cause you to faint at the mere sight of him.

She could imagine, Helaena simply wished not to burden herself with those thoughts. You were her savior in a weird sense of the word. Because of your existence her brother did not attempt to bed her or force heirs upon her, he did not touch her, he did not bother her unless requested of him. You kept his mind preoccupied, so she wasn’t completely trapped in a horrid marriage such as her mothers. Aegon was a good brother and only a brother… Sometimes she worried what would happen if you ceased to exist.

Still, she was trapped in a marriage. Aemond and Helaena had two vastly different reasons for wanting you around. Helaena wanted to see Aegon content, happy even if they were lucky. And if things happened the way it did in her dreams… Their marriage would be annulled and you two could wed and she could continue to do as she pleased with the father of her children. A fairytale but she was known for being the dreamer.

Aemond simply wanted his brother to get off his fucking ass and do something with his life. He wanted him to stop whoring, to stop pushing away duties, and to start taking matters seriously. The only way he was going to do that was if his favorite toy was promptly returned to him. You also kept Aegon far away from his beloved Helaena, that was merely a bonus.

If he had to choose, obviously he would have not chosen his brother to become obsessed with one of the bastards, it couldn’t be helped anymore. The seeds of whatever drug Aegon made you take to enjoy him had already been planted. The spell you used to seduce him had already begun working.

At the very least you defended them… somewhat. It was enough to make him wish you were dead even less. He had to remind himself, though you were a bastard and related to his sworn enemy, you were also just a woman. As his mother once said, ‘all women are created in the image of the mother and to be spoken of with reverence… And to be treated as such!’

Aemond let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “We’re going to find a convoluted way to help him, aren’t we?” Helaena hummed to herself for a moment, was there any way they could really help you? “Do you believe she is distant because she believes he abandoned her?”

They gazed at each other for a moment, a silent agreement. You were easy to read, at least to the dreamer herself… “Yes Aems, I think we are.”

The dress you were forced into was unbearably tight, the summer sun had seeped through the red fabric and your blood felt as if it was boiling. The royal stand was too crowded, too many unwelcome faces and bodies suffocating you. The noise of horses and knights preparing to show off for your favor made your ears ache. Unbearable, that was the best way you could describe your current predicament.

The fainting spell was enough to have your mother confine you to chambers. She knew, your brothers knew, the Hightowers knew, everyone in the entire keep could see through you both. At every single turn you were specifically swayed far away from your uncle. Absolutely no contact, especially since you were to be married.

That’s what the entire day was for, to celebrate you being sold off to a son of Dorne. If the heat in King’s Landing doesn’t kill you first, then surely the sun there will do the job. You hoped your death would come sooner rather than late.

If the day could not go any worse the sound of someone taking a seat next to you caused you to flinch. You could smell him, practically taste the wine emitting off of him. Then there was the seat to your left, the scent of flowers filled your nose. Your eyes stayed glued to your hands. You didn’t dare move or breathe…

A gentle hand that was as soft as a feather pillow touched yours. “Don’t be nervous.” Helaena, of all the people in the world you did not expect her to say such. Especially now, since you were separating husband and wife or did, they purposely do this to torment you further? “If I’m sitting in your place I can move, princess.”

You kept your head turned to her, trying your hardest to ignore the one sitting far too close to your right. Where was your mother? Your brothers? Where was your family to rescue you? “Nonsense! I purposely asked Jacaerys to let me sit next to you.” To the right, you could feel two violet eyes burning holes into the back of your skull.

“How lovely,” you muttered out trying to find your family from the corner of your eyes. How in the seven hells was he next to you? You turned your body towards the crowd, an invisible shield in your mind blocking you from turning the other way.

Behind you, your entire family was in the row above staring daggers into Aegon. Of course, he stole Lucerys seat before he had a chance to protest. The sound of trumpets blaring, and the weakened voice of your grandsire distracted you, momentarily from the hell you were living in.

A warm and soft hand was placed over your own. Dragging your nails from tarnishing the skin around them. “Afraid your husband to be is going to lose?” It felt as though a bolt of lightning shot down your back. You bit your lip, no you wanted him to lose and potentially be stabbed in a duel. You actually want to be stabbed too right now.

Milk of the poppy was your savior. That’s what had been prescribed to keep you grounded. It’s why you’re not currently on the floor unconscious. It's why you decided to engage in conversation instead of keeping your mouth shut. It's why you let his hands caress your own and bask in the warmth they provided. It wasn’t you; it was the medication.

“Why aren’t you participating in the tourney?” You could feel a smile curve onto his face, though you swore not to look. “Why would I? Do you want me to compete for your favor?” You turned to look at him, shocked by the accusation you would want him of all people competing for you. That was a fantasy of children, a dead one at that.

A mistake was made when you glanced at him. Gods, he was beautiful in the most pathetic way possible. The dark circles, the smug smile, the unruly hair, the piercing eyes and the jaw with just a tad of baby fat encompassing it. You forgot his lady wife sitting next to you, you forgot your family watching you. For a moment, it was just you looking at the pretty monster who ruined you. A shimmer of hope, a memory of childhood championship bubbled to the surface.

“No Aegon, I think you would lose,” you jested. His eyes sparkled; his subtle grin turned into a wide blinding smile. “I think I already have your favor.” Your mouth parted to speak, cheeks brimming red from the implication.

Down below the sounds of cracking shields and screams of pain stifled by armor were becoming the loudest noise. A Blackwood had just begun a duel with a Bracken and… his entrails were staining the tan colored sand a dark shade of crimson. You felt bile rising up in your throat as you unconsciously tightened your drip on Aegon’s hand. An act that didn’t go unnoticed and was quickly returned.

“Not a fan of bloodshed?” His voice sounded softer, almost kind versus his usual unserious tone. He was staring at the side of your face and his eyes shone with mild concern combined with amusement. Aegon was always one for violence, not you. By no means were you against it, seeing the insides of someone’s stomach simply didn’t suit your fancy.

“And the day grows ugly…” Helaena let out a deep sigh as she gazed at the scene below. Her voice made you quickly realize how disrespectful you were being towards their marriage. In a second, your hand was ripped out of his grasp and placed firmly on your lap. Avoid, you avoided both of their looks and your gaze moved strictly forward.

You could have sworn you saw a flash of Aemond’s eyepatch and his fingers patting at her knee. Oddly enough, you were very suspicious of brother and sister relationships considering the family you were born into. Thank heavens you were amongst the normal ones… almost.

“You’re not wrong, Hel. You’re not wrong.” Aegon’s voice had lost all its original sympathetic tone as his lips formed into a pout like a spoiled brat. “Princess! Your favor would surely help me win this tournament if you could be so kind.”

The sound of your fiancés voice made you want to sink into the abyss of your mind and let it swallow you. Maybe even feed yourself to Vhagar much like your late aunt Laena did. Aegon looked worse, enraged and annoyed to the utmost level.

His body moved slowly towards your fiancée, and you swore if looks could kill he would be dead. You didn’t flinch or falter this time. You no longer frowned at the sight of the man you were supposed to marry. In fact, you were bubbling with joy.

The second Martell son held a huge smile while he waited for you to place your favor on his lance. You did your best to make a spectacle out of it, wishing him luck as loudly as you could. Your mother was smiling proudly, surely congratulating herself on a fine match she had made.

She didn’t understand, you weren’t happy because of him. You were happy to see Aegon leaking envy from his pores with the most miserable look on his face. Now he was feeling exactly what you did and it felt fucking fantastic. You gracefully sat back in place with a smile that went ear to ear.

“Would you like to place a bet on who will win, uncle?” He shifted in place, his eyes following the black mare your fiancée rode. “I don’t intend on betting coins, niece.” An awfully smug look creeped onto his face. “What are we betting?”

Aegon leaned into you, so his mouth nearly brushed over your ear. His breath was heavy and laced with confidence. His whispers sent a shiver up your spine that glued you in place. “If Gwayne Hightowers knocks your beloved husband off his horse I get to claim you in front of everyone.”

“…”

Your breath hitched in your throat as the world paused. Heat rose from the tips of your toes to the very top of your head, radiating in all directions. The drugs were no longer keeping your very unstable emotions at bay. Your cheeks were not just flushed by the idea but from the crushing reminder he was not yours to claim. He was stolen from you and didn’t mind until you showed back up. No letters, no secret rendezvous, no gifts on name days or holidays… To Aegon it was always just a game.

A game he was still fucking playing at your own expense. Could he not see he had done enough? He had ruined what sliver of self-respect you had years ago? What else was there for him to take besides your life. Your original despair turned into something hateful, “My husband will win and when he does you have to stay away from me for as long as I’m here.”

His mouth hung agape as he was trying to debate this completely unfair bet. Aegon was going to make a jest, defend himself or anything really before the trumpets blared loud enough for the deaf to hear. “Hmph,” you turned in your seat, stone faced, chin held high, completely ignoring his presence to watch the knights begin to mount their horses.

Ser Gwayne Hightower was wearing a suit of armor and a green cape. Gwayne’s helm was in the shape of a lantern… It looked completely ridiculous. His horse wasn’t stupid, it was a powerful white charger, and his lance appeared to be held firmly in his grip. From all the stories you’ve heard, he was an amazing knight. He’d won many tourneys in the past and nearly knocked down Daemon once.

Your fiancée was on the other side, and he certainly did stand out… The golden decor on his armor was perhaps a bit much and he refused to wear a helm. His horse was beautiful albeit not as powerful as the charger. It wasn’t looking very good.

You were too busy praying to the seven for mercy when the two horses took off. In a flash their lances connected, and poor Quentyn was nearly thrown off. You heard a snicker from the corner, and you whipped your head to stare at the smirk plastered all over Aegon’s face. “Heh look at that!” No fucking way, no way in the names of any god would he get to do anything with you. “Fuck you, uncle,” the venom laced words seeped out of your mouth before you could contain them. Your perfect facade was beginning to break so quickly.

“That can be arranged.” You gritted your teeth and your nostrils flared. Seeing him win in anyway made you want to snatch a sword and shove it right between his fucking…

“We have a winner!”

The crowd erupted into deafening cheers, and you forgot whatever your last thought was. You stood up from your seat to gaze at the ground and surely enough…

“Quentyn Martell has won the favor of the Princess!”

Heh heh heh…. You turned to look at him with a smirk only the divine could wear, “I win.”

He miss stepped, Aegon had completely misread the situation at hand. Her mind had been completely poisoned by those… those cunts! And Gwayne completely fumbled the fucking tourney. This added more layers to the issues already at hand. Firstly, her husband needed to go and fast. Secondly, he had to untaint her mind. Thirdly, how the hell was he going to keep her here with him? Aegon only had a single day and night to do it…

CRASH

Another empty goblet of wine was thrown into the wall. The small shards covered the floor like winter snow tainted by red droplets of wine. The prince was raging and drinking… ceaselessly. “For the love of the seven will you sit down!” Aemond watched unamused, on the edge of storming out himself at this display. It was getting annoying how easily irritated his brother was becoming. Aegon stomped across, “We have to kill him… Preferably sooner rather than late.”

“We could tell the truth about her virtue and have a Septon annul the marriage… avoid making any unnecessary enemies.” Aegon pivoted to stare at Aemond, face void of any signs of agreement. “Yes, and besmirch her reputation in the process… Ha! That will surely make her crawl into my bed.”

Aemond really fucking hated sarcasm above all forms of conversation. “Oh, great manipulative tactician, what exactly were you thinking?” His steps paused as he toyed with the knife he kept on belt. He wasn’t a genius nor was he overly capable of manipulation like his grandfather…

“It can only work if she is obsessed with me again.” The younger brother let out a groan, rubbing his face with both his hands. “What exactly are you planning to do?”

A wicked smirk curled its way onto his lips. His pupils momentarily turned dark, “Not I, dear brother, what are you going to do.” Aemond lowered his hands, so his eye picked through, raising an eyebrow.

—

“This won’t do,” Rhaenyra declared as she tossed another necklace laced with jewels onto the floor of your chambers. “Mother!” you gaped as the expensive piece fell to the floor. She pursed her lips together, fingers grazing the delicate jewelry laid before you. “My first born, my only daughter is getting married… Tacky crystals won’t do.” You sunk deeper into your chair, twirling your wet hair in between your fingers.

Rhaenyra closely examined a few more pieces, none of which suited her exquisite taste. She turned to you, her eyebrows creasing together. “You look more pale than usual.” You looked up at her and her eyes were laced with concern. One thing about your mother is that you could never lie to her. She knew you more than you knew yourself. The slightest bit of discomfort she could snuff out and exile it from your mind.

“I haven’t been sleeping well as of late.” Her gentle hands went to comb through your hair. “If you changed your mind and don’t wish to get married, I could always have Daemon, take care of it.” You choked up a laugh, “threatening murder on my wedding day? How very festive.”

A small smile made her lips curve upwards. She let out a breath, plucking a necklace off the counter and holding it to your neck. “Is it him?” The dragon necklace made of diamonds laced with gold details seemed to taunt you. “No, he hasn’t bothered me at all.” A bold-faced lie that your mother could see through instantaneously. Rhaenyra wrapped the necklace around your throat and clasped it in the back. “Really? He seemed to bother you at the tourney.”

The necklace seemed to be choking you though it wasn’t tight at all. It would have been something you wore if you were getting married to him instead. A golden dragon paying homage to Sunfyre… “Just playful banter. Honestly it went far better than expected.”

She looked as if she was about to contest what you said but three knocks at the door caught both your attention. It slowly creaked open revealing a maid no older than fifteen. She stood meekly in the entrance shifting eyes between your mother and yourself.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you; the king requested your presence.” Your mother raised her brow, questioning the situation at hand. You gave a nearly unnoticeable nod, reassuring her everything was all right. She clapped her hands together, “You’re not disturbing anyone! My love I’ll return shortly.”

Rhaenyra strided out the door with the confidence only a queen could possess. You envied the way she carried herself no matter the situation. You slumped back down into your chair staring at yourself in the grandiose mirror. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad having Daemon rid you of your husband… If anything, he would probably take pride in having something to hold over your head.

But a war was brewing, it was an inevitable fact that no one could deny and soon it would be impossible to ignore. You needed the dornish alliance, and you were the perfect bargaining chip… Curse the seven for making you a woman.

“You look like you’re in agony. Already getting the wedding blues?” It’s no use asking how he snuck in, it’s no use asking why he was here, and it’s absolutely no fucking use to start panicking. “Uncle, I thought we had an agreement.” His steps were light, almost frolicking to stand behind your seat in front of the vanity. Aegon’s face was the ideal image of serenity, you couldn’t say the same for yourself.

“It’s your wedding day! Surely, I can offer my congratulations on this joyous day.” There wasn’t an honest way you could describe the pain within your chest. It felt as if a blade had carved a hole within your heart that refused to heal. A dark abyss threatening to swallow you whole. He wasn’t meant to be happy; you were supposed to be cheery. Aegon was meant to pin after you until he died… Not move on and get married, have children, and celebrate your own wedding.

You didn’t feel the tears quietly falling from your eyes or the way your lip was quivering. His hand moved to graze your shoulder, but you jumped out of your seat, snapping your head back to face him. “Don’t touch me!” He put his hands up in mock surrender, “W-woah…”

“Did you come here to torment me some more? Do you revel watching me be so miserable?” He stumbled back, muttering some incoherent apology that fell on deaf ears. “You abandoned me! You left me like a dog and went to go playhouse with your perfect fucking family, perfect fucking wife and two perfect children.”

One of the many things you were shouting must have triggered something within him. Aegon grabbed your shoulders with such force you almost buckled under their grip. He shook you like a child would shake their pet if it stopped listening. “Perfect? Have you become fucking delusional? What part of a forced marriage to your sister sounds perfect to you?!”

“Let me go! Don’t- fucking touch me!” You shouted in between sobs. “No! You’re telling me you’ve been ignoring me for years because you’re fucking jealous?” You swatted at his face, attempting to grab him by his hair to pull him down. Poor idea, Aegon always thought violence was exciting. Somewhere amidst the fight you ended up wrestling on the ground shouting curses at one another.

“I hate you! I would never be jealous of you!” Aegon shiftly straddled you and began fighting to grab your wrists again. To make it all the more unbearable the bastard was smiling. “Bullshit! It’s seeping off of you.” You bit down on his hand that came just a little too close to your mouth. He growled, slamming on wrists behind your head. “Seven hells will you calm down and listen!”

You writhed underneath him, albeit with less screams of curses. This rather pathetic display went on for only another minute before he forced his lips onto yours. It was rough, mainly teeth clashing together and lips fighting against one another. Part of you wished it could continue, to relive your past one more time before you were sold off.

The other part of you bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. Aegon relented, a droplet of blood staining his swollen bottom lip. Whatever spell he had put on you had worked; you were quiet and unusually still. “Look at me.” You turned your head to face the wall, refusing to be trapped by those damned eyes. “Look at me!” Begrudgingly, after being shouted at, you looked at him. “My marriage is not happy. I swear on my own life I only bedded her once. I was so drunk I can’t even remember if it truly happened…”

“More lies… You have two children.” He scoffed, looking around the room as if asking the seven for patience. “Oh, for the love of- Do you really think those are mine? Just look at them!” Aegon appeared unbelievably desperate for you to believe him. His eyes frantically searching yours for any comfort…

The twins did appear more similar to one brother than the other… Jaehaera herself was a spitting image of Helaena only. “I don’t believe you…” His face dropped as if you had taken an arrow to his heart. “But it wouldn’t matter if I did. I’m getting married tonight.” A foolish course of action on your part because you gave him hope. A dangerous thing if given to the wrong people and he was by far the wrong person.

He pressed his mouth against you once more, this time his soft lips caressed your own gently. The taste of wine and iron coated your tastebuds, and it wasn’t at all displeasing. It was comforting, like a hug from an old friend. He pulled his right hand away from your wrist, almost giving you time to escape. But the second your arm moved he grabbed it with his left. A gentle, almost comfortable, kiss was turning into a desperate one.

Aegon’s tongue slid into your mouth doing circles with your own. Your breaths quickened as he began to nibble on your bottom lip, pulling it between his teeth and then kissing it before letting go again. His hands slid down to your thighs, cupping them firmly in his warm palms and massaging their shape. You shivered when his fingers brushed against your most sensitive area, it had been so long since anyone had touched you.

The wedding you were supposed to be attending today became a distant memory as he kissed you senseless. His lips trailed across your jawline and down your neck, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. When his nose grazed yours again you found yourself trembling with need.

“You have missed me,” he whispered breathlessly. You wanted to say no, that your body was betraying you but when his fingers grazed your unclothed cunt all you could mutter was “ah, ah, ah~”

His tongue flicked out and traced up the side of your neck, then back down. He slipped his tongue inside of your ear, and then swallowed down all of your words. His fingers began gently teasing at your clit, sliding between your wet folds, rubbing it painstakingly slow. You whimpered into his mouth, begging him to do more.

Aegon wasn’t supposed to give it all to you so easily but… Forcing in a few fingers was far from all he could do. He began thrusting his fingers in and out of your slick folds, making sure to tease your clit each time. His eye had a wicked gleam to them watching you come undone underneath him, “you think you’ll be happy with another man? You think he’ll be able to please you like I do?”

You opened your mouth but all that came out was a muffled cry. “No one knows your body like I do. No one can ever please you like I do.” His fingers moved swifter curling up to hit the sweet spot inside of you. Your legs buckled around him as you began to moan ceaselessly. A wicked smile took over his features, “be honest with yourself everytime you try to fuck another man you’ll be imagining me, my lips, my tongue, my fingers and my cock inside of you.”

Your arms fell limply by your sides, the world spinning in circles as a delicious haze descended upon you. Your hips moved of their own accord, grinding against his fingers as he continued to push them deeper inside of you. “I’ve already ruined you, what other man could want you? Who do you belong to? Say it!”

“Y-You! Aegon! I belong to you.” You cried out in pleasure, your voice echoing through the room. He pressed his lips against you once more, swallowing all the noises you made as your cunt tightened around his thick fingers. “That’s a good little girl,” He purred as your orgasm washed over you.

“Aegon…” You breathed, your head lolling to the side as he pulled his fingers out of your quivering pussy. He sat up, face returning to its usual expression of complete nonchalant. “I’ll give you time to get all dressed up, recite vows you do not mean with a stranger, dance until your heart's content and then I’m taking back what’s rightfully mine.”

He leaped off of you swiftly, lazily fixing his hair and wiping the blood from his mouth. You propped yourself up on your elbows, “What in the seven hells?” Aegon smiled at you, but it wasn’t one of genuine joy. It was sick with cruel eyes behind it. “You’ll see.”

The seeds of doubt had been planted into your mind and had already begun to sprout. The once joyous occasion was quickly turning into a fucking nightmare. To be Frank, you really wish you were dead instead of standing up here reciting vows you did not mean. It was awkward, unbelievably awkward. For five years your beloved had been pining for you and you were too blind to see it.

Or it was all a sick joke being played on you. Which one was worse you did not know. Your entire family stood there, smiling, your mother nearly on the verge of tears seeing her only daughter preparing to start a family of her own… Gods, is this how Aegon felt all these years knowing he was the disappointment? You had been completely soiled and yet here you stand with your new husband… Aegon’s scent and markings weren’t even fully off of you!

The entire ceremony was eerily calm. No random bursts of violence or protests to your union. Which means your uncle may or may not intend to murder and or maim this man tonight. Any sound of mind woman would be sick at the thought and run for aid… Obviously you were not at all that type of girl. Currently you were jumping out of your skin waiting for him to finally arrive and rescue you.

The only issue was, he never did show up. Not for the first kiss, not for the first dance, not for the speech his father was barely able to make or the feast itself… Did he intend to ignore you until it was all over?

____________________________________

Aegon was unbelievably late to the wedding celebration. It was on purpose; he had a few loose strings he needed to tie before he arrived. For once he was sober and painstakingly polite as he walked in. It is fair to mention he had the servants meticulously fix his normal disheveled appearance so he could make an impression on you.

When Aegon first entered the great hall, his eyes were immediately drawn to the center of the room, where a grand table adorned in the finest gold sits on a raised dais. The royal table is flanked on either side by rich red tapestries, ornately embroidered with the sigils of the houses respectively. If only he could burn all of the dornish banners with Sunfyre.

As he moved throughout the room, Aegon was struck by the attention to detail. Everywhere you looked, you saw the sign of the union between two powerful houses, a testament to the joyous occasion for which this room has been decked out. It was fucking disgusting and Aegon wanted to puke on it.

The throne room was filled to the brim with Lords and Ladies alike from all across the realm. In the center, just in front of the throne sat the royal table. On the opposing sides of the room were the packed tables for the highly esteemed guests. The middle of the room was cleared for dancing and eventually the marriage itself…

He wished he could throw himself into the spikes of the throne. Instead, he had to slither his way through the crowds to make way to the table. Aegon was tired of waiting, He was tired of hearing your family gawk at the well-made match and he was especially tired of doing nothing. Your husband would be dealt with in due time, but he hadn’t the patience to pretend not to be itching to speak to you, to touch you, anything but sit here and fucking watch.

He finally pulled himself up onto the podium and marched his way in front of you. You seemed stunned, miserable, in awe of his beauty. All of which were better than you being happy to be wed. "I'm insulted you have yet to ask me to dance, uncle." His lips twisted into his usual overly confident smile. “didn’t want to disturb the happy couple so soon.”

Your eyes rolled into the back of your skull as you stuck out your hand waiting for him to take it. There were stares from certain people of course, those who knew what happened at Driftmark and potentially before. You didn’t really care anymore.

For a moment, he was the perfect gentleman. Placing his hands in only the proper places and spinning you around the floor with ease. If you were a normal family, this would be a sweet interaction between relatives… But you were twisted and Targaryens. “You know, I’m putting more effort into this dance than my own wedding.” You scoffed, “Oh joy, surely no one will find this suspicious at all.”

Aegon’s face mirrored disgust as he glanced around you. “Is something the matter?” He rolled his eyes, "Your dearly beloved is gawking." You stood on your tiptoes to glance over his shoulder. Surely enough, the pretty dornish prince was smiling ear to ear watching you…"Do something about it."

The mischievous look Aegon always wore as a child made its reappearance. It was quick, his hands grasping onto your face and pulling you so close you could feel his breath on your skin. “You would let me dishonor you in front of all these people, bad princess.” You whined trying to lean up into his face, but he pulled back, “tsk tsk, can’t let your husband see you so needy for my affection now, can we?”

You wished he would stop referring to him as your husband. You wished he would stop reminding you of what waited for you after the night ended. “Sister… Prince Aegon.” Jacaerys appeared from behind like a thief in the night. Immediately souring any positive mood Aegon could have been in. He stepped back, letting his hands fall to his sides. “Nephew.” He gritted through his teeth with a subtle bow.

“Princess, would you dance with me?” You glanced between the two and felt the humiliation of the situation beginning to seep in. Your mother was on the high podium with a faux smile and a death grip on her fork observing you… “Of course! Let’s go little brother.”

The dance was alright… But you couldn’t get your mind off of the Lannister girl who was practically drooling at the sight of Aegon. He had slept with her before you knew this much. A secret part of you kept track of the whores he buried his cock inside, at least the rich ones. What happened next was honestly a blur, you couldn’t remember a thing. Except that you may or may not have called her a whore and threatened her life if she dared to touch him… She scurried away with her hands on her and tears in her eyes.

You weren’t jealous at all, only defending Helaena’s honor.

____________________________________

“Prince Aegon, pleasure to finally meet you,” If the night couldn't get any better the man of the hour had just willingly approached the man plotting against him… “Prince Quentyn, nice of you to believe this is a pleasure.” He smirked, “Your wife looks very beautiful.” Aegon patted his shoulders, “as does yours.”

Quentyn winced, a rather noticeable scowl growing on his face. “She’ll never be yours, my prince.”

“You’ll see later tonight whose name she calls out while your cock is inside her.” He smiled a crooked grin. Quentyn’s fists balled up next to his sides, Aegon wasn’t one to directly fight, he was more behind the scenes type of criminal. There was no denying that he was strong, strong enough to crack this man’s skull. But that wasn’t part of the plan… His feet moved fast, swiftly connecting his fist to Aegon’s jaw.

The crowd erupted behind them, lords and ladies screaming trying to escape the violence. Suddenly, Aegon stopped trying to attack and let the dornish cunt take charge. He tackled him to the ground and landed hit after hit… Was this really worth it, he thought to himself as blood started to trickle down his face. “You- fucking- wastrel-” Aegon was laughing hysterically whilst getting his face beat in… All according to plan, he told himself.

“Get off of him!” You screeched in horror pulling at the man assaulting your lover. It wasn’t meant to take a turn like it did. Quentyn, not recognizing you, turned and landed a hit square to your cheek knocking you on your ass. “Protect the princess!” Some guard shouted from behind whilst dogpiling onto your husband. He stared in horror at what he had done, you were gripping your cheek mortified, and Aegon was laying there covered in blood laughing his ass off like a psychopath.

The maester was applying ice to your cheekbone as you nervously picked at the seams on your dress. “We’ll have the marriage annulled by tomorrow.” Rhaenyra paced inside the room. “On what grounds? Aegon was obviously egging him on,” Jacaerys groaned from the corner. “I could kill him and fix this entirely,” Daemon muttered watching his wife rage on.

The rest of the argument was drowned out, the only noise you could hear was the sound of Aegon’s jaw cracking. You didn’t feel despair that the wedding was ruined, you didn’t feel depressed that your husband had hit you… No, you felt completely fucking enraged.

Seeing Aegon harmed had awoken something in you. It was hateful and could not be quelled by a simple apology. He fucking beat him to a pulp in the midst of your wedding then had the audacity to lay a hand on you… It may or may not have awoken something because seeing Aegon laughing whilst covered in his own blood made your core heat up.

“Could I be given some milk of the poppy for the pain, mother?” Rhaenyra looked at you with the most sorrowful expression she could muster, “oh my sweet girl.” She cupped your cheeks in her hands and rubbed at the bruise that was forming. “Go fetch some tea for my daughter, Maester… Now!”

____________________________________

You were returning to your chambers in a rather dumbed down state. The medicine made your mind hazy, and your body feel light as a feather. It was like wine but far better with less of a hangover. The corridors were dark, all the excitement from tonight was far over. You hummed to yourself lazily, dreading the return to where your husband lay. Until you felt a hand wrap around your mouth and yank you into a hole in the wall you never knew was there.

You tried to scream but were quickly shushed by a voice that could only belong to one man. “Aegon? What are you doing?” He smiled at you, rubbing the bruise on your cheek. “Will you go out for a walk with me?” You raised your eyebrow in distrust, “To where?” Aegon grinned, almost too enthusiastically to trust, “the dragonpit.”

The most unexpected event of tonight wasn’t the wedding brawl nor the injury that befall you. It was the fact you were riding on Sunfyre again, with Aegon holding onto your waist as you soared through the stars. It was a wedding gift, he claimed. As far as you knew Aegon never let anyone touch his dragon let alone ride with him, except you.

It was indescribable, the feeling of the wind rushing past your cheeks. The view of the city and the moon shining above you reflecting off his scales. You were giggling uncontrollably the entire flight listening to Aegon tell jests you hadn’t heard in years. Whatever injury he had gained was long forgotten the second you took off. Whatever drama or chaos in the keep didn’t exist outside. In the sky, you both were completely free.

You couldn’t say how long you spent outside. Mayhaps it was an hour or two before Sunfyre descended onto a nearby beach surrounded by the most beautiful rock formations you had seen. “Is this your version of bridenapping me?” You teased while he helped you climb down the saddle. “It’s only kidnapping if you fight back.”

He grasped your hand leading you across the sandy beach, showcasing the stars he supposedly, desperately wanted to show you. “I have an actual gift for you too.” You raised your eyebrows in disbelief, “Is it a ride home on Sunfyre?” Aegon laughed, genuinely laughed for the first time since you’ve returned. He dug in his pocket searching for something… “I had it made years ago but never had the chance to properly give it to you.”

In his hand was the most beautiful golden ring in the shape of a dragon. “A ring? A Sunfyre ring?” Aegon grabbed your hand and slipped it on with ease, “I’m not that creative, you know this. it was meant to be something to remember me by when you left.” Tears were prickling your eyes once more. The fool kept the damned ring all these years and never mentioned it. “Aegon… Be honest for once with me please. Do you still love me?”

He paused, searching tirelessly for the right words to say. “I… There hasn’t been a day in five years where I haven’t thought about you at least once. There hasn’t been an hour that something has not reminded me of you. There hasn’t been a single night I’ve slept without seeing you… It isn’t normal, it’s twisted and sick and cruel just like I am. No matter what you do to others, to me, to yourself. No matter if the world ends in a freeze or we are in the midst of a war of the ages… I believe I’ll always feel this… And I don’t think I’ll be able to stop until the seven hells take me.”

You sniffled; he always had such a roundabout way of saying things. “I’ll always love you too.” He smiled genuinely, pulling you into a kiss so gentle yet so firm it made you forget all the dangers of the world, the drama, the potential war, your husband, everything was irrelevant except for you two, right now under the stars.

“We still haven’t done the bedding ceremony.” You whispered against his lips. His eyes lit up, “Have you always been so needy for me?” You didn’t have time to protest before he was passionately colliding his lips against yours once more. You threw your arms around his neck and pulled him closer into you, making sure no part of you would ever be apart from him again.

His arms slipped below your waist as he lowered you onto the ground as gently as he could. Your legs fell open instinctively and his hands began to explore your body. It was vastly different from every other time you’ve been together. It was gentle and loving, passionate and pleasurable without the pain.

Your bodies started to move in sync with each other, stripping away the clothes that hid your most intimate parts. His hands held you close to his chest, keeping you warm while you were exposed to the elements. You moaned into his mouth, kissing him passionately with a hunger you had forgotten existed.

He broke the kiss, gasping for air. You opened your eyes to see the moonlight reflected off his face, sometimes Aegon Targaryen looked more God than man. He moved to suckle on your neck as he ran his length against your slit.

“You’re so beautiful,” He murmured huskily against your ear. He slowly pushed inside, filling you with his thickness. You gasped from the sudden sensation. He was so deep within you, so far reaching you almost felt like you could reach out and touch the stars.

His kisses trailed down your neck, nibbling, sucking, biting. He took his time thrusting inside of you with slow movements, appreciating every moment your bodies were entertained. He stopped mid-thrust, holding himself deep within you.

“I love you, Princess.” He whispered, his voice so tender and soft. You blushed like a child; it was silly to think his cock being inside you didn’t make you feel as embarrassed as him telling you, his feelings. “Always.” You murmured back. He kissed you deeply, his tongue slipping past your teeth.

You clung tight to his neck, your nails digging into his skin. He moved faster, his breaths coming in shorter and quicker. You moaned, your thighs trembling from the feeling of fullness. His fingers traced circles on your inner thigh, and then he moved to your clit.

He worked you effortlessly, eliciting soft whimpers and moans and love confessions. The world was a blur of fluorescent colors and smells, nothing mattered but you and Aegon. His climax came swiftly, almost right after your own. You begged for him to cum inside you, to fill you with his seed and he always did as you asked.

He collapsed on top of you, his weight heavy on your shoulders. You wrapped your arms around his back, feeling him relax. “Aegon…” You spoke his name softly, your head resting on his shoulder. “Mhmm?” He said in a daze. “Again?” You whispered, your lips brushing against his neck. He smirked, his cock twitching inside of you.

____________________________________

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon the usurper #aegon the elder #aegon ii #aegon x reader #aegon x y/n #aegon x you #aegon fic #aegon fluff #aegon smut #aegon ii fluff #aegon ii smut #aegon ii x you #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii x y/n #aegon ii fic #hotd fic #house of the dragon

830 notes · View notes

omkookie · 9 months

Text

"Don't worry. It's just me."

⌈ ⚠️ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ⌉ Smut, Yandere!Rio, NONCON, somnophilia, choking, unprotected sex. Fem!MC

Yandere Rio is so twisted that he no longer acts like Rio. He’s lost in the madness of his obsession, and his crazed mind can’t reason or differentiate right from wrong anymore...🩷

....

Rio thinks it's too much. Your endless studying, and undying devotion as Belle. You work far too much, way too hard, and you don't even treat yourself. That's why, as your caring butler he takes it upon himself to take care of you and relieve you of your stress. You wake up with his hand clasped over your mouth and his cock inside of you.

Your worried eyes frantically try to focus on him through the darkness of your room, and you thrash around, trying to scratch and kick your assaulter until you finally hear a familiar voice speak. "Don't worry. It's just me~" Rio says under his breath, And your eyes water with stinging hot tears. You feel dreadfully weak because you realize that it’s him. He, your most trusted person was raping you. That breaks your heart far more than knowing someone else was doing it.

Rio hears your muffled cries and quiet sobs, yet he pretends not to. His hand moves to your neck, and he gives your throat a hard enough squeeze as a warning for you to be quiet. “I’m going to take my hand off of your mouth, okay?” He speaks, and your erratic breathing increases as he warns you not to scream. “Don’t scream.” He says sternly, making sure to tighten his grip on your throat to get his words through your head.

He takes his hand off of your mouth, and you let out a whimper as you ask him why.

Why is he doing this?

“Because I love you so much! I want to make love to you and take care of you. You’ve been working so hard.” He says, as his other hand moves toward your hip to hold you.

What happened to your Rio? This one couldn’t be him. He just couldn’t.

“It’s okay! You don’t need to cry.” He tells you. “You know, I’m veeery happy to be with you.” He chuckles at the end, and you feel your stomach twist in disgust.

“I love you so much.” He repeats those words like they're a mantra.

He uses your body as he pleases, eventually tiring you out enough for you to stop resisting. You’re helpless, You can’t get him off of you, and he won’t be letting you go any time soon. His hips slam into yours harder now, making you jerk in surprise. You know he’s close, and he knows you’re tired. “You’re already sleepy?” he asks, and you nod, even if he can’t see it in the dark.

“Just give me a moment… I’m almost done.” He whispers, and you wait tiredly. Wait for him to finish filling you with his cum as if you were some toy. After what feels like forever, He finally does. A fresh stream of tears runs over the dried ones on your cheeks, and Rio snuggles against you, pressing you firmly against his body.

"I love you, Goodnight.” He kisses your shoulder, and you remain quiet.

You lie there, trapped in his arms and unable to get as much as a wink of sleep after what has happened. You feel dirty, sinful, disgusting. You want to take a shower and scrub your skin, hoping you can get him off of you, wash him away and wash off all of the guilt and shame that you feel.

You can’t sleep that night. You can’t get up and clean yourself, You can’t move an arm without his grip on you tightening. He’s not sleeping, and as his hand wraps around your neck to hold you in place, It slowly sinks in to you that you’ll never be able to sleep normally again.

445 notes · View notes

tocomplainfriend · 3 months

Text

Episode 4

TW: Rape, Sexual Assault and Abuse, Physical abuse.

So uh, I really did just guess "there is no way it's that bad, right?"...

OK, SO LET'S TALK. So again if you haven't seen the episode big Trigger Warning for its content! It's real heavy, explicit and on your face. I'm a Sexual abuse victim talking about this, just so you know.

I think the bigger problem I have with the episode, it's the context surrounding it and what happens later on, specially. Many people can have different views on the poison scene itself, for their own. But that scene, even if you as a victim relate, can only really work in a vacuum. Why? Let's see... hum.... The jokes of male SA in Helluva Boss? How it's written as funny to Moxxie to get assaulted? By the Succubus, Blitz, Chaz? Not seeing any problem in Stolitz, and victim blaming Blitz.

Suddenly Viv wants to be like: "Male sexual assault and abuse it's so not talked about, I'm going to write about it". As if she didn't write all those HB jokes. All those jokes are only men getting assaulted too, by other men or woman. The SA and r-pe it's funny when it's done to men, why did this even happen?

Even if the entire episode 4 was good, why did the same person write all this jokes? Is the sexual harassment Angel does to husk, even going to be addressed later or...? The biggest problem, it's the bad execution. Something happens a lot with HB and HH, it's that scenes and concepts work In isolation, that way you imagine in infinite possibilities of the "what if this". But they give you is in it'self not that good. The series does expect you to be a fan, and have to watch the pilot. Because it doesn't really bother to introduce the characters or anything. So the emotional bits don't hit that hard if you didn't already care about the characters since or before the pilot.

Since the first episodes, Valentino has being changing between fucking idiot and horrifying monster. In episode 2 he is treated as a stupid dumbass. I feel like all the episodes until 4 were too much, on the comedy shit- to immediately jump into explicit abuse and SA is a lot. In the end of the episode they also shift back the tone, weirdly.

So we jump into Val and Angel's work, showing how shitty val is. Charlie jumps into interrupting the hole thing. AND VAL ASSAULTS HER TOO??? I didn't expect that. He grabs her kisses and lick up her arm, and gets too close to her in other scenes. Then Charlie accidentally ruins the set, and Val ends up physically abusing Angel. Living him with a black eye, and it's shown Angel did a deal with him. Leaving him fully trapped with him (not a legal contract, but a devil/sinner bound magic thing). Then it's poison music number.

Many people feel like it's too graphic. Other people will say it's okey, because it shows the problem straight on, and it's supposed to make you uncomfortable.

Explicit doesn't = good.

You can talk a lot of what does this level of graphic/explicit add to the conversation.

My main problem with it being so explicit comes from who is directing that hole part of the episode. I talked about it in the post above. The person in question:

(BLURRED CUT PICTURE)

Does this scene above seem familiar to you? This person put together with how the poison part of the episode is played out AND all the disgusting "SA is funny" jokes HB make this a fucking problem.

AND THEN THE FUCKING ENDING IS CRAZY BAD LIKE HELLO???? At the end, Angel is at a bar, and his drink gets spiked. Husk gets him out and fights against the guys that spiked the drink. Then they kindly have an argument... To get through the whole heavy ass episode- to then Husk hit with a song calling Angel a baby IS FUCKING CRAZY. I see what the point was supposed to be, but the execution absolutely kills it. The song tries to compare Husk and Angel, to say shit sucks but hey it's okay we are in this together, BUT HOLY SHIT. Why, comparing Angel Dust being sexually abused under a demonic contract (HE IS STILL UNDER)- to Husk having to work for Alastor. Yes, Husk fucked up his life in hell do to gambling- that's not comparable to Angel being in an abusive relationship where he gets taken advantaged of. Calling Angel dust a baby loser, "everyone got it difficult get over your self"- it's fucking crazy. The fact that the episode ends on everyone happy and laugh it off it awful! WHAT HAPPEN???????? Like Angel is still under Val's contract- his going to have to go back to work, or to any other place where his drink could be spiked. We are still in the same problem. I don't- I don't understand. The song wasn't even a "I'll help you", it felt more like "Hey shit sucks, get over it". How did you write that? I don't think the series has the time or good enough space to treat the subjects- and they are dealing in the worst way.

EDIT:

I cannot believe this woman made a cum joke, about the song that it's about being trapped with your abuser- that comes with really graphic scenes of assault and r-pe. Like the whole song it's about that???? It's not a "Hot sexy" song, it's literally all sexual assault and workplace abuse.

This scene is from a non canon comic from the same artist above, got immediately referenced in the scene after poison. That's crazy. Also, The artist is... uh......... Did you know that in episode 4. It got showed that Angel's real name is Anthony? They changed their name to Tony, make themselves look like Angel? Now does sex work like Angel. They choreographed the pole dancing in Addict?

AND Viv just reduced Angel's Sexual Harassment of Husk as:

Angel trows himself to Husk, grabs him, touches him, makes unwanted sexual comments. You, have never left the weird shipping of queer of mean that revolts around sexual harassment. It's like old ass garbage Wattpad yaoi, not acknowledging those problems. Why is there more attention to that than Charlie and Vaggie, who lacks so much personality and everything. WLW with no condiments and artificial as fuck MLM with microplastics.

#vivziepop critique #vivziepop critical #helluva boss critique #helluva boss criticism #helluva boss critical #hazbin hotel critical #hazbin hotel criticism #hazbin hotel critique #tw rape #tw sa #tw abuse

279 notes · View notes

rin-fukuroi · 4 months

Text

𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 [𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐞]

Please do not translate or publish my works without my permission.

The originals of my works can be read here

Fandom: Honkai: Star Rail

Pairings: vampire!Blade x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW, !dark content!, yandere, detailed descriptions of blood, bites and physical injuries, menstruation, oral sex, rape, very rough sex, creampie.

▶• ılıılıılıılıılıılı. istasha the scrub - hexagonal spit

Note: English is not my native language, so I apologize if there are errors in the text qq

art: @tiredceles_

It would be better if he just killed you.

Bruises don't leave your body, and wounds from painful bites don't have time to heal before Blade decorates you with new ones. You've always felt like you were nothing more than fun for a predator who feeds off the fear and disgust soaked into the blood in your veins, into which his teeth sink again and again. There was no other explanation for why he didn't just rip your throat out, as he did with all the other people who were mercilessly deprived of their lives in front of your eyes. You broke down into sobs more than once, barely coherently voicing your only question, why Blade stops every time he feels your body go limp in his arms, why he just won't finish the job, but in response you heard only silence.

Blade has never cared about your desires or your comfort. He feeds and waters you forcibly even when you are stubborn, just so that you can continue to live like a treat that he likes to pamper himself, he gave you a separate room just to lock you up, not giving you the opportunity to escape, he takes care that any potentially dangerous objects are from keep you away just so that his favorite toy doesn't commit suicide.

You miss the sunlight so much, which you haven't seen since Blade imprisoned you in this windowless room. You've missed talking to anyone so much that you've forgotten what it's like to be around another person at all. It seemed that going crazy, just forgetting yourself and becoming unaware of what was happening was the only salvation that, you are sure, the universe will one day grant you for all the torments that you have to go through day by day.

As much as you hated "meal time," the days you hated the most were the days when Blade didn't even have to leave new marks on your body.

The deafening silence of the cold room is broken by the loud creaking of the door. You don't raise your head anymore, you don't hide in a corner. No, you are humbly sitting on a bed soaked in a sickening metallic smell, pressing your knees to your chest with your hands, when the heavy sound of footsteps gets louder, approaching your figure. You don't even resist when cold hands casually spread your legs.

Undoubtedly, today is exactly the day that Blade has been waiting for. The bedroom is saturated with your scent, even more intense than usual. Seductive, intoxicating, making a man swallow hard when saliva rises to his lips.

Blade's scarlet eyes sparkle in the semi-darkness of the room, which is illuminated only by light barely touching the walls from the depths of the corridor, but it's enough for a man to notice how your underwear has turned a seductive burgundy color. On days like this, Blade never takes his time, only stretching out the already disgusting pleasure. His fingers slide insistently up your thighs as he settles comfortably between your legs, leaning towards your bruised neck. No matter how hard you try to keep your composure, no matter how indifferent you try to seem, he hears the blood pumping furiously in your veins. Isn't it amazing? That's why you're his favorite. Blade finds your futile attempts to ruin his interest in your body amusing, encouraging him to only put more pressure on all your weaknesses.

You wince as sharp fangs dig into the fresh bruise on your throat, allowing warm drops of blood to trickle down to your collarbones, which are now touched by Blade's tongue, greedily devouring his small snack before proceeding to the main course. The muscles of your abs tighten, only further intensifying the unbearable aching pain in your lower abdomen as you reluctantly watch Blade's head sink lower, and his teeth continue to dig into your flesh, leaving bleeding marks chaotically scattered over your skin, until he stops on the inside of your thigh, casting you an indifferent glance from the-under half-closed eyelids.

He knows how much you hate it when he plays with you like that. You would rather just be used and left to rot further in this cell, in which you will one day meet your end, but you have to endure while he slowly unpacks his gift, pulling off your stained underwear over your legs trembling with irritation. A thread of thickened blood follows the fabric, sticking to the inside of your thigh, treacherously causing a smile on the face of the disgusting man sitting at your feet. As soon as the cloth soaked in dirty blood touches the floor, Blade's fingers painfully press on your hips, spreading your legs even wider before he bends down, deliciously scooping slippery traces of dirty burgundy blood from your skin with his tongue, paving the way to your crotch.

People say that even the worst things can get used to, but you can never come to terms with it. You feel sick, so damn sick, just looking at how the face burrows further between your legs, just touching the tip of his tongue to your bloody clitoris. These touches always treacherously twist your lower abdomen with spasms of uninvited pleasure, merging with pain, which, sadly, is always calmed only by Blade when he selfishly uses you to satisfy his perverted needs.

It's so disgusting to hear the wet sounds produced by his tongue licking the blood flowing down your crotch. His goal was never to give you pleasure. Blade is the only one who gets pleasure from what is happening, but you can take advantage of this short, nauseating moment until he leaves you until tomorrow, at least to numb the pain that is driving you crazy. The disheveled tarry strands of hair tickle the skin of your thigh unpleasantly, making you shudder whenever Blade pulls back to enjoy the sight of how delicious your crotch looks before licking it dry.

But today, for some reason, his tongue slides over his lips, catching drops of dirty blood stuck to the skin of his face, and fiery eyes look into yours with a mockery that causes an inexplicable shiver that runs down your spine.

Is that all? No, then why is he looking at you like that? For the first time in a long time, you crawl back again, pressing into the headboard as your gaze drops lower, noticing how a hand in a black glove hastily unzips your trousers.

— What are you going to do?! — you bring your hips together, wrapping your arms around your knees again, trying to hide as many parts of your body from Blade's eyes as possible.

— Ho-oh? Are you talking to me now? That's great, because I've already forgotten how your voice even sounds.

Just like you. His husky, low voice invades your ears, only exacerbating the panic attack that makes your body tremble as Blade towers over you, casually grabbing your wrists and fixing your hands, desperately trying to fight his pressure, above your head. His knee presses insistently on your cramped legs, forcefully spreading your hips apart again, instantly hitting your crotch. Blade doesn't care that your blood has stained his gray trousers, doesn't care that you're writhing in pain when his blow settles in even more unbearable cramps in your lower abdomen, he's just having fun watching how your face is now decorated with a pained expression that is so very different from your proud disposition.

How many more desperate sobs and expressions can you give him today? Oh, Blade hopes you'll amuse him enough.

How long has it been since salty tears touched your face? You can feel the warm moisture inevitably trickling down your cheeks again as you hopelessly struggle with the pressure of Blade's hips pushing your legs apart. Still holding your wrists with his hand, he looks down, watching in amazement as his penis gradually becomes covered in your blood, until it disappears so easily into your slippery walls, pulling out more and more sobs and unintelligible pleas from your throat.

All you have to do is squirm in Blade's steely grip, only becoming more aware of your impotence as his heavy, hard organ stretches your bleeding insides. It's been so damn long. It seemed to you that he filled you painfully for an eternity, until Blade got tired and turned his attention to your pain-scarred face, which became even more beautiful when his hips leaned forward, crashing into your ass with a loud pop. The head of a huge cock, which seemed like it could just tear you apart from the inside, crashed into your cervix and shook your poor body with a new wave of dull pain.

The louder your screams got as Blade picked up the pace, roughly pushing into you, causing your head to hit the headboard over and over again, the more amused he became. People have always seemed so boring to him, being nothing more than a hearty meal for Blade, but you really know how to entertain him. You're not stupid, you know perfectly well what he gets pleasure from, trying so desperately to deprive him of fun, but it only makes each new victory of the Hunter taste sweeter. Maybe he's even still keeping you here because he doesn't want someone else to get such a lovely toy.

No kind of pleasure will cause as many emotions as pain. Blade knows this better than anyone else. He can hear your heart pounding in your chest, pumping blood furiously through your veins. Did you know that fear has a smell? You smell disgusting when you're happy. That's how you were before you met Blade, but now you're perfect. That sweet scent of agony is what he loves you for.

Dirty blood runs down your thighs, settling in sticky drops on the bed linen, nauseating wet sounds bounce off the walls, mixing with your sobs, Blade's heavy sighs and disgusting laughter when he squeezes your jaw with his free hand, wanting to see your eyes filled with tears. Your legs are numb from the incessant waves of pain rushing to the bottom of your stomach. You feel the soft flesh of your vagina literally cracking, mixing the clean blood oozing from your wounded walls with dirty blood, which is smeared with Blade's huge cock, relentlessly hammering your body into the bed.

You wanted so much to fall into the darkness, switch off and wake up when Blade disappeared on the other side of the door, but as soon as you closed your eyes, the burning pain from a slap in the face and Blade's quiet growl ordering you to look at him pricked your cheek.

His grip squeezes your wrists so tightly. It seems as if the fragile bones have long been broken under unbearable pressure, but the blood has long drained from your hands, not giving you the opportunity to even move your fingers.

Maybe you already died before you got here, and everything that happens is your personal hell, in which you pay for your sins? After all, you know for sure that those blazing eyes filled with pure madness don't belong to a human being. Like a real devil, Blade tortures you over and over again, but today he seems to have surpassed even himself.

The pain has become so hellish that you can no longer distinguish what exactly is the source of it. The burning sensation of Blade's cock pushing into you, touching every crack in your insides, the dull pain of it brutally hitting your cervix, the cramps in your lower abdomen — all this has mixed into something that the human body simply cannot bear, but you are still here, conscious, clearly feeling how the dick inside pulsates and swells, stretching your injured walls even more.

Blade bends down, biting your lower lip with his sharp fangs, greedily swallowing every tiny scarlet drop that falls on his tongue while the sticky jets of his sperm mix with the blood in your vagina. He freezes for a moment, just pressing his hips into yours, making you feel his still-hard organ shudder inside.

Your shoulders are still shaking from the soft sobs escaping from your chest as Blade pulls away, lowering your numb hands and slowly sliding out of your insides, allowing the burgundy clots mixed with his sperm to flow down your thighs.

His lips are parted, his chest heaves as Blade looks down, admiring how delicious your blood looks, covering his still hard erection.

He seemed to like this entertainment.

#headcanons #hsr #hsr x reader #honkai:star rail #honkai:star rail x reader #blade x reader #hsr drabbles #blade x you #hsr smut #honkai: star rail smut #blade smut #blade

222 notes · View notes

arabellasleopardcoat · 9 months

Text

Eyes wide open (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: As you settle into life as a married woman in Westeros, you try to escape and outsmart Daemon. It goes as well as one could expect.

Warnings: Kidnapping, forced marriage, violence, starvation, torturing (Not the reader, at least physically), gaslighting. Very much housewife kink.

A/N: I think you are not going to like this. Might be too much. If you think I missed a TW, please tell me.

Check the previous parts here.

It's not a fun affair, your wedding. Nor does it have many guests. There is a Septon, and Viserys. You would like very much to claw his eyes out. You are not sure if he is a guest or acting as another officiant, but you despise him.

Perhaps a witness. Who knows? Not you. You were not the most observant person on the planet, as the last few months had shown you.

Daemon waves over to some people entering the throne room. There are two young girls, and as they approach, you realize one is Alicent and the other Rhaenyra. In between them, probably to ensure the peace, stands the man from before, the one that tried to help you. Not the young one, the other. The one who was Hand.

Alicent carries a silver haired baby, perched on her hip. You wonder which one he is. The eldest? Maybe? The drunken one.

How disgusting can men be? Really. As Alicent comes closer and closer, the more she looks like just a young girl. Rhaenyra it’s not much older, either. Viserys deserves every second spent in suffering from his illness, marrying hid child's friend. Alicent regards you with sad brown eyes, no doubt pitying you. There is nothing she can do for you, though. Not at this time.

Perhaps you are judging him with modern morals, and she was not as shocked by it as you were. She probably expected it, considering medieval girls married young, and medieval men often did not. Yet, you cannot help but be angry in Alicent’s name. Here is another woman, like Rhea, like you. Trapped into marriage to a monster.

You want to scream and scream and never stop. Until your throat is unable to make more sounds, until you cough up blood and choke on it because surely, it is a better fate than this. A world without Rhea. You open your mouth, turning towards Daemon. A hand on your shoulder it’s all it takes for you to shut up.

Your experience in the throne room showed you all you needed to know. The more barbaric parts of Westeros, the ones that Rhea had shielded you from. In her castle, she did as she pleased. She was a married woman with an inattentive husband in the Middle Ages. Rhea had much more leeway than others.

In the end, what you had liked about Rhea had been that life with her was similar to modern life. Or what you think life must be like for aristocrats in the twenty-first century, only without phones and the Internet. You wouldn't know, having been middle class all your life. But if you closed your eyes, you could pretend you were back where you belonged. Rhea was as free spirited as any woman from your time, if a bit conservative. You never understood why she feared her husband.

Now you did.

Daemon had frightened you. It was just starting to sink in how much power he would have over you now. You were little more than property, and he had a right to discipline you as he saw fit. To take you as he saw fit. After all, marital rape here was no rape.

No one questions that you are being hand fasted with still cuffed hands. Rhaenyra glares daggers at you and at her father, no doubt hurt because of her crush on Daemon. How you long to have access to Wikipedia to see when she falls for Harwin Strong and stops hurting.

You can't make up your mind about if she is a victim too or not. Daemon has groomed her into wanting him. That doesn't seem right. There is no doubt in your mind about it. Her treatment of Alicent could be justified, too. In an internalized misogyny kind of way. But wouldn't that be taking away her agency? But judging Alicent as a victim only… Isn't taking away her agency too?

Can you truly judge them with modern standards? You never spent much time thinking about the ethics of fictional characters. You surely would have been more concerned if you knew what was going to happen.

Too in your head, you barely notice when it's time to say your vows. Daemon, ever dutiful, reminds you of it by unsheathing his sword.

Someone, probably Alicent, gasps. Then, she goes quiet. You repeat your vows, glaring at Daemon the whole time. You would find a way to escape. This was only a temporary setback. And he would hurt, the asshole.

You ignore the voice in your head that tells you it's no use. Not when you have already failed at step one. You have spent a year searching for a way to go back to your world, and have made zero progress. If you run from Daemon, what would you even do? If he found you, no Lord would deny the Prince his wife. He would just have to talk to the liege lord in charge of wherever you are hiding and ask you to be handed back.

Daemon leans in to kiss you. As soon as he is close enough, you bite with all your might. The coppery taste of blood doesn't dissuade you. You keep at it.

“Should have expected that.” He mutters, through a mouthful of blood. His lips don't leave yours. “You Royces are hostile environments.”

Despite being hurt, Daemon keeps kissing you, moaning into your mouth. You are uncertain if it is pain or pleasure. Disgusted by the thought, and the hungry way he licks into your mouth, you stop. He gives you a big grin and kisses you again, biting into your lower lip until he draws blood, too. You yelp, trying to push him off.

“A true Valyrian, this one.” He boasts, grabbing your waist. Viserys and Rhaenyra look transfixed by what just happened. Apparently, something on yours and Daemon's blood stained faces is of significance to them.

Alicent and the man look at each other. Suddenly, baby Aegon gives a tiny, uncoordinated clap. The rest of the guests follow, and you beg to the skies for patience and fortitude. It seems you will need it, with these in–laws.

The cuffs never come off. Daemon shoves you in a room. Feeling oddly like the ghost of the wife in the attic, you decide you need to plan. You have little to your advantage, here. Your hands remain bound, and there is nothing to use as a weapon.

Your head hurts. You have cried too much. First, mourning Rhea, then pitying yourself. No more. You have read enough novels and watched enough awful movies to know how this might end if you succumb to weakness. This is not a love story, and you won’t develop Stockholm syndrome. You refuse.

You will keep repeating this phrase to yourself in the days to come. Feeding your anger, your treatment is not bad. It’s probably a bad idea to alienate your captor, but you decide to go on a hunger strike. Despite how hungry you are, not having eaten since the day Daemon arrived at the Vale, you do not trust him to not drug you or poison you.

He might think you valuable, but he is also known for being a rogue. He might change his mind at any moment. If it were up to you, you would not drink water, either, but you know you can’t survive without it. So you drink as little as you can. It also saves you from the indignities of not having the privacy of a bathroom.

Daemon comes to you on day six of your hunger strike. You are weak as a kitten, and half delirious with thirst. You have lost quite a few pounds. Your head hurts, you are dizzy, you want to go home. Never had you been as starved as now, or as dehydrated. Modern life meant you went hungry to bed, sometimes. Either for your financial situation or because of diet culture. But you had never felt as weak. One thing was skipping a meal, another refusing food for six days.

He enters the room with another man, one that wears noble clothes, but you have never seen before.

“… Not eating. Nothing. And barely drinking water.” Daemon explains, approaching the bed. Too weak to really fight him, you conform yourself with sitting up. As you are, you cannot be any kind of serious resistance. It’s the first time he has seen you since the wedding and by the look in his face, you look terrible. “Cries in her sleep, too.”

The other man approaches you. He reaches a hand towards you, and you scream, backing up quickly and nearly falling off the bed. You don’t know who he is, but you know you don’t want to be touched. Panic bubbles up in your throat. Bound hands. No escape, no way of fighting back. Is he here to hold you down? For Daemon to…? The thought is too horrible to finish.

You scratch at the man’s face, trying to aim for his eyes. This close, you can tell he is older both than Daemon and you. He looks kind. But looks can be deceiving. You resume your efforts, as the man screams, and you feel blood under your fingers.

Daemon grasps at your shoulders, but you only trash more. It’s a weak attempt. His arm wraps around your waist, firmly.

“Seven Hells.” The older man mutters. You have managed to lift skin around his forehead, three clear impressions of scratches marrying his face. With Daemon holding you firmly down, the man presses down on your stomach. Then, over your womb. He examines your face attentively as he does so. You snarl at him and try to kick him off. Daemon’s grip gets harsher.

Is he going to sell you now? Is the man checking you over because he is a potential buyer? You would rather not be sold, and so resume your trashing. People trafficking was bad in your time. It’s even worse now, with no laws to defend you. You could become a slave, or worse.

The man, the slave trader, tries to check your teeth. You bite down on his fingers hard.

“Your wife appears to be fine, physically.” The man finally says. A doctor? Healer. Physician. Whatever they call them here.

“Fine?” Daemon asks, tone absolutely enraged. “Fine! She is starving to death.”

“Her ailment is not physical. It’s grief and rage.” The healer, as you have now decided to call him, answers in a soothing tone. You wonder if he was chosen to visit you for that reason. Both you and Daemon must be maniacs in his eyes. You can’t bring yourself to care.

“I see.” Daemon says, tone dangerously low. Then, he grabs you by the cheeks and forces you to look at him. “What do you think you are doing, refusing food? Are you trying to kill yourself?”

You grin at him as best as you can with him squeezing your face. He makes a frustrated noise.

“It’s called a hunger strike.”

“Strike? Strike?” Daemon shouts, shaking you harshly. You let your body go lax, hoping it makes you less dizzy. You feel like you might pass out. “What in the world does that mean? You little…”

“My Prince…” The healer sounds concerned. “She looks like she is about to throw up.”

“Hell if I care!” Oh, it seems like you really angered him, you think to yourself. The thought feels distant and cloudy. Your vision starts to blur. Are you about to pass out? A sharp sting to your cheek brings you back to your senses. You blink, trying hard to focus. What have you done to yourself? Daemon has his hand raised, as if about to slap you again. The healer is making distressed sounds. “Listen to me, little brat. You will drink your tea and eat, or else I will force food down your throat until you choke.”

Your eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets. You start shaking your head.

“Broth. She will have to have broth, if you want her to be alright. Her stomach will be unable to handle more at first. We can lace it with Milk of the Poppy.” The healer says, in a low voice. It’s clearly aimed at Daemon, but you sit up straighter. You recognize that name. It was something like an opioid, right?

“No, no. That's a sedative. No. I don’t want it. You will poison me.” You start tearing up in sheer terror. Panic is choking you up, making you unable to think clearly. Daemon laughs, humorlessly.

“That’s the problem?” Daemon’s voice is harsh and loud, making you wince. He grabs a carafe of water sitting on your table. He takes a big gulp, making sure you see. Then, he passes it to you. His hand goes menacingly towards his sword. With no other choice, you drink. That’s how your hungry strike ends. Defeated not even a week in.

It takes you a few days to go back to your previous strength. Daemon’s visits become more frequent. He eats with you twice a day, always tasting before you the nutritious broths and milk glasses you are given. With no excuse and under his watchful eye, you have to eat.

As you recover, you get the strength to explore. Your new rooms were not bad. It could even be called a vacation. You didn’t have this, with Rhea. You had had a nice room for a servant, which was in reality a normal room for a person of the twenty-first century. A bed, a small table and a chair. With a window because you had told Rhea you were unable to stand closed spaces.

This room was not like it. There was one window, high enough for you to need a chair to reach it. You had no chair or table, only a bed. The bed was comfortable enough, the room spacious. It allowed you to pace a lot. You had books on Old Valyria, written in High Valyrian. If you thought Middle English was hard, it was because you had not met this terrible language.

You were determined to crack it, though. If High Valyrian was the Westeros's equivalent of Latin, perhaps you could find something more about how to get back to your time. All books of greater knowledge had been written in Latin, that you knew. It had been the language of intellectuals. Perhaps High Valyrian was the same.

It provided a good distraction, seeing as the room was bare aside from the bed and stack of books. And… Well. The candles. It looked more in here like the altar of a church, with how many there were. There was also incense, always burning. Perhaps as a way to amplify your powers because you had not seen anything like it during your year in Westeros. You wondered how much it had cost.

Your powers. Good God, what a joke. You had tried telling Daemon and Viserys, but it was no use. At most, they patted your head and said the poor little dreamer was confused with so many visions of the future. No one would listen to you.

Both of them seemed to think there was something sacred in you. Daemon had gotten you new clothes, thin white shifts. To you, it looked like a sluttier version of a roman toga.

“As the priestess of Old Valyria used to wear.” Daemon had proclaimed, proudly. You had rolled your eyes, but you were soon wearing them. Your clothes just got too dirty to stay in them, and the silk felt cold and soft on your overheated skin. Allowed only one bath per week, there is not much you can do about your cleanliness apart from changing clothes.

It takes time, getting used to your own skin again. After a year of nearly wearing as many layers as an onion, you were back to simpler clothes. No undergarments had been supplied, but you couldn’t stand the feel of your dirty ones, too worried about getting a UTI and dying because there were no antibiotics here.

Daemon visits you daily. He sits there and stares, fascinated by you. As if you were an exotic animal. It’s one of those days when you speak your first word to him. It’s difficult to build the courage for another escape attempt.

“I was wondering if I could have some ointment for my wrists.” You say, very quietly. He is sitting cross-legged on the floor, staring at you with absolute fascination. It’s a bit creepy. “My Prince.”

That’s what you have heard other servants call him. You are uncertain if you should do as Rhea did and call him husband. Both of them had had rather creative nicknames for each other and so, whatever protocol they used might be incorrect.

Rhea. Poor Rhea. You don’t want to share her fate, but you would rather not surrender to Daemon either. You feel guilty for even thinking about it.

Rhea appears in your dreams, every night. Her laughter, her voice, her corpse. Did he cremate her? Bury her? You can’t remember, and no one has told you. You wish you could visit her resting place, perhaps leave her flowers. Maybe get her advice. You miss it dearly.

“What's wrong with your wrists?” Daemon steps towards you, and you flinch. His past treatment of you is still too fresh. He is a ruthless man, you remind yourself. Play nice.

"They are sore.” You try to look relaxed, forcing the tense line of your shoulders to drop. Relaxed. Nice and pliant, for your psycho husband. Polite, and just the slightest bit whiny. He fetishizes immaturity, you remember. Younger girls. Laena and Rhaenyra both were. “I have been chained up for days. I don't want the cuffs to cut my skin, I might get an infection."

He takes your wrists in a very gentle grip. You don’t know why, but his hands on the cuffs make you start to tear up. Too much. You are overwhelmed, suddenly. It’s as if the grief has come crashing down all at once.

“You hurt yourself.” Daemon says, looking at your wrists from all angles. There are raised lines on them, from all the tugging you and him had been doing. “I’ll get you softer ones.”

He brushes a thumb over your cheek, and you sob even harder. Daemon does not seem bothered by your fear or your tears. No. He presses his wet thumb to his lips, as if he is barely conscious of it. It sparks an image in your mind. Under him, crying, his lips drinking up your tears.

You shake your head, as if you could vanish the image from your mind. You need to be on your best game, tonight. Head clear and not scared anymore. Fear clouds the mind, and you can’t afford that if you hope to deceive him.

“You don’t want softer cuffs, Dreamer?”

You don’t answer. You give a tiny sniffle.

“I… I miss my sister. I miss my home.” You look up at him, with a tear stained face and big sad eyes. Daemon brushes your cheek, again. “I want to go home.”

“You have to be calm, little one.” He whispers, kissing your forehead. You feel cold all over, as if submerged in a pool of despair. Focus. You need to focus because you can tell he is close to breaking. You need to take a mile when he gives an inch if you want to survive.

“I wish to go home.” You repeat, starting to pout.

“This is your home now.” Daemon kisses your cheek, softly. You whine, low and sad. All bratty princess. You hope he falls for it. Daemon’s non-existent brows pinch together. Hook… Line… “What about this? If you are good, and share a useful secret with Viserys, we can go back to Runestone.”

Runestone! Finally, finally. To be near Rhea and perhaps the chance to escape. You have him. You have him by the balls, and he doesn’t know it yet. Fool.

“I’ll try, husband.” You force yourself to smile, as if you were the happiest girl in the world. He looks pleased.

You wait a few days to drop the bomb on Viserys. It would do no good, if you share all your limited knowledge of the Dance and end up losing what little leverage you have. It wouldn’t be good, either, if Daemon thought you could summon visions at a whim.

“Alicent will misunderstand your words, and Otto will take advantage of it to place Aegon on the throne. He will grow into a fine drunk.”

As Otto Hightower falls, you rise. It feels like a dirty thing to do, but you want to go back to Runestone more than anything. You know the terrain there, you could have a chance at escaping. From what you remember, Otto’s only sin had been being too ambitious and pimping Alicent out. But he is Daemon’s enemy, and if you drag him down, it pleases him. A pleased Daemon is a better Daemon. He gets sloppy when he is smug.

Daemon has no choice but to take you back. Dreamers must be kept calm and cared for. And you would be very upset if he goes back on his word. Your power could wane. You make sure this is clear to him.

It’s back at Runestone he makes a mistake. He has had the guards that opposed him replaced. But he has given no thoughts to the servants.

Mina is the one assigned to serve your food, out of all the kitchen girls. Perhaps Daemon handpicked her because he thought her easy to intimidate after their first meeting. Perhaps it’s just sheer luck.

“He has ordered for you to have a special diet, milady.” She explains, as she places a tray down by your bed. You have yet to acquire a table, Daemon thinking it too much of a risk. He has no idea.

“Mina, I’m not…” You hurry to correct her. You would never want to be called by Rhea’s title. It feels like disrespecting her memory. And it’s strange, too. To be treated with such deference. Not even in your time had anyone treated you as if you were royalty.

Had you pulled a similar stunt as you did with the healer with a doctor, you would have probably been institutionalized. If the doctor didn’t press charges for assault and battery first, of course.

“Not a Lady? You own this castle. That man might be parading around like a peacock, but I much rather serve you.” Mina says, sitting on the edge of your bed. She is not meant to, but neither of you care. This is the only normal conversation you have had in nearly a month.

“What’s all this about?” You point at the tray, when it’s clear you won’t be able to convince her. It’s filled with a strange array of food. Used to your broths and cups of milk, and light soups and bread, you wonder what this is all about. There is a cup with warm milk, as always, but this time smells of clover. There are also eggs, and seafood.

“They are meant to stir desire and aid conception.” She points to each item. “It should all be eaten warm, or so Thea says. Else it will cool you.”

“I think I will never…” You start saying, but Mina grasps your hands, urgently shushing you. Her jaw jutts towards the door, seemingly aware of something you are not. Heavy footsteps. Boots. They pause at your door, before resuming their path.

“Don't say that. Don't. We might joke around about it, but he always gets his way. Men like him, they don't know how to lose.” She whispers, urgently. Trying to look out for you. You think of the possible consequences of saying such a thing in front of Daemon. It’s not a pretty picture.

“They really don't.” You agree, sadly.

Daemon does not know how to lose. That much is true. But neither do the two of you. It is only a week before Mina slips you the key to your room, taken from an unsuspecting guard.

It’s not easy, waiting for the right time to use it. You have to do it before breakfast is served, so no one notices the key to be missing. Acting too soon means endangering Mina and you.

The hour of the witch, then. Fitting. These people actually believe there might be ghosts roaming the halls at three am. With your white shifts and chains, you could pass as one if not looked at closely.

When the sky looks dark enough, you open your door and run. Runestone is silent, in the quiet of the night. Servants would rise at the first rooster's crow, you know because you used to, the first days before meeting Rhea. You make sure to stick to their passages and corridors, and not the main ones, less some guard is still roaming the halls.

It feels like an eternity, the time spent running as silently as you can. Your pulse pounds loudly in your ears. When you finally exit the castle, you nearly sob in relief. It’s astonishing that no one has caught you yet.

Now comes the hard part. You have to find a way to get out of the Vale, fast. Somewhere far enough that Targaryen influence will not touch you. And get rid of the cuffs while you are at it.

Rhea had a hunting lodge, on the edge of the grounds. There she kept all sorts of weapons and knives to skin animals with. Perhaps something there can be useful to break your chains and protect yourself while on the road. You decide to head there, but do not dare take the path, afraid of discovery.

The moon shines brightly, the sky clear. It’s a good night to escape because you can actually see where you are going. You know the forest, having rode with her many times through it. Even if you found hunting disgusting, Rhea liked to take you with her. If you go through it, you could get where you need to be and avoid the path.

You give yourself a silent pep talk, reminding yourself that at least the grass and moss will be gentler on your feet than the earth. You try to ignore your doubts about if you will actually be able to get there, reminding your way in the middle of the night.

As soon as you could, you were so getting shoes. A sudden, shrill screech makes you rush into the forest, hoping the darkness conceals you. You know that sound. Caraxes. He shouldn’t be here. The dragonpit Daemon had ordered to build for him is on the opposite end of the grounds, to avoid him setting the whole forest aflame.

It can only mean two things: He either escaped or Daemon took him out for a ride. Neither are good for you.

You pray to whoever that’s listening to cloak you, let the darkness be enough to be kept unseen. Your heart beats even faster, muscles tense and ready to dart away. Ducking behind some bushes, you try to muffle your breath with your hands, silently starting to cry.

It’s not quiet enough. The tree next to you catches fire, and you scream. You were so close! So close, you could almost taste freedom. And it was taken away from you, again.

“Ah, Wife! Come to lure me back to bed?”

You shiver. Daemon urges Caraxes to fly lower and extends a hand in silent demand. He can’t actually land here, not without ruining half the forest. But it’s clear what he wants.

Is there something more terrible than being forced to climb back into your captor’s arms, with bound hands? You don’t dare ask. But probably. You don’t want to know what he will do to you in punishment.

The scandal rises all the castle. Confused servants and guards pour out of the rooms to watch the ruckus occurring in the dining hall. You feel absolutely humiliated, in the sheer shift, barefooted and dirty, while Daemon scolds you as if you were a child.

“What in the Seven Hells were you thinking?” He shakes you, roughly. For a moment, you fear he might kill you right there. You look at the crowd of servants and shrink into yourself. Daemon follows your gaze.

“Ah.” He pulls out a chair and pushes you to sit there. You go meekly, too embarrassed to drag it further. You feel like you stink of failure. Slowly, with each thwarted escape attempt, hopelessness is starting to take hold of your heart. “I suppose I can't blame you, for taking an opportunity when it arose. Question is…” Daemon pulls another chair and straddles it backwards, perching his chin on the backrest. He glares at the servants. “Who allowed it?”

The servants stay in silence. You close your eyes fearing giving Mina away. No one speaks for a long while, all of you frozen in the face of Daemon's rage. His chair creaks when he gets up. You keep your eyes firmly closed.

There is a sudden weight in your lap. You open your eyes and there is Mina's terrified face, looking right into yours.

“I have found a traitor. Do you know what happens to traitors here?” Daemon asks you. Your eyes widen. You shake your head. “Oh, I think you do, Lady Wife. But I will be merciful. After all, she is your little friend.”

He gestures for a guard to approach. The man does, and Daemon whispers something in his ear. You look at Mina, still on your lap, whose lips are silently moving. Praying. You squeeze her hands. She squeezes yours back. She can't see that the guard has returned with a whip.

You try to say something, but Daemon is faster. He cracks the whip against the back of her nightclothes, which do little to soften the blow. Mina's eyes widen, filled with tears, and she screams loud and shrill, nearly falling off from your lap.

“I'm thinking… Fifty?” Daemon smirks, raising the whip again.

“Daemon, please.” You beg, as Mina desperately clutches at your shoulders.

“I'm not really in the mood to listen to you.” Daemon brings the whip down again, making Mina scream. Oh, how you regret now trying to escape. You should have never tried. “Next time, do not be so familiar with the help.”

The next time he hits her, it's you who starts crying. Mina shakes her head and pinches you, but you still beg.

“Daemon, please. Please, no more.”

He ignores you, cracking the whip again. You scream with her. The coppery scent of blood fills your nostrils, and you know he has to be hitting the same spot on purpose because there is no way he is drawing blood this soon without being cruel. The next time the whip goes down, you throw both of you on the ground, trying to protect her from more hits. The whip hits you around the shoulder.

“You just never learn, do you?” Daemon pulls you off Mina, kicking and screaming. “Willing to do anything to protect this whore who has done nothing to help you.”

“Please, please. I will take it for her. Please, she only got me the key, surely that's not…” You keep on pleading because while you might not have known Mina a lot, it was a horrid thing, watching someone be whipped because they tried helping you. Her only crime was trying to do the right thing, when no one else dared to. Bravery.

“Oh? You wish to trade places? As if you were some worthless little whore?” Daemon taunts, still holding you in his arms.

“Daemon, please.”

“You are my wife. Perhaps once you were to be a worthless little whore. But you are mine, now.” His hand brushes the curve of your neck. A threat and a caress, all rolled into one.

“Something else! Something else! We can negotiate, please.” At this point, you would agree to anything, desperate as you are to save Mina’s life.

His eyes glimmer. He has what he wanted.

“Put the girl in the cells. I will see to her in the morning. Right now… I have to tend to my wife.”

#daemon targaryen x reader #daemon x y/n #aemond targaryen x reader #daemon targeryen x reader #daemon targaryen x female reader #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x oc #house of the dragon fanfic #daemon x reader #daemon x you #daemon x oc #daemon smut #daemon targaryen smut #divine intuition series #also known as cristi angers her followers part 2 #asoif fanfic #daemon targaryen x y/n

375 notes · View notes

romana-after-dark · 4 months

Text

Room's on Fire: Pilot

Dark!Santiago Garcia x Fem!Reader Dark!Francisco Morales x Fem!Reader Dark!William Miller x Fem!Reader Dark!Benjamin Miller x Fem!Reader

Also: FishBen, and an assortment of other M/M relationships (no Millercest). Everyone is Bisexual

Series Masterlist: Main Masterlist : MainTaglist

Spotify playlist

Summery: The Delta is a commune in the middle of nowhere established by Santiago's mother. Since Divine Mother's passing in a rebellion a decade ago, Santiago, known as The Pope, and his half-God brethren Francisco, Benjamin and William have ran the commune. Now it is time for them to take a collective bride to breed, to bring the savior into the world.

Warnings and Content:

DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

DUB CON MOSTLY but there WILL BE NON CON. Major character deaths, forced breeding, physical abuse, brainwashing, manipulation, violence, gore, alcoholism/addiction, BIG OLE BLASPHEMY WARNING like this cult appropriates a lot of religious themes and they call reader their Madonna, Santi is called the Pope, like all that stuff. However, this is a cult so I mean. It happens. None of it are my thoughts on religion or meant to make fun of religion or demonize religious people. Disgusting views on virginity. Attempted rape outside the boys. T*m warning. Age gap. Creepy terrible men. Non-reader rape, dub con, violence.

This is not meant to be a statement about religion, Christianity, or Catholicism, this is simply my take on a cult. I am a religious person. I understand that some of this may be very offensive to religious people so if you don't like thing like AHS Asylum or Black Mass, maybe consider not reading.

"Come on home, girl, he said with a smile You don't have to love me yet, let's get high awhile But try to understand, try to understand Try, try, try to understand That I'm a magic man." ~Magic Man, Heart.

"God dammit Benjamin, what the hell is wrong with you!”

Will smacked Ben upside the head as Frankie chided him.

Ben tried to defend himself. “Hey! You guys act like you don’t sleep with ‘em too, why are you blaming me?”

“You’re fucking a new woman every goddamn week, you have no fucking class, we’re not even supposed to be sleeping with these women,-”

Santiago’s voice, strong and comanding, broke through the bickering. “Gentlemen, please, this is not becoming behavior for Gods.”

With their leader’s command, the other three settled down, Frankie’s eyes casting away. “Sorry, Pope.”

Pushing himself off from the wall he had been leaning against, Santiago walked toward the group. “That can’t be all the options. There’s no way Benny’s made his way through every of age virgin in our compound, we have over 5 thousand people here.”

The men thought through the women they knew, the various families at the massive compound who could accomplish their task. She couldn’t just be a virgin, that was the thing.

They needed their Madonna.

Before her death, Santiago’s mother informed their group that the prophecy would not be fulfilled through Santiago, that he was not the promised savior. Instead, he was destined to lead after her passing and that Santiago, Francisco, William and Benjamin were all demi-Gods. This was a step up for the Millers and Francisco, who had spend their youths in the privileged position of foster brothers to Santiago and living under The Divine Mother’s roof and direct guidance. To Santiago, however, this was a humiliating demotion.

His childhood was never one of whimsy, growing up told that he was a God, that he was the second coming, that he was the savior of the broken, the beaten and the damned… All that changed in his pre-teens. Suddenly, his mother was less pleased with him. His divinity was constantly dangled above his head. When his 20’s came and he failed to be what his mother wanted, she stripped him of his full God-hood.

So why, pray tell, were him and his fellow leaders and brethren searching for a virgin? Since Santiago had failed, they needed to father a new child. A new savior. Divine Mother’s instructions were clear; they were all to wed and breed a virgin from their compound. She was to live in their home as their wife for them to use not only whenever they wanted, but whenever they could. A sacred duty to be fruitful and multiple. It didn’t matter whose child grew in her, as long as there was a child. The world would be saved, and Santiago would earn his mothers favor from the heavens.

So, she couldn’t just be anyone. She needed to be a virgin, pure and holy. She needed to be beautiful, strong, faithful to their ways, faithful to the Divine Mother, faithful to the Pope, William, Benjamin, and Francisco.

“What about Marcus’s kid?’ Will asked, breaking their silence, causing everyone to turn to him.

Frank frowned. “You think the daughter of a traitor is the best option for the Madonna?” The sarcasm was clear. He didn’t like this plan as it was. He didn’t want strangers in their home, breaching security, putting his brothers at risk.

“That might actually be the solution to the problem.” He waited until Pope gestured for him to go on, not immediately shutting it down.

“The rebellion was when she was 12, the interrogations found she had no knowledge of her father’s plans. Ever since, she has been isolated. Lydia says she has caused no problems in the women’s home, been obedient but has no friends, no connections.”

“So you think she’s intact?”

“Santi, I doubt she’d had her first kiss.”

Since the rebellion 10 years ago, Will has set up measures to identify problems before they become something like that, and that meant keeping tabs on people. Single women lived in a few group homes throughout the compound. Each home had prefects that reported to house mothers, and house mothers that reported to Will. Anyone that was of any concern, Will checked in on, that included daughters of rebels.

“And she danced at the fire?” Pope asked, arms still crossed but listening.

Will nodded. “She did. No signs of disloyalty.”

Muttering, Frankie asked Ben if he’d slept with her in recent years.

He shook his head. “Nope. Forgot she existed.”

Frankie watched as Pope thought things through, his mouth shifting. Frankie asked, “How are the other viable women going to take it if the daughter of a traitor is chosen above them?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Ben said, defensive of Pope. His loyalty to Santiago went above everything. “If she’s the right person, she’s chosen divinely.”

Santiago held up a hand, stopping another argument. “A redemption. She has the option to purify herself from the sins of her father through the pain of childbirth.”

“Biblical precedent…” Will murmured in agreement.

“And if she fails to produce a child, then we can say we were deceived-”

“Like Eve deceived Adam. Damn, Pope, I think it’s a winner.”

Santiago smiled at his fellow leader, clasping his hands together. “Alright, let’s go visit her, make sure she’s suitable.”

You were dead. It was over. Lydia had cleared all the other women out of the dormitory room and told you that the Pope and the other divine leaders would be coming to speak privately to you and you assumed that you had slipped up somehow and it was the end for you. You didn’t know what you possibly could have done. You never ever spoke badly about anyone, none the less your beloved leaders! You adored them all, worshipped them as they deserved, as you had Divine Mother…

Had they decided you were too much of a liability after what your father had done? How was that possible, it had been a decade… why now…

You gasp. Fransisco… he was clairvoyant… had he seen into your dream? Had he seen what you saw oh-so often, the dreams that forced you awake crying?

You prepared yourself to grovel, to beg for mercy, to plead that these dreams of fire were not what you wanted, that they tormented you. Would you forever be labeled a traitor for what your father had done? Hadn’t you proved your loyalty to The Delta?

The door opened and you dropped to your knees, silent until spoken too. You can hear Benjamin whisper a damn. The floor creaks in front of where you knelt, arms prostrated out and for a moment, everything stood still. Warm hands were on your chin, guiding you up to see him.

He was so much more stunning up close. You’d heard tales from other girls of the men, of the way they bedded them, how it was glorious, the most holy form of worship to allow them inside you… You had taken note that you had not been allowed that honor, you had accepted it as the punishment for the sins of your birth, you never thought you’d be worthy of close contact, but right now… Pope was touching your face, your chin tucked between his thumb and forefinger; his eyes were so close to yours, his plump lips keep a soft smile. “Do not be afraid, darling girl. If we are correct, you may outshine us all.”

“But it is, of course, your choice.”

Your choice…

This phrase was preceded by the reminder that if you said no, there would be no savior.

There was no choice.

“I am a servant to my lords.”

Santiago smiled at that. “Excellent. Now, let’s begin the inspection.”

The what?

“Oh… is it… I swear I am a virgin, I’ve never been touched-”

“I know.” Francisco said. Oh, right. Clairvoyant. “We need to make sure you’re… healthy.”

“Oh. Yes, of course then.”

Francisco undressed you, his calm demeanor and soothing touch eased you as he slowly stripped you of your clothing. He pulled the loose shirt over your body as you raised your hands, the pail bra underneath had a lot of coverage (everything was meant to be practical) but you still felt exposed.

“Just down to her underwear, Francisco.” Will instructed as he watched. Will was a healer, that was his gift.

Francisco pulled down your pants slowly, and you feel eyes scaling you.

“Strip her down fully, Frank.” Ben tells Francisco, and you jolt when you feel his hands on the bare skin on your hips.

Francisco sighs, but Will puts his foot down. “She doesn’t need to be naked, this is invasive enough as it is”

Ben gave a short laugh. “More invasive than fucking her.”

“BEN!” All three of them shouted, discomfort and fears coursing through your body.

“Pope, she’s shaking.” Francisco asserts with his hands on your shoulders and you watch Pope give Ben a look.

“You behave, your brother knows what he’s doing.” He turns to Will, jerking his head at you. “Handle it.”

Will approaches you, his hands on your face. He holds you different than Pope, more firm, more all-encompassing. Will’s hands were larger, and he placed them at the side of your head, like he was holding you together. “Hey, it’s alright. It’s like a medical examination, okay?”

You nod within his grasp. “Okay.”

He smiled at you. “Good girl. I’m going to touch you, just stand there and take it. Trust me.”

You did. You’d follow him anywhere if he spoke like that. His hands move down your neck, slowly over your shoulders and down your arms, sending a chill through your body. He squeezed your hands. “Doing so good princess. Gonna check your backside now, can you straighten up for me?” You square your shoulders as he walks around, towering over you. You lock eyes with Ben; he looks hungry, like he’s ready to pounce but smiling at you with his boyish charm you can’t help wonder what that pounce would feel like. Ben had slept with almost every girl in your dormitory, and you’d been privy to all kinds of colorful descriptions as you overheard girls talking. Not to you. Never to you.

Will rubbed his hands together and breathed on them to aid the warmth before placing his fingertips at the top-most part of your back. Slowly, he dragged 8 fingers down, applying pressure, sending a tingling down your spine as his fingers traced it. “Excellent posture, just need to check a few things.” His hands went back up, fingers bracing at your sides as his thumbs searched certain spots, rubbing over aching parts of you with pressure, but not pain.

“Got a few knots.” Will comment’s, and you turn slight back towards him, suddenly scared.

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No, no. Nothing to worry about. Just means you’re stressed. It hurt there sometimes?”

He continued massaging you, your next words coming out with a moan. “Yeah.”

“I know it does, sweet girl. Don’t you worry, I’ll help you take care of that. You will be my wife, after all.”

The thought brings a small smile to your face. The smile falters when his hands wrap around your front, William’s body pressed up against your back. His hands are pressing into your stomach, making their way up until he cups your breast, a small groan escaping his mouth that had somehow found its way into your hair.

“She likes that.” You here Ben say, drawing your attention, his grin made you swell with pride. You’d spoken with him before; Benjamin knew all the women. Still, he never chose you to bed and you had thought you weren’t appealing but now, now you see it. Now, as Ben began to touch himself over his pants as he watched his brother examine your body, you realize you were meant for a higher purpose. You were being saved, protected, put on a pedestal for this moment, to be the mother of their child, to be their Madonna.

Will continued him ministrations, soft grunts as he ground his hips into your ass. You can se his eyes are locked in with Pope. Pope, is watching the scene with hooded eyes and parted lips. With a soft but powerful moan, Will stilled behind you, panting a soft kiss on your neck before his fingertips trails your panty line. “Now, for the vaginal exam.”

All the pleasure you felt stops, your body freezing up again. “B-but, you said I wouldn’t-”

William turned you around to face him. “I have to check out your privates, gotta make sure you’re safe. It’s just me, it’s just external, don’t worry. We’ll face away.” He knelt down.

You were acutely aware your ass was still out for the other men when you heard Ben groan when your underwear is pulled down, the distinct sound of him summoning Francisco, who had been quiet so far, and the unzipping of pants.

“Goddamn…” He says, notching your legs so they spread and lifting one foot so it is resting on his bent knee. He touched your sensitive skin. “Pope, you gotta see this… the girls wet.”

“But-” I wanted to protest that he had said it would only be him, but there was no point. Soon, you’d be married, and they be able to have you as much as they wanted.

“Holy shit, she’s dripping…” Pope marvels as the slick running down your thighs.

Will continues prodding at you, fingers running through your glistening folds. In the background was a sound you couldn’t quiet pinpoint, and something that sounded like kissing, but who would be kissing? There was only Ben and Francisco there. Will dips his finger slightly inside your hole, making you gasp.

“Careful.” Pope warned. “She needs to stay intact.”

“I know.” Will groans. “But she’s so fucking tight, Pope.”

A muffled but strong groan behind you, and Pope looks like he’s about to fall apart when he pulls away.

“William, Franisco, Ben. Go to Lydia, tell her the wedding will be at her next ovulation.”

The men reluctantly made their exit leaving Pope alone in the room with you. He pulled up your underwear and pants before helping you back into your shirt. “You are perfect.” He grabbed your face again, pinching your chin and guiding you to look up at him. “Pack only personal items. You’ll have new clothing, everything will be taken care of. From now on, as long as you are what we need you to be, whatever you need, you’ll have.”

He leans in and you open your mouth to him, beautifully alluring, gifting him your first kiss and the spark was ignited. He was everything now.

“My Madonna.”

WE'RE LIVE! So excited to do this, I was a little too excited, I didn't wait until january like i said lol. After this I'm gonna try and finish Blessed be the Fruit and Awakening before going forward which shouldnt be long

PLEEAASEEEE LMK YOU'RE THOTS AND THEORIES!!!!

Special thanks to my BELOVED @hon3yboy for encouraging me so fucking hard with this series!!! she is so wonderful and has written great work including WEREWOLF MARC SPECTOR!!!!

How to keep up with the story!

Comment on this masterlist that you want to be tagged and I'll tag you in updates (If you ask to be tagged, I ask you at least like the fic. Likes dont do anything to spread the work, but it at least lets me know you're still reading.)

Follow @romana-updates and/turn on notifications

Follow the tag Rooms on fire

TAGLIST:

@hon3yboy @winniethewife @femmeanonymelives @yorksgirl @pockcock @neverwheremoonchild @casa-boiardi @meveispunk @survivingandenduring @criticalarchitecture @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @obscurexsorrows @hellfire-state-of-mind @christinamadsen @pimosworld @princessanglophile @rubyfruitjungle @simple-lovebot @missdictatorme @campingwiththecharmings @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @javier-penas-wifexx420 @stefani-topaz @alwaysmicado

if I missed you LMK!!!!

207 notes · View notes