Georgi's lips, smeared all-over with electrifying purple gloss, hovers over hers. He can be the long-awaited hero for his princess — his one and only true love.
To break the eternal curse on her. Forever.
It can't be true. I refuse to believe it.
She lies on her canopied, ivory bed, weighed down on her collection of satin, lavender pillows. Her sweet, caramel-brown eyes shut and full of even sweeter dreams. Georgi's fingers loosen around one of the kitchen knives, as it gleams with fresh, dark blood. The pretender who dared to steal away Georgi's princess — he dies of repeated stab-wounds in the corridor, after a brief, muffled struggle.
Now with the monster slain, Georgi crawls over to his prize, learning over and cupping the side of Anya's face. Oh, oh how he's missed this — she's beautiful, whisper-smooth skin, terrifying like a pale, statuesque goddess. Anya has pained him, nearly destroyed his love and soul, but he forgives her.
I hear your voice, Anya.
Their lips finally meet, and Georgi savors the warm, dry feeling. He kisses her again, and again.
Silvery, as the untouched edges of the knife's stainless steel, Anya's engagement ring sits on the hand resting to her abdomen. George pulls away and eyes it, twisting it off her finger, chucking it aside.
He gently peels away her blanket, curling up fully against her back, inhaling her pomegranate-perfume. He buries his face into Anya's dark brown nest of curls, snuffling and leaving open-mouthed kisses to the back of her neck. She's everything, everything pure and desirable in this universe.
His cock fattens in his trousers, until Georgi unbuckles and pulls himself free. Panting heavily, he shifts up the end of her ivory, long nightdress, nudging his fingers between her thighs.
Georgi half-expects her to mumble out a protest, or stir, but Anya doesn't move an inch on her right side. Not even as Georgi breathes out a whining moan to her shoulder, caressing her vulva, separating the hairy, fleshy lips and pushing in deeper. She's sopping-wet in touches, as if already prepared for this.
She's never allowed him to cherish her body — now, Anya can be awakened to their love.
They've been cursed, drawn apart by forces beyond their making. Georgi intends to reunite them, starting cock-first. He wiggles his hips, pressing up to her and thumping against her naked lower-half, feeling the give when Anya's sleep-relaxed muscles offer no resistance, only slick, slick and hot bliss. It's a slow pace at first, with another light thump, before Georgi feels his control slipping.
He thrusts harder, more fiercely and quicker to finish the deed — to break the curse. His teeth clench and expose, hissing out air noisily, when Anya suddenly tightens around him, holding onto Georgi's cock seated all the way inside her, pulsing with his heightened, sickly-sweet arousal.
"You're naughty," she murmurs, sultry-low. "Fucking my cunt without me here to enjoy it."
Anya doesn't roll to face him, or push away — rather, she grabs Georgi's hand on her nightdress, burrowing it underneath to lift and cradle her breast. Georgi says nothing and blushes, thrusting slower again.
When the pretender's name falls off Anya's lips, like a wailing, pleasurable hymn, Georgi's despair roars. He flips her onto her stomach, listening to her amused, drowsy grunt, pounding against her ass and bare hips until she trembles. Anya's face hides in a lavender pillow, and her fingers claw into the mattress.
"I want your cum," Anya moans, grinding her forehead to the plush satin. She pushes back against another rocking thrust, matching Georgi's rhythm. "Cum inside me again, oh god, ohgod—"
Georgi obeys his princess, holding himself deep within and spending, filling her up in warm, thick spurts. Unable to deny how lovely and thrilling it is to hear Anya's praise once more. He plants wet, soft kisses to her nape, to the side of her face as she whimpers and turns to meet his eyes.
A blood-curdling scream escapes Anya's pink, princess lips. She screams and screams, kicking Georgi and managing to escape his arms, running from the comforting darkness of the bedroom.
He can hear her from the corridor, hyperventilating and sobbing, throwing herself against the opposite wall of where likely Anya has discovered the pretender's corpse. Georgi sobs as well, quiet and flushed and heartbroken, wiping his cheeks with the heels of his palms. The curse must still have a hold over her.
He must save her.
Georgi reaches for the blood-shined, kitchen knife, picking it up off the ground.
YOI isn't mine. Georgi is not cute to me. I have known men like Georgi. This is a more intense version of something I've had happen, and also something that's happened to a few people I know. This is vent fic. It's horrifying real while interweaving fantasy and obsession. It's not pleasant. The noncon warning has been given. I can't really say I hope you enjoyed this, but I hope it did shed some light on some Thoughts I've had previously.