#⦑ v; like father; like son; main ⦒ | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

letjungk09k · 21 days ago

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Fang and Flame

Main Masterlist

.ᐟ pairing. ⤑ Prince!Rafayel x Vampire/Bodyguard!Reader (no use of y/n).

.ᐟ synopsis. ⤑ Rafayel, a Prince soon to be King, corrupts his perfect bodyguard.

.ᐟ word count. ⤑ 30k (she's a long one) posted on my ao3. READER'S BACKSTORY IS NOT IN THE TUMBLR VERSION.

.ᐟ WARNINGS, mdni!!. ⤑ explicit sexual content, it's a lil filthy, rafayel is in his god of tides outfit!! LOTTT of sexual tension, male masturbation, blood drinking, praise kink (phew), includes a brothel, finger sucking, forced orgasm, p in v sex, vampire biting, possessive rafayel, drug use sorta, neck kissing, human/vampire relationship, semi-public sex, vaginal sex, rough sex, hand kink if you look hard enough, fantasy au, rafayel is a bit of a lil shit... its just filth idk what else to say

.ᐟ A/N. i'm so down bad for god of tides rafayel my GAWDD. this is a lil shot at me tryna make my own universe..it might be a bit confusing but hey. i TRIED. this is also my first LADS fic. so enjoy ^.^

On the ao3 version, there is a backstory to the reader and how she became a vampire!

Timeline aid: AF = Age of Fire

525 AF

The grand courtyard of the palace was lined with mourners and the air thick with the weight of loss.

The king was dead.

It had been days since the news reached every corner of the Whalefall city but today, the reality of it settled into the palace. The funeral was an event unlike any other, with royal beings from different kingdoms and common folk alike arriving to pay their respects. The sheer size of the gathering was overwhelming, an endless sea of faces each one draped in black, all of them here for a man they either feared or respected.

You stood at the edge of the procession, just a few paces behind the prince. His presence alone demanded attention, even without the crown on his head. His black attire blended seamlessly with the mourners but there was something about him that set him apart. Perhaps it was the way he stood, his back straight and eyes forward yet there was a distance to him. An air of control, of calculation that seemed unnatural for someone attending his father’s funeral.

You had been by his side for nearly three years now, watching him as his bodyguard, his protector, his knight, his shield. But despite all that time you still couldn’t fully decipher him. You had never been able to understand the prince’s true desires. At times he acted carefree, as though the throne meant nothing to him. Yet there were moments when a darker hunger flared in his eyes, moments that made you wonder if he truly desired power, if he thought only of the throne.

You had learned long ago that in the midst of death and mourning, a vampire (let alone one like you) did not belong. Your presence here was more a quiet formality than an act of respect. For five centuries death had been something you lived with, yet never truly embraced. But it wasn't just the death that hung in the air, it was the tension. The kingdom was in transition and Rafayel was at the centre of it all.

You stood beside him alert, watching the gathered nobles and sensing every shift in the air. But you couldn’t ignore the fact that something was different now. He was different.

The moment his father’s body had been laid to rest, the kingdom’s attention turned to him. You could feel the subtle change in the air, the tightening of the strings around his future. His face was unreadable, his eyes cold. Even his posture betrayed nothing of the grief or anger you might have expected from a son at his father’s funeral.

It was as though he were some distant observer, a prince watching from the outside as the kingdom mourned it's fallen ruler. Every word he spoke to the court was measured, careful. It was as though the weight of his father’s death had forced him to mask everything else beneath a cold exterior. Was he grieving? Did he even care?

You didn’t know. It made you uneasy.

As the ceremony continued you couldn’t help but observe the subtle shifts in the crowd.

Glances, whispers and the occasional noble eyeing you with suspicion. The queen’s gaze never strayed far from you. Her eyes flicked between him and you, sharp and resentful. Even after all these years, even with the kingdom on the brink of trouble she still loathed your very existence.

Her eyes filled with hatred found their mark every time, but there was nothing she could do about it. Soon enough, Rafayel would be crowned king and your position as his bodyguard would be solidified.

You'd no longer be the prince's bodyguard, but the king's.

As the funeral came to a close the crowd began to disperse, many retreating to the warmth of the palace halls. Rafayel did not move. He remained, as still as the stone at his feet. You watched him closely, stepping closer to his side, your presence near him not a protection this time but a force of habit.

"You look uneasy" he said his voice low, just loud enough for you to hear.

His words weren’t exactly a question but more like an observation. He didn’t turn to face you but the weight of his presence beside you was undeniable.

"I’m fine, my prince" you replied your voice even, though the words felt like a lie as they left your mouth.

Rafayel hummed, as if unconvinced.

"You always say that"

His lips curled slightly in what might’ve been a smirk though you couldn’t be sure. He wasn’t often so observant, so quick to speak up about things. But today something about him was different.

"I’m not as blind as you might think" he said, his voice steady but there was a hint of something sharper in his tone now "You’ve been on edge ever since we arrived. You’re always watching. The funeral’s over but I can feel your attention on me like a hawk circling prey"

"Forgive me" you murmured, your gaze lowering "I’m simply ensuring your safety, as always"

There was a slight pause before Rafayel spoke again, his voice lower now as if drawing you into the space between you.

"As always... You’re always watching, aren’t you?" he echoed, his smirk deepening. Then, in a quieter tone "Do you think this will ever end?"

Your brows furrowed slightly.

"End, my prince?"

His lips tightened.

"The watching, the waiting. The eyes on me. Every time I step outside... the kingdom is watching, waiting for me to become my father. They want another king. Another ruler to kneel before but I am not him. I will never be what they expect"

You hesitated.

Rafayel was more complex than any crown he would wear. Although you had only been under his wing for three years, he had been the only one in that hall to vouch for you that day his guards captured you. Vouch for what you could be. It didn't settle well with you, as he had only saw you as a weapon but he had trained you, given you a bed, given you food (that you never ate) and despite the Queen's coldness towards you, he himself was never cruel.

"You can’t be your father" you said quietly, watching his profile "But you can be king"

Rafayel glanced at you then, his eyes narrowing slightly. His gaze lingered on you for a fraction too long, his expression unreadable. Then, in typical fashion, he let out a quiet scoff, shaking his head.

"That’s a rather dull answer" he mused, his tone light but there was something underneath it "You sound like one of my advisors. Or worse... my mother"

"If you find my answer dull my prince, you are free to disregard it" You were nothing like his mother. You were not cruel.

Rafayel had always been hard to read. A prince who carried himself with effortless ease but never let anyone see him bleed. He had always spoken of the throne with indifference, as though it were an inconvenience. But now standing at the edge of his father’s grave, something about him was different.

His fingers twitched at his side.

"You said I can be king" he continued, quieter now "but what if I don’t want to be?"

You blinked. The question shouldn’t have surprised you but it did. He had never voiced such doubts before, not to you.

"You know as well as I do, my prince" you continued, your eyes flicking briefly to him "that whether you want it or not, the throne is your burden now. There’s no walking away from it"

There was a brief silence, the sound of wind brushing past the towering stone walls of the courtyard seeming to grow louder in the quiet space between you two. Rafayel shifted slightly, his fingers idly tracing the edge of his cloak, the fabric rippling beneath his touch. He leaned just a fraction closer, not enough to close the distance but enough for you to feel the change in the air.

"My burden..." His voice was low now, almost too quiet. Had you said the wrong thing? Even if you had, his lips still curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile, more like amusement "I'm glad you see it that way also"

Before you had the chance to ask him if he was ready to head inside, he spoke again.

"And what about you?" he asked, arching a brow "What do you expect of me?"

"I expect you to survive" you said, your tone steady but sharp "The kingdom needs a king, my prince. Whether you want to be one or not it’s your duty"

"You’re as cold as ever" he murmured "You’d think after all these years... I’d have earned something more than the stone wall you put up. Or maybe some sympathy after my fathers death?"

The hint of amusement was there but you weren’t sure whether it was sincere or meant to provoke.

His posture remained deceptively relaxed but there was a tension in his shoulders. He was waiting for your response, his eyes narrowing slightly as he waited for you to reply.

The weight of his words settled into your chest and for the first time in years, you found yourself unsure of how to respond.

"Forgive me, my prince" you said, your voice steady though your words felt strangely empty. It was the only thing you could think to say, the only apology you could offer.

Rafayel didn’t respond immediately. He let the silence stretch between you, both of you alone in your thoughts surrounded only by the sound of the wind rustling through the trees. It felt like a moment suspended in time.

Finally his lips parted again, his tone lighter this time though there was still an edge to it as if he couldn’t quite let go of the rawness in his voice.

"Stone wall or not" he said softly "you’re the only one I can trust right now"

"I don’t know why you trust me, my prince" you said quietly, your voice steady "I’ve never really given you a reason to"

"Is protecting my life not enough to gain trust?"

The question was pointed, carrying the same quiet edge as his earlier words. He tilted his head slightly, studying you with a gaze that lingered just a little too long, as if trying to reveal something buried beneath the surface. You didn’t break the stare, your expression unchanged but inside, his question hit a little harder than you expected.

"Protecting you is my duty" you said, the words coming out like a practiced response as they always did "It’s not about trust. It’s about keeping you alive"

Rafayel didn’t flinch, didn’t even blink. He knew.

Then like a switch, he changed.

He let out an exaggerated sigh, rolling his shoulders as if the weight of the conversation itself bored him. As if he was bored of the funeral. His posture shifted, the tension melting away as he stretched, a lazy motion that somehow looked effortless. He leaned back slightly, crossing his arms with a casual air that only someone like him could pull off in such a moment.

"Really, is that all you have to say? No words of wisdom? No grave warnings about how I should rule?" He hummed, amused "How tragic. My own bodyguard refuses to entertain me"

You resisted the urge to sigh. He danced around the weight of his father’s death like it was a game.

"You claimed me to be a knight, not a jester" Was all you responded.

"Well" he said, his voice returning to it's usual playful tone "I’m glad I’m not the only one trapped in duty then"

His words hung heavy in the air and you couldn’t help but feel the weight of them too. The statement hung in the air between you and you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of frustration. He refused to acknowledge what was really at stake. For once, you wished he would take things seriously even if just for a moment.

"We should head inside" you said, finally breaking the silence. It wasn’t a suggestion. The funeral had been long enough, the night growing darker. The air was heavy with more than just the weight of his father’s death now.

"Lead the way miss bodyguard"

────────

The heavy atmosphere of the past few days weighed on the kingdom but the preparations for Rafayel’s coronation continued without pause.

You stood in your usual position, just a few steps behind Rafayel, watching as the prince surveyed the map of the kingdom’s territories that was spread out before him. Rafayel’s gaze flicked across the map but his attention seemed distant. The coronation was only a few weeks away but the weight of his father’s death still seemed to hang over him. Even now he didn’t look ready to step into the role that was thrust upon him but then again, you doubted he ever would be.

Finally, after a long stretch of silence, Rafayel sighed and the sound made you glance up. His fingers tapped restlessly on the map.

"Do you think they’ll listen to me?"

"They’ll have to" you replied simply, your voice even "Your bloodline demands it"

Rafayel’s eyes flicked to you but he didn’t respond right away. The flicker of doubt that had crossed his features was quickly masked.

"And what of the advisors?" He motioned toward the scrolls and letters on the table before him, all filled with counsel and directions for his reign "Do you think they’ll accept me?"

You stepped closer, positioning yourself in a way that placed you between him and the open window, blocking the breeze from ruffling the papers.

"They will fall in line. They may try to test you at first but your position is strong, my prince"

Rafayel hummed in response, though his face didn’t betray much. He didn’t appear comforted by your words but you knew it was what he needed to hear. There was nothing more to say, his power was already set in motion. The kingdom would follow, whether they liked it or not. Rafayel leaned back slightly, staring at the map again but now with a deeper tension in his posture.

"I never wanted this..."

There was a long pause, his gaze not leaving the map in front of him. You could almost see the battle within him, the hesitation between embracing his new role or rejecting it entirely. But you weren’t there to play a part in that internal conflict, your job was to ensure that he didn't falter when it mattered most.

Rafayel exhaled as if steering himself before he turned to leave, with you hot on his heels.

The walk to the council chamber felt like it took hours. You’d spent the past few days watching him wrestle with the weight of his father’s death. The funeral was over, the kingdom was still and yet the true battle had only just begun. Rafayel’s first council meeting as the upcoming king was underway and despite his resolve there was an undeniable tension.

Rafayel no longer had his father to hide behind, he was to be the one to lead them now.

The council room was enormous, the marble walls rising high above, decorated with the Lemurian banners. Rafayel stepped in first, his gaze sweeping over the council with a quiet but unmistakable authority. You stayed a few paces behind him, vigilant as always, your eyes scanning the room for potential threats. You were always alert, even when no immediate danger was present.

You noticed the Queen and the way she was sat, poised at the far end of the table, her eyes never leaving her son. She was still dressed in mourning black, a reminder of the King's passing. But there was something colder behind her gaze now... a sharpness that seemed directed at both Rafayel and you.

Whispers rippled through the air, a mix of curiosity and unease. The room was thick with tension and power and it seemed to hold its breath at the sight of you. You were a woman yes but that wasn’t why they stared. It was because you were a mystery, a being who wasn’t quite human, a "monster" in their eyes and yet somehow, Rafayel had chosen you as his shield.

After three years in the palace, the stares and whispers were a normality to you.

Rafayel sat at the head of the table, looking every bit the king he was meant to be, though there was a flicker of unease in his gaze.

"Now that we are gathered" Rafayel’s voice broke through the room, clear but with an edge of authority that hadn’t been there before "We’ll begin with the state of the kingdom. First, the reports on the southern border"

The council members shifted in their seats, the sound of parchment shuffling filled the air as one of the advisors rose to speak.

"There has been unrest in the southern territories, my prince. There are rumours of rebellion brewing in some of the smaller cities... we recommend a larger military presence to ensure the peace"

"And what of the rest of the kingdom?" Rafayel asked, his voice colder now "Any threats closer to home?"

The advisor faltered for a moment before responding.

"My-My prince... we’ve received word from the capital city that tensions are rising. The nobles are eager to know your plans regarding your coronation and your intentions for the throne"

At the mention of the coronation, the room fell silent.

All eyes shifted to Rafayel, each pair seemingly waiting for his response, anticipating how the new king would handle his responsibilities. Rafayel didn’t immediately speak, his fingers tapped lightly on the armrest of his chair. The Queen, seated at the far end of the room studied him with an unreadable expression, her gaze flickering toward you before returning to her son.

"The coronation will proceed as planned but we will not let ceremonial titles be our sole focus. The Whalefall city and its wellbeing is far more urgent" Rafayel spoke. You heard his heart jump a beat.

A murmur rippled through the room, some council members exchanging uneasy glances. It was clear that Rafayel’s priorities were not aligned with their expectations.

"And what of the nobles, my prince?" one advisor interjected, his tone full of concern "They expect more than just... your presence. The throne requires a union. A queen, heirs, surely you’ve considered your options"

"I have no interest in rushing into such decisions" Rafayel’s eyes flickered toward his mother and then back to the council. The Queen cleared her throat, a sharp sound that pierced the tension.

"You must consider this carefully, Rafayel" she said "The kingdom expects stability and that includes your future as king. We must discuss the issue of your marriage"

Rafayel’s jaw tightened slightly.

"I’ve heard this already, Mother" Rafayel said quietly but firmly "The matter of my marriage is not one I intend to rush into simply because the throne is vacant"

The council members exchanged uneasy glances. Some looked at Rafayel with doubt, clearly uncomfortable with the obvious difference in his approach compared to his father’s. The late king had been decisive, quick in his decisions whereas Rafayel was… different. Though he had the same resolve his solutions were new and unfamiliar to those who had been used to the old ways.

"You may not wish to rush, Rafayel" the Queen pressed, her voice softer but still sharp "You know as well as I do that marriage to the right house will secure the kingdom’s future. A union with the right bloodline could mean the difference between peace and war"

There was a subtle shift in the room, as if the council members were holding their breath waiting for Rafayel to respond. Some of them looked to the Queen for guidance, as if unsure whether to side with the new king or his mother’s expectations.

Rafayel’s eyes flicked to you for a split second, a momentary glance that you knew was more for reassurance than anything else. You had hoped he didn't expect you to speak up. He turned back to the Queen, his voice unwavering.

"I am aware, but I will not marry for the sake of political strategy alone. I won’t allow this kingdom to be just a chess piece"

The Queen’s lips curled into a thin, almost imperceptible smile.

"You are still a young man, Rafayel" she said, her voice softening in a way that felt almost patronizing "You may think you understand the weight of the throne but it’s not only power that matters. It’s legacy, family. Heirs"

There was a tense silence as everyone around the table waited for Rafayel to respond and for the first time, you saw something in his eyes... a flicker of uncertainty.

"I’ll marry when I find the right person" Rafayel said, his voice a little colder than before "Not before"

As the room shifted with murmurs of approval and disapproval, your thoughts drifted momentarily.

In a new world like this, where women were expected to marry for the kingdom’s benefit and to secure alliances, to bear heirs... the idea of waiting for the right person was a privilege few women could afford. A woman’s desires would be ignored in favour of duty. She wouldn’t have the luxury of choice and yet, Rafayel could make that decision.

His freedom was palpable. You couldn’t help but feel a pang of envy, even if you knew that his path was hardly an easy one.

You let the thought slip away, focusing instead on duty. After all, your place was behind him. Your duty was to keep him safe and though your thoughts lingered on the differences between the two of you you knew one thing for certain, there was no room for your personal desires here.

Not for you. Not ever.

The room seemed to relax slightly but the Queen’s gaze remained fixed on her son.

"Very well but do not delay too long, Rafayel. You know the pressure the kingdom faces"

The meeting continued with various reports on trade, military and the status of neighboring kingdoms but you could see the weight of it all on Rafayel. He was standing at the edge of something terrifying. As the meeting drew to a close Rafayel stood and turned to the council.

"We’ll continue this tomorrow" he said, his tone firm but you could hear the weariness behind it.

The council members stood and began to leave. When the room finally cleared, Rafayel sighed deeply, rubbing his temples. You stepped forward but before you could speak he cut you off.

"Let’s go for a walk" he said quietly, his voice low but carrying an unspoken weight.

You knew better than to question him.

"Of course, my prince"

The marble floors beneath your boots echoed softly as you walked beside Rafayel. The air in the palace was still heavy, the silence only broken by the faint hum of distant voices and the occasional flicker of torches. The palace felt emptier now, as if the loss of the king had shook through every inch of the walls.

You both walked in silence for a while, the weight of the council meeting still lingering in the air. You didn’t need to speak to know what was on his mind. It was in the subtle way he clenched his jaw, the way his fingers tightened into a sharp grip and in the occasional glance he threw toward the shadows of the hall.

Finally he spoke, his voice low and thoughtful.

"I’m not sure I’m cut out for this"

You raised an eyebrow, matching his pace but not yet responding.

"Not cut out for being king?" you asked, the question harsher than you intended and your voice still as detached as ever "You’ve been training for this your whole life"

Rafayel let out a bitter laugh, the sound dry and devoid of humor.

"Training, yes. But I’m not my father am I? They expect me to step into his shoes, to rule with the same iron fist he did. But I can’t.. I won’t do it the way he did. Not just for the sake of tradition" The frustration in his voice was subtle but you heard it "And the Queen… She only wants me to follow in his footsteps. To marry for power and I just want to fucking live"

"You don’t have to be like your father" you said, your voice steady "You can rule in your own way. You’ll find your own path, you don’t have to follow the footsteps of those who came before you"

Rafayel stopped walking and you did the same, your eyes meeting his. His expression was conflicted, as though he wanted to argue, to protest but instead he just stood there. For a long momentyou both stood in silence, the weight of your words hanging in the air. Then he gave a small nod.

"that’s easy for you to say" he muttered but there was a trace of bitterness in his words "I’m supposed to be the king, aren’t I? The one who makes the decisions but they don’t trust me.."

"They don't have to. It isn't their choice"

"We’ll see" he murmured

You both resumed walking, the sounds of your footsteps echoing through the long hallway. The further you went the more the palace seemed to fall away into silence and the world outside seemed closer, more alive.

When you reached a large balcony overlooking Whalefall city, Rafayel leaned against the railing, gazing out at the moonlit expanse. His profile was sharp against the pale light of the night and for a brief moment, you saw him as something other than a prince or a leader. Just a man, standing at the edge of everything.

"I used to come out here with my father" Rafayel said quietly, his gaze still distant "Before all of this. He’d always stand there and look out over the kingdom, like he could see everything from here. I used to ask him what he saw... he said he saw strength. He saw a kingdom that would never fall"

You didn’t answer, merely standing by his side watching the city below. Your gaze was fixed on the streets far below, the flickering torches of the night.

"And what do you see?" you asked finally, your voice low and steady. Rafayel was quiet for a moment then he shrugged, the smirk returning to his face.

"I see a kingdom that’s going to change. Starting with me"

────────

The next few days Rafayel changed completely.

A smirk that lingered too long and a laugh that held a sharper edge. The way Rafayel carried himself with an air of carelessness that felt just a little too deliberate. At the council meetings he was still decisive. Still sharp and unwilling to bend but outside of them something shifted. He moved with a careless confidence, his words laced with even more amusement and he toyed with conversation like it was a game and brushed off concerns with a wave of his hand.

If he was tense before, it had unravelled into something looser.

You notic-ed it in the way he moved. Graceful but almost lazy and the tension in his shoulders was gone, replaced by a practiced ease that felt unnatural after weeks of weight pressing down on him.

At dinners he leaned back in his chair, swirling a goblet of wine between his fingers with idle amusement, letting the nobles talk over one another while he watched them like a bored god.

Even in the training yard where his movements were usually precise and calculated there was a new recklessness to him. A tendency to take unnecessary risks in spars, grinning through every near miss like he was chasing the thrill of being caught off guard.

His eyes glinted with a kind of mischief, a gleam that only deepened as the days went on. At times it almost seemed like he was deliberately trying to annoy you, throwing in sarcastic remarks when you least expected them, teasing you with an ease that didn’t quite belong in a prince.

Then, you heard the whispers.

At first they were just that. A murmur behind closed doors, the half glances exchanged between courtiers when he arrived at council meetings later than usual. You had always heard murmurs in the corridors and hidden corners of the palace but now they seemed to follow Rafayel everywhere he went.

Whispers that he had been slipping out at night, sneaking away from the watchful eyes of the royal guards and disappearing into the darkness.

At first you ignored them but as the rumours began to circulate more frequently your unease grew. His usual routine had shifted and though he remained as charming as ever, there was something unsettling about it all.

And then, it wasn’t just his demeanour that had changed.

You had seen him leave more than once after the usual evening meal, his form slipping through the doors and disappearing into the darkness and ordering you not to follow him. He was always gone by the time the moon rose high and when you saw him again at dawn, there were always subtle signs that he’d returned from somewhere.

His Lemurian clothes were hastily thrown on, wrinkled in all the wrong places as if he hadn’t bothered to care about his appearance in the rush to get back and his hands often grazed the edges of his clothes as though he were still trying to adjust to some part of the night that lingered on him.

You noticed the faint scratch marks on his neck and forearms, even on his back. At first, they were easy to ignore... small, almost not noticeable. But they began to appear more frequently, scattered across his skin like evidence he didn’t try to hide. Due to the amount of exposed skin his clothes showed, you were surprised that no one else had picked up on them. Or maybe they did and they chose to ignore it, or minimised it down to him sparing too much.

They were not from sparing or training. No, these marks were more intimate.

He’s sneaking out at night. Slipping past the guards. Some say he disappears into the the Silk Streets.

That name carried weight. A place where nobility lost their dignity and gold in equal measure. A labyrinth of brothels, gambling dens and places that existed purely for indulgence. A place that thrived in the shadows, where reputations were ruined and secrets were bought with a handful of coins.

A place not fit for the new Lemurian king.

You didn't know why he was walking straight into it, if the rumours were true.

Maybe it was grief, maybe it was defiance. Maybe he just wanted to feel something different. Something far from the suffocating expectations of the palace. He was the future king and the moment the wrong people took notice, the moment they realized his recklessness, his carelessness would become a weapon in someone else’s hands.

And then there was you.

People already started to doubt your ability to protect so if he was slipping past you unnoticed, what did that say about you? About your duty? If someone else caught him before you did, if word spread beyond the whispers in the palace, what would that mean for you? You had no doubt that The Queen would have something to say.

You would find out where he was going.

That night, long after the palace had settled into a quiet stillness you stood by the door to Rafayel’s chambers. You were supposed to be on duty, keeping watch but a strange sense of unrest kept you from your usual place. Something drew you to his door, something you couldn’t quite place.

It was then that you saw it.

The faintest movement through the slightly ajar window in his chamber. A flicker of shadow, a small look at his shadow slipping away from the palace walls. He was leaving and without thinking, you followed.

You crept down the hallway, keeping to the shadows as your footsteps were swallowed by the marble floor. There was no turning back now. You had to know, you had to see for yourself where he was going, what he was doing in the dead of night when no one was watching.

The cold night air met you as you stepped outside, if your heart could beat, it would be pounding in your chest. You moved swiftly, staying a few paces behind Rafayel as he walked through the gardens, his figure barely visible in the pale moonlight. He moved like he was used to this, like he had done it a hundred times before. He didn’t turn back, not once and as you followed, you began to wonder if he even knew you were there or if he simply didn’t care.

He passed through the side gates of the palace, his movements fluid and confident. You knew where he was headed before he even reached the main road. The Silk Streets.

The rumours were true.

He was dressed in a dark cloak, the fabric heavy and concealing, draping over him like a shadow. The hood of the cloak was drawn low, covering most of his face and the rest of his features were hidden beneath the folds of the fabric. From a distance, he could have been anyone. His usually regal posture was gone, replaced by the subtle movements of someone trying to go unnoticed.

Now, he was trying to hide. Trying to blend in with the crowds of the Silk Streets, with the people who lived in the shadows.

The moonlight barely touched the narrow alleys of the streets. It thrummed with an energy that felt alive, whispers of soft laughter, muffled music and the clink of coins and goblets.

He moved through the night with an ease that made you feel out of place, his body relaxed, his steps confident as if this dark part of the city were a second home to him. He barely glanced around, unfazed by the lewd whispers that followed him, the women in doorways flashing smiles that spoke of things better left unspoken. You kept your distance, keeping your gaze forward, trying to ignore the way the scent of incense and perfume clung to the air, thick and almost intoxicating.

You, on the other hand, felt the weight of every step. Every brush of a stranger’s arm, every faint whisper that danced through the air like smoke, reminded you that you didn’t belong here.

You wanted to remain unseen, unnoticed but the air here was thick with something else... The smell of the street mixed with the distant scent of sweat and alcohol, weaving into a heavy blanket of scent that nearly overwhelmed your senses. It was intoxicating and the longer you walked the harder it became to ignore the heady warmth that filled the air.

But then the sensation turned into something else entirely. The heat, the press of so many bodies brushing against yours, the constant hum of life in every corner... suddenly it felt too much. Too many people. Too much stimulation. You stumbled slightly, your senses overwhelmed by the presence of so many and for a fleeting moment the hunger crept up on you.

You were surrounded by so much warmth, so many living breathing bodies and the hunger within you was no longer something you could easily control. It was always there, lurking beneath the surface but tonight, it seemed louder. Stronger. You felt the sharp tug of desire and the familiar hunger that always came with being so close to so much life.

You lost sight of Rafayel and for a brief moment, it was almost a relief. He was safer without you. The thought flitted through your mind as you turned your gaze away from the large number of people, focusing instead on keeping your breath steady. It was easier this way, you told yourself. He was safer away from you, far from the monster you carried inside.

You fought the urge. You had to.

The hunger clawed at your insides, sharp and insistent, but you pushed it back, burying the need. The sensation of so much warmth, so many heartbeats pressing against your own cold skin, made the hunger feel alive, tangible. You could almost taste it. Feel it on the tip of your tongue. It was supposed to be manageable.. the witch had promised you that. You hadn't felt this burning need to feed in 500 years, so why now?

You took a step back, your breath shallow as you struggled to regain control. You didn’t belong in this place and yu couldn’t let yourself lose control. Not here, not now.

But with each passing second the pull grew stronger and the longer you stayed in the middle of the crowd the harder it became to resist. Every brush of skin, every whisper in the night seemed to feed the fire inside you. The streets twisted before you, the scent of perfume and incense growing thicker as you walked deeper into the streets. Rafayel. You had to find him and get out of here.

You could hear the laughter from behind closed doors, the shuffling of feet, the creaking of wooden steps but the most intoxicating sound of all? Rafayel’s voice. Faint but unmistakable.

The realization hit you like a brick to the chest.

You should leave. You should walk away.

But the hunger gnawed at you and you knew that if you didn’t move now, it would consume you. In a heartbeat your mind made the decision for you. You stormed through the crowded streets, ignoring the lewd stares, pushing past those who walked too slow in front of you. Rafayel’s scent, it was distinct, almost intoxicating but it pulled you further down the winding alleys, toward the brothel.

The building loomed ahead, its doors open wide promising warmth and sin. The voices and sounds grew louder as you approached, a mix of anger and the need to confront him.

As you stepped inside, the dim light was almost suffocating. The air was thick with the musk of bodies, the sweet smell of alcohol mingling with the pungent scent of jasmine and rose that seemed to pour out of every corner. You forced yourself to breathe slowly but each inhale was heavy.

And then you heard it. a moan. Soft, laced with pleasure and the sound cut through the noise of the brothel and you didn’t have to look far to know where it came from.

You found him quickly, in one of the private rooms at the far end of the building. He was sprawled across a small bed, his usual casual grace replaced with an ease that could only come from having done this many times before. His hands were tangled in the sheets, his bare chest rising and falling with each laboured breath. A woman, pale and completely naked straddled his waist, her face flushed with pleasure.

You didn’t flinch at the sight, not even a hint of hesitation. The hunger in your chest was stronger than any sense of discomfort you might have had. It was the hunger that you focused on now.

Without a word you walked deeper into the room, your gaze locked on the woman. The sound of her soft moans stopped when she noticed you standing there, the air suddenly turning thick with tension. Her eyes darted between you and Rafayel uncertain but you didn’t give her a chance to question.

"Leave" you said coldly, your voice cutting through the room like a blade.

The woman didn’t protest, her eyes flicking to Rafayel but he simply gave her a lazy wave of his hand, not at all concerned by your presence. She reluctantly climbed off him and gathered her clothes, throwing one last glance at the two of you before slipping out the door. Rafayel didn’t move, still stretched across the bed, his body still bare not even a hint of shame in his posture. He looked almost amused but there was a glint in his eyes, a spark of mischief that made your jaw tighten.

"Didn't think you’d follow me in here" he said casually, his lips curling into that irritating smirk "But then again, you always have a way of showing up at the wrong time"

He knew you were following him.

"This place isn't fit for a prince" Was all you found yourself replying. The hunger was growing and you needed to feed but getting Rafayel away from here was your main priority.

But of course, he was being difficult. He chuckled, a mocking sound that filled the room.

"Maybe not but it’s comfortable. No one expects anything from me here, you know? No royal duties, no heavy decisions weighing me down. Just... freedom" He stretched lazily, as if the whole scene were nothing more than a casual affair.

"You shouldn’t be here" you said bluntly, your voice still flat "You’re due to be the king and yet you're playing around in filth"

Rafayel rolled his eyes, clearly unbothered.

"Always so serious. Can’t you just relax a little? The world’s not always as black and white as you make it out to be. Here, I’m just Rafayel. No title, no expectations. Just... me"

You ignored the underlying challenge in his tone, your gaze cool and unwavering.

"You’re wasting your time" He raised an eyebrow at your response.

"Am I? Or am I just taking a break from being who everyone else wants me to be? Maybe I like being... something else for a while. Not some puppet prince everyone pulls at" You’d seen him be reckless before but this? This felt like he was trying to prove something. Or maybe it was just his way of avoiding the weight of the crown that loomed over him.

"You’re still a prince" you said, your voice like ice "No matter where you go. No matter who you bed"

Rafayel’s smirk widened, a flicker of something deeper in his eyes as he sat up and exposed more of his naked body, moving with a slow grace that made your stomach twist with frustration.

"You know" he said softly, his voice a little more teasing now "I always thought you'd be more... possessive. Aren’t you the least bit jealous?"

You didn’t flinch.

"Jealousy is a waste of time”

His expression flickered then that mischievous grin returned.

"My miss bodyguard, so cold as always. I wonder what would happen if I pushed you a little harder"

You held his gaze, unwavering, your breath steady despite the tension building between you.

"Leave. Now"

With another sigh he stood from where he was lying to pick up his clothes. He even left the palace and came here in his Lemurian outfit... he was truly being reckless. Did he really not care what others thought? His movements fluid as he slung the silk of his palace outfit over his shoulder with deliberate slowness.

"Alright, alright. No need to get all worked up. But next time, maybe join the fun, hmm?" He said to you as he picked up his cloak that once kept him hidden. You turned and walked toward the door but before you left, you glanced over your shoulder at him, your gaze as cold as the walls around you.

"Next time, I won’t be so forgiving"

Rafayel simply shrugged, as if he wasn’t concerned in the slightest.

"I’ll keep that in mind"

The door clicked shut behind you but the hunger still burned inside, stronger now with the close proximity of Rafayel’s scent lingering in the air. You had more to deal with than just him.

The cool air of the palace felt strangely suffocating as you returned with Rafayel, the hunger clawing at your insides, gnawing at you with each step. Your mind was distant, the pull of your thirst overpowering everything else. You barely noticed as you walked through the halls, your senses heightened, fixating on the sharp scent of blood that lingered in the corridors.

Once you had returned Rafayel safely to his chambers, you focused on your own needs.

It was a feeling you knew too well... but this time, it felt worse. It felt like you were losing control.

As you passed a group of servants your gaze flicked to one of them. No one in the palace cared about them.. She smiled hesitantly at you, completely unaware of the danger she was in. Your body moved of its own accord before you could even think and she never had a chance to react.

You slammed her back against the cold marble of the wall, your hand gripping her wrist tightly, your other hand curling around her chin. The world around you faded into a blur. The sound of your own breath, the pulse beneath her skin and the scent of her blood overwhelming every other sense. The hunger that had been gnawing at you all night surged up.

Your fangs appeared, sharp and deadly and before you could think better of it you sank them into her neck.

The moment your fangs pierced her skin, the taste of blood hit you... rich, warm, intoxicating. It consumed you. You couldn’t stop. It had been so long since you fed like this, without hesitation, without restraint. You drank, hard and fast, the pulsing rhythm of her heart slowing as the minutes passed.

But then something hit you. A sharp wave of panic rose within you, unexpected. This was not like the control you had always maintained, not like the careful, calculated feeds you’d taken before. You hadn’t done this in years.

The memories surged back.

The last time you had lost control, when you had slaughtered the last survivor of your village. You hadn’t cared then but now...

You broke away, your breath coming in short, harsh gasps. The woman sagged against the wall, her body limp in your grasp. For a moment, you just stood there, staring at her and at what you'd done. She was still alive, barely but her pulse was faint. You could feel it.

And yet, all you wanted was to run, to escape the guilt that rose in your throat like bile. You didn’t want to look at her. You didn’t want to face the reality of what you'd just done.

With shaking hands, you gently laid her down on the floor, as if trying to pretend that this had been nothing, just another fleeting moment. But the guilt gnawed at you, sharp and relentless.

You couldn’t stay there, not with her, not with the memory of the last time you’d lost control. So, you left.

But still even after feeding and even after wiping away the last bit of evidence away from your face, you still weren't fully satisfied. You needed more.

────────

The days since you’d first caught Rafayel sneaking out had passed in a blur. He still slipped away though not as often, as though his reckless streak had been tempered slightly by something. He came back to the palace each morning with a quiet defiance in his eyes, as if daring the world to ask him about his actions.

But it wasn’t until the council meeting that his habits were mentioned, spoken of in hushed tones by the others, then brought up publicly by the Queen who seemed increasingly angered with her son’s antics.

"You must explain yourself, Rafayel" the Queen had demanded, her voice tight with controlled irritation "Rumors are circulating. They say you’re sneaking off at night. If this continues, I will not tolerate it"

The room had grown silent, save for the soft shuffle of papers as the council members nervously awaited his response. You had kept your head down, knowing better than to intrude on council matters, especially when the Queen was involved.

The door to the council chamber closed softly behind you, the quiet thud of the wood sounding louder than it should in the empty hall. You could feel his frustration, even though he hadn’t said a word yet. His body language was full of tension and the subtle shake of his shoulders betrayed a layer of anger he wasn’t yet ready to show.

As you walked down the hallway the silence stretched between you both. The distant sounds of the palace servants bustling in the background seemed to fade, leaving only the sound of your own footsteps. Finally, Rafayel broke the silence.

"I’m not a child, you know" he muttered, his tone heavy with an edge. His gaze was dark, fixed straight ahead but the tension in his posture was hard to ignore "You don’t have to stand there and let her throw stones at me. You could’ve said something"

What were you to say? The Queen already disliked you, despised your presence, why should you get involved in family matters? You weren't an advisor or part of the council, just a monster there to ensure he is safe at all times.

"it isn’t my place to speak on matters that don’t concern me"

The words left your mouth and you almost almost regretted them the moment they passed your lips. But it was true. You were the bodyguard, not the family member.

But then there was a bitter chuckle.

"Right. As always, the perfect little soldier" He shook his head, his movements sharp and jerky as if he were trying to shake off the frustration that was still gnawing at him. There was a note of sarcasm in his voice but it didn’t feel entirely mocking "I'm not a fucking puppet"

He turned to face you, his eyes searching yours as if trying to gauge your reaction.

It was the way he said it, as if he were daring you to call him out, daring you to challenge him. You didn’t respond right away. You stood there, watching him. His eyes were still locked on you, searching, waiting for something... maybe an answer, maybe just someone to acknowledge what he was going through.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself before you spoke.

"I never said you were a puppet" you replied quietly, your tone still sharp "I just know my place, my prince"

"And what exactly is your place, then?" His voice was low, almost a whisper but there was a challenge in it "To stand by and watch? Watch me make a fool of myself while everyone around me whispers and judges?"

There was something different in his voice now. It wasn’t just about the council meeting anymore. It wasn’t just about his mother’s words. You didn’t have an answer for him, at least not the kind he wanted.

"My place is where you need me to be, my prince" you replied, keeping your voice steady "That’s the only thing I know for sure"

Rafayel studied you for a moment longer, then finally exhaled a frustrated breath. He ran a hand through his hair, looking away from you for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

"Then I know where I need you to be tonight" He told you, and for once, the shock was evident in your face "I'm sneaking out again. It would be a shame if my sworn protector were to follow me"

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The words hung in the air between you, heavy with meaning. You should have responded, should have put an end to his recklessness but something in his tone, in the sharp glint of his gaze, told you it would be useless.

He had already made his decision. He stood beside you for a moment longer and then without another word he turned on his heel and walked away. His stride was effortless, it was as if he didn't believe that you'd deny his command. You should have ignored it. You should have reported it but you knew that no matter what you did Rafayel would still leave tonight and if he was going to put himself in danger, then you had no choice but to be there when it happened.

By the time the sun had set and the palace corridors had emptied you were already waiting. It wasn’t long before you caught the familiar flicker of movement. Rafayel, slipping past the guards with practiced ease, his cloak draped loosely around him and the hood pulled up just enough to obscure his features.

Reckless, careless, stupid.

You moved before you could think better of it, slipping into the night after him. The city stretched before you, pulsing with life even under the weight of darkness and he didn’t look back, but you knew he could feel you there. You hated this place, the way it pulsed with the things you had long since forgotten.

But as Rafayel moved deeper into it's embrace you lost sight of him not long after, only this time there was no panic.

You felt the array of bodies surrounding you again, the hunger, the need. Everything was intimate, it was intense and you closed your eyes for a moment. The moment your eyes shut, the world sharpened in a different way. The warmth of bodies brushing past, the pulse of laughter and whispered secrets, the scent of skin heated from too much drink. It was intoxicating in a way that had nothing to do with blood.

It had been centuries since you had been surrounded like this. Engulfed in something so human, so alive. This wasn’t just hunger for blood.

There was a brush of air and a warm gust of wind on the back of your neck before a small voice appeared at the side of you.

"Don't get lost" He visibly smirked at the way you flinched, the first physical reaction he had ever gotten of you from the three years you were with him "Stay with me.. and relax"

He was behind you somehow, the front of his body only an inch away from the back of your own. His lips close to your ear as he spoke but he still kept to himself. You shuddered for a moment before nodding, like you didn't have a mind of your own, like the street and he himself had put a spell on you.

A spell to obey, which a monster like you should always do.

You could feel him, every inch of him so close but not touching it made your breath falter. A sharp contrast to the steady control you prided yourself on. His skin wasn't against yours but the warmth of him seeped into your skin, into your bones and into that part of you that had been frozen for centuries. His breath ghosted along your jaw, his voice low, deliberate.

"You’re always so tense"

A quiet chuckle rumbled from him and you felt it against your back more than you heard it. He leaned in closer, his lips barely grazing the shell of your ear, as if testing the waters.

"Is it this place?" he mused, voice silk and sin "Or is it me?"

You swallowed but the street had stolen your words, stolen your thoughts leaving you exposed. A pair of bodies stumbled past, tangled in each other, laughing breathlessly. Another pair further down, pressed against a wall and lost in the heat of their own indulgence. The air was thick with the scent of sweat, wine, desire. The world here moved differently as if the very street was alive and it had chosen you as its prey.

And Rafayel... Rafayel was watching.

"You feel it, don’t you?" he murmured, his voice dipping into something dangerously smooth "The way it pulls at you, the way it calls"

Your fists clenched at your sides, nails digging into your palms. You couldn’t let this place get to you.

"So miss bodyguard... will you indulge with me?"

You should have said no. You should have turned away, should have pulled back, should have reminded him of the line that stood between you, the one that had kept you at a distance for three years. instead, your body betrayed you. A slow shaky exhale slipped from your lips before you could stop it. It was lost in the midst of the Silk Street but not to him. Never to him. Rafayel smirked, his head tilted slightly, his gaze flickering over your face drinking in every minute shift in your expression.

"Indulge?" Your voice was quieter than you meant it to be, your throat drier than it should have been "And what exactly do you mean by that, my prince?"

"Whatever you want it to mean" he murmured "But first... let me show you around"

Rafayel stepped past you, the faintest brush of his cloak against your arm as he did. His smirk deepened when your eyes never left his figure. And then without looking back, he walked into the depths of the street.

Will you indulge with me?

Your feet moved before you had the chance to think. The further you walked down, the more suffocating the atmosphere grew. The flickering lanterns cast shadows on the cobblestones and as you followed Rafayel, every step felt heavier. He moved through the night with an ease that made you feel out of place, his body relaxed and his steps confident as if this dark part of the city were a second home to him. It was.

He barely glanced around, unfazed by the whispers that followed him. You kept your distance, keeping your gaze forward trying to ignore the way the your senses were filled with different fragrances. But you couldn't ignore him. A part of you wanted to turn away, to remind yourself of your place. Of your duty to him but you couldn’t shake the sense of awe that crept in. These people weren’t bound by titles. They were free, in ways you hadn’t been in over five centuries. It almost felt like a distant memory.

It wasn’t that you were jealous of these people but there was something about their freedom, their ability to live without restraint that made you feel… small. Small and trapped in a way you hadn’t let yourself admit. You didn't know why it bothered you.

As Rafayel slowed, leading you into an alleyway between two crumbling buildings, you caught sight of the brothel ahead. It was the same brothel where you had found him the other night. A place drenched in everything that should have repulsed you.

But it didn’t.

Rafayel pushed open the heavy wooden door without hesitation, stepping inside as though he belonged here and maybe in some way, he did. The moment he crossed the door, he was no longer the prince, no longer the heir to a kingdom burdened by duty and expectations. He was just a man, another figure in the haze of warmth and pleasure.

You hesitated.

Standing there just outside, you felt the weight of the past pressing against you. Five hundred years of restraint, five hundred years of existing but never truly living and yet you followed him inside. The shift in atmosphere was immediate. People leaned into one another, hands lingering, lips brushing, eyes half lidded with the haze of drink and desire. There were no rules here, no boundaries. Rafayel turned his head slightly, just enough to see you lingering at the door, your hesitation laid bare.

"You don’t have to be afraid" he murmured, his voice low enough that only you could hear "No one will look at you as they do in the palace. No one will whisper"

It was a taunt, wrapped in something gentler.

You reached the counter where a number of drinks were laid out, free to take. He reached for a bottle, something dark and rich smelling, the scent of honey and spice clinging to the rim. Without breaking eye contact with you he lifted it to his lips, taking a slow, deliberate sip before extending it toward you.

"Drink"

You stared at him, silent.

"It won't-"

"Affect you I know.." he reminded, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips "Humour me miss bodyguard. Just this once"

His eyes gleamed, watching and waiting. It wasn’t the drink that made your fingers curl around the bottle, it was him. You lifted the bottle to your lips, letting the liquid slide over your tongue. It was warm, rich, deceptively smooth but beneath the honeyed spice, beneath the slow burning heat, there was something else. Something unmistakable and your throat tightened.

Blood.

Not much, not enough for a human to notice but you weren’t human. The taste, the feel of it. It bloomed across your tongue, curling into your senses, awakening something deep inside you. Your grip on the bottle faltered for just a moment, the glass clinking softly as you set it down. A pang of hunger tightened in your chest and your body reacted almost before your mind could catch up.

"You…" The question was barely a breath, barely a whisper but Rafayel heard it.

And he smirked.

"You were about to ask, weren’t you?" His voice was velvet and amusement. He leaned in, elbow propped lazily on the counter, his eyes flickering in the dim light "If it’s blood? Yes"

He finished the thought for you.

Did he... know?

Your body screamed at you to stay still, to keep your expression neutral but the way Rafayel was watching you, studying you made it impossible. He was enjoying this.

"Relax" he mused, his voice almost soothing and mocking "It's not human. If that's what you're worried about"

You felt like breathing a sigh of relief. He didn't know. Your throat constricted, the taste still lingering on your tongue.

"Why?" You asked, though the question didn’t quite escape with the urgency you expected it to. You couldn’t seem to tear your gaze away from the bottle, nor the way his lips curved into a faint smirk.

"Why not?" Rafayel responded, leaning back up "It’s part of the street's… charm. It’s an old indulgence. Mixed with herbs it’s meant to lift you, free you in a way. It stirs something inside, doesn’t it?"

"Does it?" you murmured, your voice lacked it's usual steel and Rafayel knew it.

His smirk deepened like a hunter playing with it's prey. He tilted his head studying you, before his fingers tapped idly against the counter’s surface. He pulled the hood from his cloak down and your gaze flickered over him, taking in the way the dim, flickering light cast shifting shadows over his face.

"It does" His voice was quiet "Even if you won’t admit it"

His gaze flickered downward just for a second, toward the subtle rise and fall of your chest. Rafayel always carried an air of carelessness, of reckless confidence that made it seem as though the world bent to his rules. But here, in the golden glow of the brothel’s lanterns, draped in his regal clothes hidden by a cloak too large for him he was something else entirely.

The silk of his robes was dark, the colour of deep ocean tides beneath a moonlit sky. The embroidery shimmered as he moved, silver waves curling along the fabric shifting like they were alive, and then there was the jewellery. Silver rings, oceanic stones, the delicate chains that glinted against his wrists. An ornamental ear cuff, shaped like a cresting wave adorned one ear, catching the light whenever he tilted his head.

It was unfair how beautiful he was.

Rafayel was beautiful in a way that demanded attention, in a way that made it impossible to ignore him, no matter how hard you tried and right now, he was watching you. You forced your eyes away from him but not before you caught the slight tilt of his lips, like he knew exactly what you were thinking.

You thought he'd tease you, thought he'd mention how he caught you staring, truly looking at him like you've never done before but it never came and you were thankful. You took a moment to glance around the room and you noticed there were multiple pairs of eyes on you. You swallowed for a moment, you were used to the stares in the palace.. but in this place? It felt like you were a prize that people didn't want to stop admiring.

"Do they always stare?" you muttered, feeling your skin prickle. Rafayel's laugh was soft, a low sound that held a trace of amusement.

"They don't care about you" he said, his voice casual "It's me they want"

You turned sharply, meeting his gaze. His smile had faded into something more... knowing, like he enjoyed watching you squirm.

"You shouldn't come here" you said, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

"Why?" he asked, cocking his head to the side "Are you afraid of what you'll see? Or maybe afraid of the kind of person you might become if you stay?"

Your throat tightened and you could feel the flush creeping up your neck. The idea that you could be like the people in this place, slipping into a world of indulgence and desire... It sickened you. But there was no denying the way you felt slightly attracted to the dangerous allure of it all.

"I’m not like them" you whispered, your own voice betraying you.

"You are not like anyone and that is exactly why I brought you here" He told you and for the briefest second his expression shifted. Your head began to spin "My miss bodyguard is one of a kind"

"I-"

Rafayel took a slow step toward you, his presence suddenly overwhelming. He tilted his head, studying you with those sharp eyes that seemed to see through everything, through you. His presence surrounded you, a warmth pressing into your skin without even touching you.

"You're starting to feel it aren't you?" He questioned, his voice quiet. You looked down, eyes settling on the counter, the bottle, the blood.

Yes.

He was right. Whatever herbs were mixed in were beginning to affect you-he was winning. It was affecting you in ways you couldn’t control. Your breath felt heavier in your chest and you subtly gripped the counter again, fingers pressing into the wood as if grounding yourself. You wanted more. More of what, you weren’t sure. It was unlike anything you’d felt in centuries. Not hunger or thirst, it was almost worse. A yearning with no name.

Like you were floating almost and the feeling was exotic. Five centuries you had been nothing but a shell of a monster but now, you felt human. You felt alive, you felt like you could feel the blood that was once drained all those years ago flow into your empty veins. You forced yourself to stand straighter, to regain some semblance of composure but the heat in your chest remained.

"We should.." Go. You should go. Back to the palace, back to being a monster that people feared. Back to doing your duty because any upstanding bodyguard and knight wouldn't be in a place like this possibly endangering the person they were supposed to protect.

Rafayel inhaled sharply, stumbling back a step, his fingers pressing briefly against his temple before dropping back to his side. He wasn’t entirely unaffected either. His breathing had deepened and his lips parted slightly. Then he tilted his head smirking again, eyes half lidded and unreadable. He beckoned you with just a look.

And you followed.

Further into the brothel, further into pleasure and forbidden whispers. The further you followed him the more you felt it and you wanted to smile. The feeling creeping into your body. The intoxication, the warmth, the dizziness-it was unlike anything you’d felt in centuries. It wasn’t hunger but it was almost worse. It was a kind of desire, a yearning but for what you couldn’t say. You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t have followed him.

And yet, you did.

He led you to a cloak covered doorway and you followed him through it like he had you on a leash and was pulling you along. The air changed the moment you stepped through the veil of heavy fabric. The room was dimly lit and you had to really focus on the sight around you, your vision blurring slightly before you saw it.

Bodies moved in slow rhythms, tangled together in ways that left nothing to the imagination. The sounds.. soft gasps, breathless laughter, sinful moans and words whispered that you had never had whispered to you before. It all pressed in from every side, drowning out the world beyond these walls. There was no space untouched, no corner left unclaimed by the weight of indulgence. No one here was alone.

Except for you and him.

Rafayel stood just a step ahead, his cloak falling down his body and exposing bare back where his royal outfit lacked clothing for his top half. You were seeing him now, really seeing him. The details on his body, the faded scratch marks and the tattoos that made your fingers twitch slightly. He turned slightly, gaze flicking back to you. The chaos around him didn’t seem to touch him, like he was used to it.

You wanted to move. You needed to. The walls felt closer now, the press of bodies suffocating, the sheer intimacy of it all almost too much to bear. But your feet wouldn’t move.

You were rooted in place.

There were couples, there were beds filled with three people, there were men and women on their own bringing themselves to a climax... and you stood and watched. Lips parted, almost dried and screaming for something. The drink still burned in your throat, your skin hot, your thoughts slow and unfocused. It was intoxicating the way that the room felt alive, the way every breath you took carried the weight of something.

Rafayel took a slow step toward you, his expression unreadable beneath the dim lantern light.

"Tell me" he murmured, voice low and teasing but edged with something more "Does it tempt you?"

You couldn’t answer immediately. It was like the world had narrowed to just him and you.

He didn’t move any closer, he didn’t need to. His gaze held you in place, as if every moment you stood there was a game in itself. Your body felt like it belonged to someone else, your senses sharp and dulled at the same time and you couldn’t help but wonder how much of this was truly you. How much of it was the drink, the atmosphere or the quiet pull of his influence.

Rafayel’s eyes flickered down to your clenched hands then back up to your face. He saw it, the conflict in you.

"I..." The words faltered.

"You don’t have to stay" he said, his voice a low murmur, almost a promise as he reached out with his finger to gently tilt your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze "But do you really want to leave?"

You swallowed, trying to bring some clarity to your muddled thoughts. Your mind was a swirl of thoughts and confusion and though you knew you should distance yourself, you couldn’t seem to pull away from him.

"I should never have come" you murmured, almost to yourself but Rafayel heard.

Rafayel watched you carefully and for once, the smirk didn’t return. His expression softened, just slightly and you saw it. He took another step toward you, closing the distance, his free hand resting lightly on your arm just enough to feel the weight of it.

"I know you feel it. You're not immune to this" He said it with quiet certainty like he already knew everything you were trying to deny. Your pulse quickened and the rest of the room seemed to blur.

The bodies around you didn’t matter. The sounds faded away and Rafayel was all you could see, all you could feel. Despite everything, despite the rules, despite the duty that tied you to him there was a part of you that didn’t want to leave. Not yet, not now.

"My prince..." The title in this scenario felt wrong, utterly and disgustingly wrong. So wrong it made your stomach twist in unease.

This wasn’t the palace. This wasn’t duty or responsibility. This wasn’t the prince who carried the weight of a kingdom on his shoulders. This wasn’t the future king poised to take his throne. Why were you here, in a brothel surrounded by pleasure with the prince...

Your words seemed to have affected him slightly as a subtle shift passed through his face. His breath caught, a slight tremor running through him and you saw something deeper in his eyes that never left your own. His cheeks flushed, the red creeping up his neck and warming his skin in a way you hadn’t seen before. A stark contrast to the smooth controlled prince you were used to. The blush spread like fire, burning his skin red where it met the soft pink of his ears.

He was human after all. A man, with desires and fears and weaknesses, just like everyone else.

"I think you need to relax, just once" he said, his voice softer now, almost coaxing "You’re wound too tight. It’s like you’ve forgotten how to breathe... just let go. Let go for me, your prince, your king"

The way he said it so effortlessly made you want to listen, to surrender. And then, before you could think of a way to pull yourself together, he leaned in.

His lips brushed your temple, the gentleness sending a shiver down your spine. Then, they drifted to the edge of your cheek, soft and slow. The warmth of his touch lingered even as he moved, trailing over the curve of your jaw. Each kiss was light, teasing, as if he was savouring the sensation of your skin beneath his lips. He kissed you as though he had all the time in the world but you could feel the deliberate intensity in the way he moved, he was gentle yet demanding. You hadn’t realized how starved you were for touch until this moment.

Rafayel’s lips brushed the soft skin beneath your ear and the sensation sent a jolt of electricity through your veins. He paused there and for a moment you thought he might pull away but instead he pressed his lips ever so gently against the sensitive spot, just long enough to make your chest tighten. His lips moved down toward your throat and you couldn’t stop the involuntary shudder that coursed through you. You were half frozen, half on fire, the intensity of it leaving you breathless. His mouth was everywhere but where you wanted him most.

And then he hovered. His lips a centimetre away from yours, so close you could feel the heat of his breath against your mouth. You had wanted him to kiss you, so badly that the ache inside you had become unbearable. But when he moved closer, you felt a sense of unease you couldn’t explain, as if you were both too close and too far.

He pulled back at the last moment, just as you thought his lips were finally going to meet yours and there it was again... the smug, cocky smile that curled at the corners of his mouth. He looked at you with that knowing gaze, like he had seen right through you. His smile was infuriating but also undeniably captivating. There was something about the way he looked at you, that arrogant confident glint in his eyes as if he had won the battle before it even began.

"You’re teasing me" you muttered, your voice strained. You hated how it sounded. How weak it made you feel.

Rafayel’s eyes darkened just a shade before his smirk widened. His hand around your arm tightened slightly and his thumb on your chin smoothed your skin. His gaze dropped to your lips for a moment before meeting your eyes again.

"Teasing?" His voice dropped to a low murmur "No, my dear bodyguard. I’m simply letting you see what it feels like to want... and I know you want this"

The air between you thickened, the tension nearly suffocating but still he didn’t touch you in the way you craved. He stood just at that edge, where you couldn’t quite reach him, couldn’t quite escape. Your body was alive, aching for him, but the rational part of you screamed for control, screamed for distance.

You swallowed thickly, fighting the rising panic in your chest. You wanted to push him away, to tell him to stop but the words died on your tongue. Instead you stood there frozen, caught between wanting to run and wanting to give in completely.

"You told me to let go" You found yourself unexpectedly saying, hoping and willing that he would pull you closer and give you what you wanted "How... how can I let go?"

He smiled, truly smiled, like you had said something he had always wanted to hear and he had. Three years you had been under his wing, in his palace and by his side but you were always so cold. So distant and blunt but now, for the first time since he claimed you, he was finally seeing what he needed to see from you.

"Let me show you"

He stepped away and you hadn't realised how his proximity drowned out everything around you. It felt like it was just you and him in this room but it wasn't. The air seemed heavier now, the room felt fuller, like everything around you rushed back into focus. The mass of bodies reminded you of where you were and what was happening around you, and the sensation of the noises that echoed around the room has your knees weak.

Or maybe it was just Rafayel.

You couldn’t tear your gaze away from him as he moved through the haze of bodies, stepping back toward the far corner of the room. You didn’t even know why you moved, but the pull of him was magnetic. Your feet carried you forward, each step slow and heavy as you approached the small and secluded bed in the corner, barely noticeable to the rest of the crowd.

What was he.. doing?

Rafayel sank onto the plush bedding, his form reclining with the ease of someone who had nothing to prove. He glanced over at you, his eyes dark. He leant back, propping himself up on his elbows as his eyes traced over you like he was memorizing every detail, every shiver that ran down your spine, every breath you took.

He moved like he was already in control, like everything was part of his plan.

You moved closer, your knees hitting the bedding. The soft fabric shifted beneath you as you hesitated for just a moment before lying down next to him. The proximity was almost too much to bear, your body feeling the warmth of his, the scent of his skin. He didn’t break his gaze. In fact, he watched you more closely now. He shifted his body as you rested your own on the bed and now you were both lay on your sides, gazing at each other.

His hand shifted just slightly, close enough to you that you could feel his warmth but he didn’t touch you. His fingers brushed the bedding, tracing the fabric lazily as if he had all the time in world. You watched his fingers carefully, the black ink that wrapped itself around his fingers put you in a trance and you watched and watched and watched...

Until his hand drifted lower down the bed and closer to his body, his thumb teasing the waistband of his royal trousers. Your breath hitched, the sight of his abs covered in goosebumps as he teased the skin on his waistband was enough to have your chest rising heavily, as if you still had a heart-as if there was blood pumping through your veins.

His hand slid further down and you met his eyes in a panic. He was watching you carefully, gauging your reaction. He watched you bite your lip, he watched your eyes flicker between his own iris' and his lips as if you didn't know where to look. He watched you shuffle forwards ever so slightly, a movement that he would have missed if he wasn't truly staring at you.

Then his hand disappeared into his trousers and he found himself gasping slightly as he gripped his cock in his hand. Your own hand twitched... were you supposed to touch him? Help him? Touch yourself? You didn't know... you didn't know anything right now, your mind was clouded with nothing but desire.

"I don’t... don't know what you want from me" you managed to say, the vulnerability creeping into your voice. Your voice was breathless and it made his cock twitch to see how affected you were.

"Just keep your eyes on me" He told you, his voice close to a moan as you watched him carefully "Just-fuck just don't stop watching"

And you listened.

You watched his trousers strain against his hand as he moved, his strokes going from fast to slow to fast to slow and you were hypnotised. You were enjoying it. Enjoying it to the point of your own thighs clenching together, a feeling you have ever felt before. You were warm, warm everywhere and your teeth refused to let go of your bottom lip.

His thumb rubbed against the head of his cock and he gave you a blissful smile as his eyes closed. He let out a moan and fuck it might have been the hottest thing you have ever heard. He couldn't control himself now, and he only stroked faster and faster until the front of his trousers lowered far enough for you to see what he was doing.

His stomach tightened as he lost himself in the pleasure and you could do nothing but watch. You might have asked him to try yourself, to use your own hand to bring him pleasure but you wouldn't know how. You had never been in a situation like this before... almost five centuries of living and you had never pleasured anyone or been pleasured before.

Rafayel could barely breathe and he found himself opening his eyes again to look at you. Truly look at you.

He moaned again when he saw the way you were staring at his hand, so tranced and fixed on the way he was stroking himself. Fuck should he ask you to touch him? Ask you... for something? He doesn't know, he didn't care, he was too overcome by pleasure and the way you were watching him with your bottom lip between your teeth and your legs shut tightly together.

"I-" You whispered, a single word but it put Rafayel on the edge as you moved closer. Any second now you'd be pressed up against him, body warm against his own and he swore if you touched him he might burst any second now.

"What is it pretty girl? Hm?" He whimpered. He actually whimpered, and you found yourself letting out a small sigh of your own.

"Don't stop"

Gods there was no way he'd ever deny you of that. He chuckled, low and deep and it faded into the room and blended with the moans from the others that surrounded you in the room. He did as you wished, gripping and tugging at his cock as you moved closer to him, or maybe he moved closer to you, neither of you could tell.

You were closer now to the point where his knuckles were brushing against your clothes. Your forehead touched his own and your fists clenched, twitching with the need to hold something, anything. So you gripped at your chest, palming your breast through your shirt and found yourself letting out a moan.

Rafayel lost it. The sound you made brushed his ruby coloured ears and he listened as you made another sound, a whine this time and he couldn't help but thrust his hips forward and further into his hand.

He watched you palm your chest through your clothes and in his mind he was begging you to rip every piece of fabric off your body so he could see, so he could touch. But the pleasure clouded his mind and he could only only let out his own moans as your eyes met his.

"Can you indulge in this with me, miss bodyguard?" He questioned, his voice breathless and your throat turned dry.

You opened your mouth to agree but the words didn’t come. Instead, you found yourself staring at him, at the way his lips parted slightly, at the soft curve of his jaw, the sweat that started to form on his forehead and the muscles on his bicep contracting as he moved his hand faster and faster...

The silence between you stretched, thick and heavy and for the first time, you realized that you were no longer thinking of the palace, of duty, of the cold distance that had always defined you. You were here. With him. And nothing had ever felt more real.

"Show me..." You whispered, your lips less than a few centimetres from his "Show me what pleasure is, my prince"

And with your words, Rafayel found himself finishing into his palm, a low desperate moan following shortly behind. His body twitched and bumped into your own, hips thrusting as if they were begging you to rub your stomach against his cock to milk him dry. The head of his cock slightly rubbed against the fabric that you were wearing and Rafayel groaned deeply.

Your eyes were glossy and there was a throbbing sensation between your legs but you felt nothing but satisfaction. There was no doubt that the remains of his pleasure covered your own clothes but you couldn't bring yourself to care. The sight of your very own prince whining in overstimulation as he continued to stroke his now softening cock was enough to make you forget about all your worries and about your duty.

Because now, more than ever, you felt human.

────────

It was as if nothing had happened.

No words had been exchanged on the way back to the palace. No stolen glances, no lingering touches. Just silence.

You had ensured Rafayel made it safely to his chamber before slipping away into the shadows, retreating to the quietness of your own space. You had washed the scent of the brothel from your skin, scrubbed away the lingering warmth of his touch and convinced yourself that you could forget. That it hadn’t mattered.

And now, you fell back into routine. You were his bodyguard. His soldier.

But Rafayel wasn’t blind.

You knew he had noticed the shift when you escorted him to breakfast that morning. You stood at attention, back straight and hands tight and still at your sides, eyes fixed ahead in unwavering focus. You didn’t acknowledge him unless necessary. You spoke only when spoken to. You were perfect again.

It was insulting how easily you fell into place.

And Rafayel, who had always been too observant for his own good, did not miss a thing. At first, he said nothing. His gaze was heavier than usual, lingering on you for moments longer than necessary, as if waiting for you to do or say something. He let the silence stretch, testing you, waiting to see if you would shift under his gaze. You didn’t. You remained standing at his side, as you always did. The same as before.

Almost.

His fingers drummed lazily against the wooden table, the rings on his hand catching the morning light. He leaned back in his chair, an elbow propped up as he studied you beneath heavy lashes. Still, you did not look at him and then, after what felt like an eternity, Rafayel spoke.

"You're quiet today" Weren't you always? It was a simple observation, nothing more. But the way he said it, the weight behind it, it was definitely not a compliment.

"My duty does not require me to make conversation, my prince" You replied, the way you addressed him held a heavy difference compared to last night.

"No, I suppose it doesn't" Rafayel let out a low hum, dragging the tip of his finger around the rim of his goblet.

There was something almost amused in his voice, but you didn’t bite. You kept your breathing steady, your face blank, refusing to let him drag you into whatever game he was playing. Because you knew him. You knew Rafayel. He wanted a reaction. He wanted to see if the woman from the night before was still inside you. But you wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. Moments stretched between you and then, just as he lifted his goblet to his lips, he spoke again.

"Shame.." Your fingers twitched.

"Excuse me?"

Rafayel took a slow sip, swallowing the dark liquid before setting the goblet down with an infuriating amount of ease. He turned his head slightly, not quite looking at you but you could feel his gaze, burning at the edges of your composure.

"Nothing" he murmured, tilting his head back as if he had already grown bored of the exchange "Just thinking aloud"

Liar.

You inhaled slowly, silently steadying yourself. He was testing you... pushing, prodding, trying to make you slip. You forced yourself to remain still, to remain calm. Because if you let your mind wander, if you let yourself remember the way his lips had felt against your skin, the way his voice had sounded in the dark, the way his hand had gripped his cock in front of you, then you would lose. And you refused to lose, so you said nothing.

You remained at his side, cold and unyielding, the way you had always been and the way he always knew you to be. And Rafayel? He only smiled to himself, as if he knew. As if he had already won.

Later that evening, as the sun disappeared below the horizon and bathed the palace in a golden hue, you found yourself trailing behind Rafayel through the winding halls. His council meeting was soon, but he insisted on taking a walk to clear his mind before he was bombarded with the worries and demands of his advisors and the nobles.

You had escorted him through the palace grounds, through the vast corridors lined with tapestries and torches, your footsteps always a steady rhythm behind him. But yet, despite the physical distance you kept, you felt suffocated because you knew Rafayel was enjoying this. Every time your gaze so much as flickered toward him, he was already watching you. Every time you turned away, you could feel the weight of his amusement pressing into your skin.

Finally, he came to a stop near one of the palace balconies, where the air was crisp and cool carrying the scent of the sea. The distant sound of waves crashing against the cliffs filled the silence between you. Rafayel exhaled slowly, bracing his hands against the railing, his fingers curling around the edge.

"Are you going to keep pretending forever?" he asked, his voice was quiet.

"I don't know what you mean, my prince"

"You know exactly what I mean" he murmured, finally turning his head to look at you fully. The last streaks of sunlight painted his features, defining the sharp line of his jaw and the fullness of his lips.

The lips he denied you of kissing.

"Your safety is my only concern" He let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head.

"And yet, last night safety was the last thing on your mind"

Your throat tightened but you didn’t react. Rafayel shifted, stepping closer.

"Tell me, soldier" he murmured, his voice almost teasing "How long do you think you can keep up this charade?"

Your fingers curled into fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms.

"As long as I have to, my prince" Silence.

And then, he smiled. Did his perfect little bodyguard just... tease him?

And you did, because two could play that game. But Rafayel... Rafayel never played fair. He took a step forward, his sandals barely making a sound against the marble floor.

"You must be exhausted" he mused "Keeping up the performance. Playing the role of my loyal bodyguard, my watchful shadow. Does it ever get tiring?"

You didn’t react, didn’t move but you knew he could feel it. The subtle shift in the air, the way your body tensed for just a fraction of a second too long.

"I wouldn’t know" you said flatly. He hummed, the sound low and amused.

"No, I suppose you wouldn’t" Another step closer. You could feel the warmth of him now "You don’t sleep, do you?"

A pause.

"You don’t eat"

Another step.

"And yet, you don’t wither. You don’t break. You don’t bleed the way you should"

His voice was velvet and steel, wrapping around you, tightening with every word. He was circling you now, slow and deliberate, like a predator toying with it's prey. The teasing tone in his voice had faded into something else.

"You know that they call you a monster in the palace halls" he continued, his voice dipping lower "A ghost. Some say you're a failed experiment, a creature torn from a nightmare"

The words should have stung. They didn’t, yu had heard them all before. But then...

"But I" he exhaled a soft laugh "I think the truth is far simpler than that"

Your throat tightened. You willed yourself to stay still, to not let him see the way your shoulders locked, the way the cold settled deep into your stomach like a stone.

"And what truth is that?" you asked, your voice steady. Challenging. His smirk deepened.

"I think you were about to ask, weren’t you?" he murmured, echoing your own words from that night at the brothel "If it was blood in the bottle?"

Your stomach twisted. The realization hit you all at once, but Rafayel was still watching, drinking in every flicker of emotion you failed to smother, the way your breathing had slowed.

"You already knew the answer before I said it" he continued, his voice deceptively soft. His gaze flickered down just briefly to your lips. Like he was remembering the way the bottle had lingered there, the way you had tasted before you knew "And that was all I needed"

"So say it..." You told him, your voice barely a whisper. Another smirk, the world seemed to still.

He knew.

"You're a vampire"

The words were simple, yet they hit you like a train, your breath catching in your throat.

You opened your mouth but no words came. Your thoughts scattered, trying to grasp at the edges of something you had always hidden so carefully. The cold dread in your chest made it hard to breathe but Rafayel didn’t move. He stood there, watching you with... curiosity? For a moment, you just stared at him, then instinct took over.

"Do you want me to be afraid?" you asked voice low, but somehow still steady.

Should you be afraid? Would he tell them, tell the Queen? That his bodyguard is a vampire, one of the last to ever exist, and she's here she is real, hiding in plain sight for three years.

"You don't deny it" he murmured, tilting his head. His hair, caught in the melting sunlight, making him look ethereal and yet here he was, staring at you like he had just unravelled a mystery that had haunted him for far too long.

"I don't owe you confirmation" you said voice almost fearful "It changes nothing"

He laughed. Soft, delighted.

"Oh, but I think it changes everything" Another step. You should have backed away again, should have put distance between you but you refused "You’re a creature of the night. Vampires, witches... They always intrigued me. The power, the mystery. Those monsters that existed centuries ago, and one of them is my very own bodyguard”

"How long have you known?"

"Too long" he admitted, his eyes darkening "But I wanted to be sure. You think I didn’t see it? The way you watched me, studied me the same way I studied you? You act like you don’t care but I know better"

"And yet you kept me by your side... why?"

"Because you intrigued me" he murmured, his gaze never leaving yours as he spoke.

And then before you could react, he reached up. Swift and deliberate, and brushed his fingers against the side of your throat. Right over where a human pulse should have been. Nothing. Excluding last night this was the first time he was touching you since he claimed you three years ago. His eyes flickered, unreadable, unreadable, unreadable...

For a moment, you thought he might say something else. That he might press further, push you and push you. But he didn’t. He simply let his fingers rest there, against the hollow of your throat where there was no reassuring thump of life beneath his touch. His fingers didn’t tremble. There was no hesitation, no fear.

"How long have you been hungry?" his words settled between you and your breath faltered, caught between a scoff and panic.

"You think I’m starving?" you asked, forcing a sharpness into your voice "You think I’m going to sink my teeth into your throat?"

His smirk returned, slow and knowing.

"Would you? I imagine it would be intoxicating"

"You’re playing a dangerous game, my prince"

"You’d never hurt me" The certainty in his voice sent a jolt through your chest and you hated how easily he used it.

"And how are you so sure?" you whispered.

"Because if you wanted to" he murmured leaning in just slightly, the warmth of his breath brushing your jaw "you already would have"

Your stomach twisted. He was right. You had stood guard outside his chamber for three years, had been close enough to touch him, to kill him, to take from him every single day. You had never once indulged. And yet, his pulse was so close now, beneath golden skin steady and warm. His scent was clean, the heat of him was something you tried not to focus on.

"You’re not afraid of me.." you said, because you needed to hear it. His expression softened, just slightly.

"No" he said, like it was the easiest thing in the world "I never was"

The realization unsettled you more than it should have. You swallowed, shifting your weight ever so slightly but it didn’t help. His presence was everywhere. His scent, his warmth, the undeniable way he was looking at you. And then, before you could stop yourself, the words slipped past your lips, quieter than you intended.

"That makes one of us"

A breath of silence.

Rafayel didn’t move. He didn’t flinch. But his smirk faded, replaced by something softer and unreadable. His lashes lowered just slightly, his fingers on your throat twitching. You hated how exposed you felt. For three years you had perfected the art of silence. The art of indifference and yet here you stood, confessing more in five words than you had in centuries of your existence.

"I'm not going to tell anyone" His voice when it came was low and steady, before he shifted slightly "And in exchange, you can help me satisfy my curiosity"

"Curiosity?"

"I want to see them" was he asking what you think he was? "I'd be a fool not to take the opportunity would I not? Last of your kind and you're here in front of me. I've heard myths and legends about the sharpness but I can imagine it's different to see in person"

He wanted to see your fangs.

You wanted to push him away, to tell him to stop, to retreat into the silence you had so carefully constructed but something inside you trembled, something you hadn’t felt in years. Fear. You swallowed hard, your throat dry.

"It’s not a show, my prince" you said barely above a whisper, the words tasting foreign on your tongue "I don't... I don't trust you and I don’t know if I can trust you not to use it against me"

His lips twitched and for a moment there was something like sadness in his eyes but it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced once more by that steady gaze. For a while, there was silence. Every part of you screamed to keep the secret, to hide, to escape the moment. But the strange pull of him, of the trust you didn’t want to give was overwhelming.

You parted your lips, hesitating only for a heartbeat, before allowing him to see the fangs you’d hidden for so long. You could feel the sharpness of them as your canines lengthened. Dangerous, lethal, but in that moment they were exposed. There was no turning back.

Rafayel didn’t immediately speak. His gaze traced the sharp lines of your teeth, lingering as though admiring something rare, something exquisite. His eyes darkened and before you could even think to pull away, his fingers reached out, brushing against the sharp point of one of your fangs.

His thumb then trailed lower, brushing across your lips with a teasing, deliberate motion. The sensation was too intimate, too personal and yet you found yourself frozen and unable to move. You stiffened, but his touch didn’t waver. It was soft yet it carried an intensity, a command that made your pulse quicken. The faintest flicker of heat spread through you but you couldn’t let him see it.

"You're beautiful" he murmured, his voice like a soft siren song, as if he were in awe of what he saw. His finger traced the sharpness of your fang "So much more than I imagined"

His gaze locked with yours and in that moment, everything seemed to slow. His presence was suffocating, consuming. His fingers didn’t pull away. They remained, pressing just a little harder against your fang... a possessive teasing pressure. You flinched at the added pressure, a shiver running down your spine. The touch was sharp now intentional. You didn’t know whether to step back or lean closer, your body betraying you in the face of such intimacy.

And then a sharp sting.

His thumb pressed into your fang with just enough force to break the delicate skin at the tip. You didn’t have to look to know what had happened. The copper scent filled the air before you could fully process it, the bead of blood forming slowly on his skin.

The temptation was overwhelming. You felt it... a primal hunger rising in your chest, the need to sink your teeth into his flesh, to taste him, to take. Your eyes flickered downward to the drop of blood and the crimson bead that now stained his skin. The hunger surged. His voice, now soft and almost hypnotic broke through your haze.

"Open your mouth" he commanded, the order simple.

Your body obeyed before your mind could process it and without thought, your lips parted further. His thumb dipped lower, pressing against your bottom lip. A drop of his blood fell, warm and rich, onto your tongue. You tasted it before you could stop yourself. Just a brush of it and your senses exploded.

His blood was intoxicating. It slid down your throat like liquid fire, lighting every nerve in your body. It was like nothing you had ever tasted before, sweet and powerful and yet... you wanted more. Much more.

And he gave you exactly that. Before you knew it, he was placing his thumb in your mouth and on top of your tongue before pressing down, holding you there. His breath was on your face, uneven and heavy.

Without thinking, you sucked on his thumb, closing your mouth around it and pulling him closer, your body responding to the need gnawing at your insides. His blood was all you could focus on, it's heat mingling with the hunger that surged through your veins. You pulled him in, your hands gripping his wrist with a desperation you didn’t even recognize.

Rafayel didn’t pull away. Instead, his free hand cupped your cheek with a possessiveness you didn’t expect. His thumb remained in your mouth, guiding you, pulling you closer as the sensation of him, of his touch spiralled through you.

"Fuck.." he mumbled to himself.

His eyes darkened with something you couldn’t quite place, watching you with an intensity that set your skin on fire. You didn’t want to stop. You couldn’t stop. Every fibre of your being screamed for more as your lips bobbed around his thumb.

A singular moan, whether it was from him or you, you didn't know.

But it was enough to make you realise what was happening.

You jerked back, panic flooding your senses. You hadn’t meant to go this far. You let go of his wrist and his thumb slipped from your mouth with a soft, almost regretful sound. You gasped for air, your lips still tingling with the taste of him, your body aching with something you couldn't quite name. Rafayel didn’t retreat though. His hand slid down to your waist, pulling you back toward him with a steady, unyielding grip. His touch was firm, possessive but gentle as if he were holding you together when you were falling apart. His eyes didn’t leave yours and in them, you saw something darker now.

"That..." Rafayel said softly, his voice almost too casual "is why I can never have a wife... that alone brought me more pleasure than any other woman could"

His words hit you harder than you expected. You stiffened, shocked by the bluntness, by the rawness of what he’d just said. The casualness with which he spoke of such an intimate moment made you flustered, your cheeks warming. How could he say something like that so easily, so carelessly?

His hand tightened at your waist, fingers curling against the fabric of your clothes. A silent stay. His body loomed over yours, close enough that you could feel the rise and fall of his breath, the steady thrum of his heart. So human. You wanted to pull away, to regain control but your own body was betraying you, pulling you into the moment instead. His proximity felt suffocating. You should have pushed him away, you should have said something.

Instead, your silence gave him permission. His fingers slid up, tracing the line of your jaw before threading into your hair, pulling.

You gasped, the sharp tug sending a thrill down your spine and just like that, your neck was bared to him, your throat exposed in a way that made your instincts scream danger.. and yet, your body refused to move. His lips ghosted over your skin, a slow, deliberate tease. Not a kiss not yet, just a whisper of warmth.

Then, pressure.

His mouth brushed against your pulse point, lips parting just slightly. The warmth of his breath sent a shudder through you. Then, a graze of teeth. Blunt. Human.

He was toying with you.

His mouth pressed deeper, lingering in a way that would have made your heart quicken. Then a bite. Not enough to break skin, not enough to hurt or leave a mark but enough. Enough to make your breath stutter. There was a dangerous draw to him, a magnetic pull that threatened to drown you in it. His lips moved against your skin again slower this time, deliberate and hungry. Not just kissing but nibbling. Small sharp bites, the kind only a vampire would know how to deliver. The kind meant to unravel, to seduce. His breathing was heavier now, his restraint slipping, his hunger mingling with yours in a way that made your stomach twist.

The second time he deprived you.

The first being in the brothel just 24 hours ago. He had kissed every inch of your face and jaw but avoided your lips at all cost and you wondered why, why? Was that too intimate for him? Did he consider that too vulnerable?

But you.. you had shown him your fangs. The way you kill. That was vulnerability for you but he couldn't share his own? Selfish. Too selfish, depriving you of what you wanted and needed. You shuddered as his eyes lifted to meet yours, dark and intense. The air between you was thick with tension, with need and then, as if some invisible line had been crossed, Rafayel's lips parted just enough to whisper.

"Show me more"

You found yourself leaning in. Unconsciously, desperately, your body reacting to the rush of emotions coursing through you, your mind clouded with desire and the taste of his blood. You were intoxicated by him, by what had just happened between you two. You moved closer hesitantly but you didn’t stop. You wanted to kiss him, needed to kiss him. Your lips hovered near his, breath mingling between you and for the first time, you were the one making the move.

But before you could close the gap, Rafayel pulled back slightly, just enough to deny you, just enough to taunt. His regular smirk curling at the corners of his mouth and his eyes gleamed with amusement. You studied him for a moment before you reached for him again, this time with more urgency. But once again, Rafayel evaded you. What the fuck.

He was enjoying this. You wanted to slap him, you wanted to ruin him... you wanted to taste him. You held his wrist again, your nails pressed into his skin but just as quickly as the moment had escalated, you heard the sound of footsteps approaching. The rhythm of boots against marble echoed through the hallway.

You jerked back, the speed with which you moved nothing short of lightning. The blur of motion left Rafayel blinking, slightly stunned before his gaze followed you, taking in the unnatural speed at which you’d retreated

Before he could speak, a palace guard rounded the corner and his gaze shifted between you both before focusing on Rafayel, eyes respectful but sharp.

"My prince" the guard said with a slight bow "The Queen sent me to find you. You’re late for the council meeting"

Rafayel, still too composed, didn’t spare a glance at you. Instead he straightened, regaining his regal posture in an instant.

"Thank you" he said, his voice calm and composed, betraying none of the intensity from just moments ago "I’ll be there shortly"

The guard nodded and quickly retreated, disappearing down the hallway. You stood still for a moment, the heat of the moment hadn’t disappeared and you could still feel the lingering burn of Rafayel’s touch on your skin. Rafayel however didn’t turn back to look at you as he began walking toward the council chamber. His back was to you now but you could feel the weight of his presence in the air.

The council chamber was far too cold for your liking, the air thick with formality and politics. The long table gleamed under the flickering torchlight, the creak of chairs and the soft rustle of papers filling the room as the advisors spoke in low, business like tones. Rafayel sat at the head of the table, his posture relaxed, almost as if he had not a care in the world. His voice cut through the air, smooth and confident, effortlessly commanding the attention of every person in the room.

But it wasn’t his words that held your focus. It was the memory of his touch, his blood still fresh on your tongue, the heat of the moment still searing beneath your skin. You could feel his presence, even though he was across the room. The way he moved, the subtle glint of amusement in his eyes whenever they flicked toward you, it was all too much.

Your mind kept replaying the way he’d smiled at you, the way his thumb had pressed against your lips, his breath just inches from yours. And now here he was, speaking with his advisors as though nothing had happened between you two. He was calm collected and in control. He looked every bit the prince, the future king and yet somehow the casual way he dismissed their concerns made your stomach twist. He had walked away from you without a second thought, without acknowledging the charge between you two.

But you couldn’t forget it. You couldn’t shake it.

"Rafayel" the Queen’s voice sliced through the silence, drawing your attention back to the matter at hand "Have you given any thought to finding a suitable wife? The kingdom will need a queen soon, especially with all that’s going on"

At the mention of a wife, something inside you clenched. A primal, unexpected feeling burned deep in your chest. Anger, frustration, possessiveness? something you had no name for but it was there, an edge twisting in your gut. The thought of another woman standing at his side, of him having someone else... it made your blood run cold. You didn’t want to think about it.

But the thought of him with someone else stung in a way you hadn’t anticipated and you didn’t know how to deal with it. Why did it matter? Why did his future wife matter to you?

Rafayel didn’t seem to notice your internal struggle, his gaze never shifted toward you. He kept his eyes trained on the documents in front of him, his hand lazily drawing patterns on the edge of the table as he listened to his advisors. When he finally spoke, it was with the same casual ease as before as though he had no care in the world.

"I’ve thought about it, Mother" he replied smoothly "But a wife is the least of my concerns at the moment"

"Rafayel" the Queen warned, her voice rising just enough to command his full attention "You’re not a child anymore. The people need stability and you’ll need a queen to secure that. You cannot keep putting this off"

Rafayel didn’t flinch. His gaze flicked toward his advisors, then lazily scanned the room. As his voice rang out again, there was the famous subtle smirk on his lips that never quite reached his eyes.

"Perhaps Princess Tara of Linkon might be a good match" he said casually, mentioning the name of a royal from a neighbouring kingdom "But I’m not sure yet. It’s too soon to decide"

The moment he said her name, a violent knot of possessiveness twisted in your stomach, tightening with each word. Princess Tara. Her name alone made something claw at your chest and the rage you didn’t know you had bubbled up, raw and uncontrollable. She was everything you were not, everything you could never be and the idea of her by his side, holding his hand, being crowned as his queen... it shattered something inside you.

You tried to stay calm, tried to steady your breathing but the anger was there, simmering just beneath the surface and it was only getting harder to contain.

"You must take this seriously, son. The kingdom needs a queen and you need a wife" the Queen pressed, her voice cutting through the tension.

He merely nodded, his posture still relaxed, unaffected by his mother’s words. His gaze flicked briefly to you but it was fleeting, just a casual glance before he returned his attention to the documents before him, unaware of the turmoil churning inside you.

"I’ll make my decision when the time comes"

And with that, the conversation moved on, the Queen’s inquiries dismissed with a flick of his hand.

But as the meeting continued, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being consumed by the anger that was burning inside of you.

You thought of the Silk Street. The brothels. Rafayel had moved through the alleyways with ease, as though he belonged there... because of course, he did. You had come to realise that he loved the danger, the chase. It's why he was there so often, it's why he pleaded to see your fangs and why he had not told everyone of your true nature. Why he had fed you his blood not knowing if you would stop or not. Why he toyed with you.

He liked the thrill of it all.

You couldn't deny that he was a regular in the brothels, that he had spent time in those places more than once. The women there, their laughter, their soft touches, their body language so familiar with him. He had kissed them, touched them, shared intimate moments with them, moments that he hadn't shared with you apart from the one time where he brought himself pleasure right in front of your very own eyes.

You couldn’t escape the image of him in their arms, their voices calling his name, claiming him in ways you hadn’t been able to and somewhere deep within, a dangerous, forbidden thought flickered to life. The sharp instinct of a predator.

What if I could kill them all?

The thought was foreign, unsettling. You immediately tried to push it down but it lingered. What if you wiped away every woman who had ever touched him?

It was an irrational thought, an outburst of jealousy you couldn’t control. But it was there and it burned through you with a fierce intensity. The jealousy clawed at your insides, wrapped around your non-existent heart and it tightened in a way that felt too consuming.

A sickening knot twisted in your stomach. Those women. They had had him. He had kissed them, touched them, taken them in ways you hadn’t been. You could still hear the sounds of the brothels, the murmurs of voices calling his name. You hated them. You hated the way they had claimed him. You hadn’t even realized how far your thoughts had taken you until your fingers curled into fists by your side. Why did it matter so much?

Rafayel's voice pulled you back from your thoughts, but his words were like a needle to your wound. He was speaking again, just as casually as before mentioning Princess Tara. The jealousy returned and you clenched your jaw so tightly it almost hurt. Another woman. Another fucking woman.

He was due to be king, a man of power and it only made sense that he would have his share of women. But somehow, you couldn’t bear the thought of him with anyone else.

You tried to focus on the Queen’s words, on the conversation, but it was impossible to ignore the storm building inside of you. You were angry. Angry at Rafayel for being so casual about something that meant so much to you, angry at the world for making him someone who belonged to others. But most of all, you were angry at yourself for caring so much.

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? You did care. You didn’t know when it had happened, when the wall you had built had started to crack, but now there was no turning back. The more you thought about it the more you realised you didn't want to share him. You didn't want him to belong to anyone but you.

As the meeting dragged on so did your thoughts. You tried to convince yourself that it was because you had tasted his blood before the meeting, the heat still lingered in your mouth and the taste of him on your tongue. It was too much. Now you knew, you wanted him. Not just for fleeting moments, you wanted him for yourself. Every piece of him, every inch of his attention you wanted to be the one to stand by his side, to be the one who he chose, the one who could claim him.

You would never be the one he chose. You weren’t fit for that not in his eyes, you had always known that. You had been with him in his life but you were never his and now you were mad with it. Mad with wanting him, mad with the knowledge that no matter how much you longed for him, no matter how deeply you desired him to be yours, it would never happen.

────────

After the council meeting, the air between you and Rafayel had changed, at least from your side.

You tried to convince yourself that it was nothing. Just the aftereffects of tasting his blood, of feeling the heat of the moment lingering but no matter how hard you tried to convince yourself, the pull between you and him had shifted. The possessiveness had taken root and with it, something you couldn’t control.

You became distant and cold. The walls you had built once again crept back into place just like they did after the night you shared in the brothel. You stopped seeking him out. You no longer waited for him in the hallways after meetings or followed him when he sneaked out at night. Your eyes barely met his anymore.

You convinced yourself it was for the best. This was how it should be. After all, he would never see you the way you wanted him to. Plus, he would soon be king and with it he would need a wife.

He could never be yours.

Not when his future was filled with other women, with the politics of the kingdom. You would always be nothing more than his bodyguard, a shadow in the background and that was fine you could live with that. But it was getting harder. Every day the ache grew and Rafayel, perceptive as always began to notice.

It was a slight thing at first, his gaze lingering just a fraction longer than usual whenever your eyes met, his voice just a little softer but he said nothing. He just watched and waited but as the days passed, it became too much. It built up like a storm, the tension between you two thick and suffocating and then it exploded. The silence in the chambers was suffocating, broken only by the soft rustle of fabric as you moved. You checked every corner, every shadow, your senses heightened. Alert and vigilant as you always were. It was your duty to protect him after all and yet tonight, your mind refused to focus.

His coronation was tomorrow so his safety was at higher risk now more than ever.

As you moved across the room, you could feel his presence like a shadow, the weight of his gaze on you even though you refused to meet it. He was sitting on his bed, his posture relaxed but his expression unreadable. You had barely spoken to him since that night.

You tried to ignore him. You had to focus. He was a prince and you were his bodyguard, nothing more. But even the thought of it, nothing more, sickened you.

You had no right to feel this way. He had no reason to notice you. The other women, the brothels they were his to claim not you. You were just a monster, just a tool for his protection. You couldn't give him what those other women could, you couldn't give him what any other woman could. You hated yourself for feeling this way.

Your thoughts were impossible to ignore.

But when Rafayel’s voice cut through the room, pulling you from your thoughts, you nearly jumped. His tone was sharp, frustrated.

"You’re not saying anything" he said, his voice laced with irritation "You’re too quiet. Why are you so... distant? You've been acting like this for days now what is it?"

You swallowed hard, trying to maintain your composure. You couldn't look at him, couldn't bear to see the questioning look in his eyes. Your pulse quickened with each step he took toward you. He was just a few feet away now.

"I’m doing my job" you said curtly, your voice cold. Perhaps colder than you intended.

"Your job?" He scoffed, clearly not buying it "You’ve been avoiding me. Avoiding me like I'm some stranger and not your prince. Not your fucking king"

You could hear the hunger in his voice now, the desperation. He was starving for something... answers, maybe? Or just you.

But you couldn't give him the answer he was looking for. You didn’t even know what it was, the words caught in your throat as you turned around to face him.

"I don’t know what you want from me" you whispered, your voice trembling "I’m just your bodyguard. I’m just here to protect you"

At those words, Rafayel’s expression shifted, his face hardening with a mix of anger and disbelief. He took a step forward, his movements slow. His hand shot out, grabbing your waist in a grip that was almost painfully tight, pulling you flush against him. You gasped, your breath caught in your throat as his presence overwhelmed you.

"This act is pathetic" he told you, gripping you just a little tighter.

"You don’t get to act like this, my prince" you whispered, though your voice quivered under the weight of the emotion you were trying to hide "You don’t get to expect this from me. I’m not some... I’m not your lover. I’m just a tool. A thing. You don’t need to care about how I feel, how I-"

"Stop" he growled, his voice low and dangerous. His free hand gripped your cheeks, squishing your flesh and making your lips pucker "Stop pretending you don’t feel this. Stop pretending you don’t want me, you’ve been lying to yourself for far too long"

You shivered, trembling beneath the weight of his words. Your chest tightened with the realization that you couldn’t keep lying to yourself anymore. You did want him.

"I told you" you said weakly, but even to your own ears, it didn’t sound convincing "I’m just your bodyguard"

"You think I haven’t been thinking about it?" he asked, his voice dripping with cocky amusement now "That night. You think I haven’t been thinking about the way you tried to kiss me? Twice? You think I didn’t notice? now you act like you’ve never thought about it, like it was nothing"

The words hit you like a physical blow.

"Because it is nothing" you whispered, but the words felt empty.

"Stop lying to me" he snapped, his voice now filled with authority. The voice of a prince, of a king "It meant something to you. I can see it in your eyes"

"My prince-"

"I haven’t stopped thinking about it. I can’t stop thinking about it. And now, you’re acting like it never happened" He leaned in closer, his fingers unclenching slightly but still holding you close "It matters to me. And it matters to you... I can feel it. I can feel the way you want me. I can feel the way you’ve been pulling away, terrified of what you really feel"

"I... I can’t..." You trembled under his touch, but you still tried to pull away.

"You don’t get to walk away from this, from me" His voice was ragged now, thick with need. He was almost pleading, and it broke something inside you "Say it"

His words were a command and you hated how you felt it in your body, your core. You were hot with need, with desire and you wanted nothing else but the man in front of you. You needed him more than you needed blood to survive. Your could feel the words stuck in your throat, the truth you were too scared to admit, to confront but he wasn’t letting you hide anymore.

"Say it, tell me" Rafayel commanded once again and you swear your knees buckled slightly under his gaze, his words, his touch "Tell your king how much you need him, how much you desire him..."

You froze, your breath hitching in your throat as a mixture of fear, desire and guilt churned inside you. Fuck you were so turned on you could barely function a thought never mind a sentence.

A man should never have this much power over you.

You could feel it now, the deep, uncontrollable need burning inside of you. You did want him, you had wanted him for so long, but you couldn’t admit it. Not like this.

He pulled you closer, his lips grazing against your ear.

"Say it, and I will make you forget every damn thought you ever had about being nothing but mine"

It broke. It broke inside you like a balloon being popped or a fire being ignited. Everything you denied yourself of melted away and all that mattered was the way he held you, body against his own, arm around your waist keeping you in place while his other hand held your face a centimetre away from his.

"I... I hate it" you whispered, barely audible "I hate it. I hate the thought of any other woman touching you. I hate it. I can’t... I can’t stand it. I want it to be me, it should be me. But I... I'm a monster not a lover. You deserve a heart, you deserve love, you deserve better than this"

He cupped your face in both hands then, gentle and his gaze was nothing you've ever seen before. It was genuine, it was hopeful and it was something you needed to see in this moment. It made you yearn for him more.

No one, in five centuries, had been gentle with you the way Rafayel was.

He had never cuffed you. Never mistreated you or struck you. Never spoke ill about you or laughed at you like the others. Never feared you and never doubted you. He had held you like you were piece of glass, gentle and kind, like you mattered. Like you weren't some blood sucking demon who would rip him apart the second she was given a chance.

He made you human.

You didn't deserve him.

"Say it" He pleaded, and your lips quivered slightly "Give me permission. I need your permission to act. I need your permission to show you how good I want and can make you feel"

"I... I shouldn’t" The words were weak, empty. You knew it, so did he.

His hands slid lower, trailing down the column of your throat, over your shoulders, down your arms until his fingers ghosted over your waist once more.

"Then tell me to stop" His voice was barely above a whisper, his lips so close, they almost brushed against yours "Tell me to stop and I swear, I will never touch you again"

You squeezed your eyes shut, your entire body trembling beneath his touch. But you didn't tell him to stop, because you didn't want him to.

"Rafayel" you breathed, barely a whisper.

You had never whispered his name before. Never spoke it out loud, always referring to him as my prince. But in this moment, it felt right. It felt like he was just Rafayel, and you weren't a bodyguard nor a vampire, but you.

No rules, no titles. Just two lovers.

"That’s not what I asked for" his lips moving to your jaw, kissing a path down to your neck. His teeth scraped against your skin with pressure, not enough to hurt but enough to ache.

Your hands tangled in his hair, gripping desperately, trying to ground yourself.

"I need you" you finally whispered, the words tumbling from your lips before you could stop them "I need you, I hate how much I fucking need you"

He lifted his head up, exhaling softly, his breath warm against your lips and it was maddening. But then his lips brushed yours, just the faintest touch, light as air and testing the waters. Your breath hitched, your hands fisting tighter into his hair.

And that was all it took.

Everything around you seemed to vanish. The room, the distant sound of the night outside, even the air itself it all ceased to exist and there was only him.

His lips slammed into yours before you could even process the shift, the urgency in his kiss pulling you closer as though he wanted to drown in you. It was nothing like the soft, hesitant touches from before. No, this was desperate and hungry, as if he couldn’t wait any longer couldn’t hold back another second.

You gasped into the kiss but it only fuelled him more. His demanding tongue slipped past your lips forcing its way deeper into your mouth with an animalistic rhythm. His hands were everywhere gripping your waist so tightly it was almost painful, pulling you against him until there wasn’t a single inch of space left between you.

Your fingers clawed at his bare chest struggling to find something to hold onto as your world spun out of control. His kiss was messy as if he was trying to consume you, take you in all at once. His lips were bruising, hot and demanding against yours and the way his teeth grazed your lower lip made your heart race faster.

He growled, the sound vibrating through your body. His hands slid up to your neck, his fingers tightening around the delicate skin there as he tilted your head back, forcing your mouth open wider for him. There was no gentleness now. Only a raw and desperate need, hunger that clawed at both of you.

"You’re mine" he muttered between kisses, his voice thick with desire "Say it again. Say you want me"

You couldn’t think, couldn’t process his words through the haze of pleasure and frustration swirling in your mind. You could only feel. Feel the hot press of his chest against yours, feel the way his body moulded against yours, each movement pushing you closer to the edge. It felt like the human part of you had been awakened.

His hand slid down to your hips, gripping the curve of your waist as he pulled you even closer, if that was even possible. His erection pressed against your stomach, hot and demanding, and the sensation sent a bolt of heat straight to your core. You moaned against his mouth, a sound of frustration and want that you couldn’t stop.

He pulled away again, just enough to look into your eyes, his breath ragged and uneven.

His lips were swollen, slick with your kiss and the last thing that held you together in that moment was the string of saliva that was evidence of your greed.

You felt dizzy, drunk on the sensation of him, but the more he kissed you, the more you wanted it. Wanted him.

"You feel that?" His voice was a low rasp, a whispered command "That’s me, doing this to you. You feel your pulse, don’t you? That thumping in your chest. You feel it in your veins... your blood rushing, just like you’re human again"

You wanted to deny it. You wanted to tell him that you didn’t feel any of it, that you were a vampire, untouchable, above all these emotions. But the truth was, you couldn’t. You were trembling in his arms, your body betraying you with every second he touched you. You could feel your heart beating hard in your chest, could feel the heat surging through you like it was alive and yet, you were the monster, weren’t you?

"I'm-" You tried to pull back, to speak, but your words were swallowed by his lips. His kiss deepened once more, almost like he couldn’t get enough of you, couldn’t satisfy this hunger inside him that seemed to grow with every second.

The force of it made you stumble back, hitting the wall of his chambers but Rafayel didn't stop. No, he took it as a sign to push further, his hands grabbing you tighter, holding you so you were pressed against him fully.

"You’re mine" he repeated, voice thick with possession, as if this kiss, this moment, was the only thing that mattered in the world. His hands roamed again, sliding beneath your clothes, the roughness of his touch touching the bare skin of your back, your sides, as if he needed to feel every inch of you "You’ve been mine from the moment I laid eyes on you you just didn’t realize it"

"I want you" you managed to get out, your voice breaking with raw emotion, with a desperation you couldn’t hide anymore "I want you, my prince"

A low growl rumbled from deep in his chest and before you could even brace yourself his lips were back on yours for a fleeting moment, more desperate than ever.

His hands gripped your own hair, tugging your head back as his mouth trailed down the column of your neck, leaving bruises in it's wake. His teeth scraped over your skin, marking you, claiming you and you couldn’t stop the gasps that left your mouth, couldn’t stop the way your body arched into his touch, begging for more.

Your gasp filled the room as Rafayel’s lips trailed lower, leaving a burning path of possession in their wake. His mouth was hot against your skin, the scrape of his teeth against your throat sending another violent tremor down your spine. The wall was cold against your back, a sharp contrast to the heat of his body pressed against yours.

Your hands were desperate. Clawing at his back, his shoulders and gripping the fabric that rested on his waist, you thanked the gods for his regal robes only covering half of his body. You wanted it gone, you wanted nothing between you but before you could move, his hands were already on you, yanking at your clothes with a ferocity that sent heat flooding through your veins.

His fingers trailed down your spine slow and deliberate, igniting every nerve in your body. His touch was fire, and he cursed under his breath as he uncovered more and more of your flesh, the clothes you were once wearing finding themselves on the floor of his chambers. Your top half matched his own, bare and exposed for his eyes to see while your bottom half, the part of you that demanded more attention remained covered.

You shuddered beneath his touch, your hands tangled in his hair and your lips aching from his kisses.

"You have no idea how many nights I’ve thought about this" Rafayel whispered "How many nights I’ve dreamed about you, how many times I’ve woken up cursing myself for wanting something I shouldn’t have"

"You shouldn’t want me" you breathed, but the words were a lie even as they left your lips. You knew it, he knew it and yet the way his hands slid down your sides, the way he pressed his body flush against yours, made it clear that he didn’t care.

"But I do" he growled, his lips were continuous on your neck and you gasped at the sensation, at the way your body betrayed every ounce of logic you had left "And I’m done pretending otherwise"

He kissed you again, slow this time and more deliberate. He wanted you to feel him, to understand just how deep this went. His tongue traced the seam of your lips, coaxing them open and you let him in without hesitation. The taste of him was intoxicating.

He made a low sound in the back of his throat before his hands slid lower, gripping the back of your thighs. In one swift movement he lifted you, pressing you harder against the wall, caging you in completely.

You gasped, your arms wrapping around his neck as your legs instinctively locked around his waist. You could feel everything now, every inch of him pressed against you, every sharp inhale, every tremor that ran through his muscles as he held you like you weighed nothing at all.

His breath was still ragged, his forehead resting against yours as he held you there.

"I want..." he began, and you watched him carefully "Drink from me"

Your fingers twitched, grip tightening around him as a wave of hunger clawed at your insides and the taste of him lingered in your memory. You had tasted him once before, just a drop, just enough to know that nothing compared to him and gods, you wanted it again.

But you shook your head, unwrapping your arms and pressing your hands flat against his chest.

"No" you said, even though your body screamed at you to say something else entirely "I don't want to"

His hands slid to your waist once again, fingers pressing into your skin, firm but not demanding. He could feel your hesitation, could see it in the way your lips parted slightly and in the way your breath came faster, in the way your pupils dilated as your instincts fought against your will.

"Liar..." he murmured. A small, knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You clenched your jaw as he pecked your lips with his own, the smirk not leaving his face. Your nipples grew hard from the cold air and he could feel it against his chest as he held you tighter. You needed to get out of this room, away from the scent of him and away from the temptation burning it's way through your veins.

But then he tilted his head, exposing the side of his throat to you. Inviting you.

Your fangs ached.

"My prince..."

"I remember" Rafayel interrupted, his voice low and teasing "I remember how you looked when you tasted me"

Your breath caught in your throat.

"You looked drunk on it" His hands slid up your arms "Like it was the best thing you’d ever had. Like you wanted more"

You did. You did want more. But you couldn’t.

"You don’t understand" you whispered trying to ignore how close he was, how warm his skin felt beneath your touch "It’s not just... it’s not just feeding, Rafayel. It’s—"

"I do understand" he cut you off, his voice dark and hypnotic "And I don’t care"

Before you could even catch your breath he was walking, his body pressing you tight against his chest, each step slow and purposeful. You knew where he was taking you and you didn’t stop him. Your arms wrapped around his neck when he moved you from the wall, fingers curling into his hair your lips so close to his, his breath hot against your mouth.

"Stop..." you whispered, but it sounded weak even to your own ears.

"You need me" he whispered in return, voice like velvet as he lowered you onto the bed, your back sinking into the softness beneath you. Your breath shuddered out of you as his fingers tipped your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze "Are you afraid?"

"I’m afraid of hurting you" you admitted. A low chuckle rumbled in his throat, his breath warm against your skin.

"But you still want it, don’t you?" His scent wrapped around you and you were now hyperaware of everything. How you could practically hear the way his blood was pumping through his veins.

You shouldn't.

You shouldn’t.

Your fingers curled against his shoulders, your breath shaking as you hovered over his throat, every inch of your body pulled taut with the ache of resisting him. Your fangs throbbed with need, your mouth parted, hovering just close enough for him to feel it.

And still, Rafayel didn’t move away.

You swallowed hard, your lips brushing the column of his throat as you forced yourself to stay still.

"I…"

"I remember how you looked that night" he whispered, kissing you gently on your neck while he bared his for you "You were starving for it..."

"Rafayel-"

"You moaned for me" He interrupted, his voice was seduction and you couldn't help but pull him further down with your legs "If only you knew how good it felt, to watch you take from me..."

You trembled and his grip tightened.

"You don’t understand" you rasped, your voice trembling "If I do this, I might not be able to stop"

You were surprised to feel the way he shuddered against you from your words.

"Then don’t" he told you, chuckling against your neck before giving a small bite of his own "I want this, and I want you. All of you. Every dark and twisted monstrous part of you I want to feel what it’s like when you stop holding back"

No one had ever spoken those words to you before and for the first time in your whole monstrous life you felt seen. You felt like you mattered, like you being a vampire, a monster didn't matter at all and that this was the only place where you wouldn't be judged or feared.

Before you could deny him again he lifted his head up, staring into your eyes before giving you a kiss on the tip of your nose. Too endearing, too intimate..

Somehow the soft way that he was looking at you felt more intimate than the way your top half was completely bare underneath him.

"I meant it when I said I hadn't stopped thinking about it.. about you" he told you, eyes not leaving yours and deep down you so desperately wanted him to just shut up and kiss you until the night ended "You think I wasn’t dying to feel it again? That I haven’t imagined what you’d look like on top of me, taking what you need—"

His sentence trailed off as you flipped your body around, causing his back to hit the bed where you once lay. You were growing frustrated now, you needed him everywhere and he wasn't giving it to you. His words were affecting you too much and all this talk about feeding from him made your fangs ache.

He was beneath you now and he could see the way you hid the sharp canines away from him, desperate to hide your need so he wouldn't continue to offer himself to you this way. It's not that you didn't want it, because gods you most definitely did, but from the small taste of him you remember having he was exquisite... you've never tasted anything so rich before.

Your thighs clenched around him involuntarily, your hands pressing against his chest as you hovered over him. His heart was pounding in his chest for you. There wasn't any fear, it was just want and devotion.

He tilted his head just enough to bare his throat to you once more and his pulse jumped, you grew more tempted as the seconds flew past... his skin looked so inviting.

"You should be afraid" you whispered, almost desperate to hear the tremor of fear in his voice and to find a reason to stop.

But he just smiled.

"Afraid?" His voice was teasing as he traced his hands up your sides in a slow and worshipful pace "Of you?"

He shifted just right beneath you, pressing himself against your core which was enough to pull a strangled moan from your lips. You could feel him, he was rock hard against you but he wasn’t demanding. Instead he was giving, practically offering himself up like he was made for you to take.

Your breath hitched.

"If I’m afraid of anything…" he continued, his fingers trailing up your spine "It’s that you’ll deny me"

A growl ripped from your throat that was low and dangerous and Rafayel actually moaned... like he had been waiting for that exact sound. You grabbed his hands from your body before pinning them above his head, denying him of touching your bare skin. Your breasts grazed his chest and he bit his lip at the feeling, enjoying the way he was slowly pushing your limits. His fingers flexed in your hold, testing you almost but he thankfully wasn't fighting you.

"Stop talking" you warned, because if he kept speaking like that you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself.

But Rafayel only exhaled a breathy, shuddering laugh.

"Then give me what I want" he replied, eyes glancing from yours to your lips, your fangs now fully on display the more frustrated you got. Gods you were beautiful.

He shifted beneath you again, grinding his hips up into yours and your eyes closed for a moment as he rubbed you in the right place. Your grip had loosened thanks to his movements and he made the most of it, trailing his fingers softly up your arm before reaching your jaw and grazing his thumb against your bottom lip like he had done a few nights ago when you first tasted his blood.

When he spoke again, you felt whatever control you had left slip from your fingers, announcing him as the winner.

"Obey your King.."

The words were sharp and possessive, more possessive than he had been all night and it was truly the last string that snapped inside you. His tone wasn't an invitation, it was a command and you had no choice but to surrender. Your body was already his, you just needed to let the final part of yourself go.

The hunger inside you flared like a fire, and you didn't fight it. You released his hands and shifted your mouth above his throat again, feeling the heat of his body and the inviting sound of his pulse screaming at you and that was all it took before you finally sank your fangs into him.

You felt the familiar rush at first, the thick blood latching onto your canines before spreading in your mouth and you groaned at the taste. It was everything you remembered but better, sweeter than anything you have ever tasted and more intoxicating that ever. It was rich, definitely the blood of a prince and you felt utterly euphoric.

Rafayel tensed beneath you and it was the first time that he was quiet since this whole ordeal. His body however fought against his silence, hands flying to your waist and gripping the skin there as you drank. He let out a shuddering breath, his chest rising and falling faster with every pull of your mouth.

He was still, not moving an inch or making a sound and you were worried that maybe you had scared him, maybe that he finally realised what he was getting himself into as you lay on top of him tasting him.

But you couldn't stop.

Your grip tightened on his arms, pushing your face deeper into his neck and your fangs further into his skin. The blood on your tongue was consuming every part of your mind and you never wanted to stop, you wanted to suck him dry.

As quick as the thought entered your mind you pulled away with a gasp, meeting his gaze and he watched as a drop of his blood fell from your lip and onto his chest. You swallowed, wondering if you had took it a step too far when he didn't move but his eyes burned into yours, an animalistic look as his chest continued to heave.

He was enjoying it.

"Such a good girl..." he whispered and fuck you felt the praise run through your body "Take what you need.. I'm yours as much as you're mine"

Before you could pull away he shifted again, his hips pressing up into you firmly and his clothed cock rubbed perfectly against your clit and gripped him even tighter.

"Fuck-"

"Mm you feel so fucking good" he groaned. His whole body was screaming at him to flip you back over, take control and take what was his but fuck he wanted to feel you this way for a little while.

He pulled his knees up and trapped your body in place, making sure you stayed just above where he was throbbing with need.

He didn't need to say much more. With the way he was looking at you combined with how his body was responding on top of the taste of his blood you couldn't form any thoughts that weren't filled with him.

And with that, you sank your fangs back into his skin.

His back arched beneath you and when he grounded into you this time, it was reckless. The feeling of it was something you've never experience before and feeling his body tremble below you as he gave into his own pleasure drove you insane.

A minute passed before you were pulling away from him again, mouth still tingling from the blood and his neck was stained red. The pleasure was too much, too overwhelming but you couldn't find it in you to stop. You felt alive and everything felt just right...

Your fingers curled into the sheets beside his head as your chest rose and fell quickly while he groaned and moaned beneath you. Every little movement you made was intense and you felt like someone was in control of your hips from the way they moved.

But just as the haze began you were suddenly shifted. Rafayel moving quickly before you found yourself below him again and you didn't have time to adjust before his lips were diving onto yours again, tongue swirling in your mouth mixing blood and saliva together.

You felt the weight of him on top of you, his body warm and the heat between your legs only rose and ached with pure need. With his chest pressed tightly against yours and his covered cock rubbing against your clit you realised just how much of him you craved.

The kiss deepened, each press of his lips against yours sending a shockwave of heat through your body. His hands moved all over you as if he was memorizing and admiring everything about you, like you were painting and he was the artist.

His eyes found yours and for a brief second you could feel nothing but the weight of his gaze. He didn't move for a moment, just hovered over you while his lips parted with a quiet needy sound.

"You're perfect.." he murmured and you felt embarrassed under his eyes "Every part of you. Gods I want to feel you like this forever"

His hands slid down your sides and you could have sworn he did it in a way that was worshipping. His fingertips traced every curve of you, over the goosebumps on your breasts before pinching your nipples gently. You could feel him losing control second by second as he grinded his hips down into yours, his arousal pressing into you.

"How good does it feel, hm?" his voice dropped to a commanding whisper, his lips trailing along your neck and brushing over where your pulse once was "Tell me you feel it too"

His hips shifted again pressing against you just right. It sent a wave through your body and you couldn't help but whimper at the feeling before pulling him closer, needing more.

"Yes.." you gasped, surprised at yourself for answering. Your hips lifted, seeking more friction and more of him "I feel it.. so much.."

Rafayel groaned as he buried his face in your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as yours once did his. His hands had moved further down your body to grip your thighs tightly, pulling your legs further around his waist which only forced you deeper into his warmth.

"You're so fucking beautiful like this... so perfect for me" he whispered, his praise sounding more like a prayer "I want to ruin you"

The small and possessive growl that escaped him made you shiver. You couldn't help yourself anymore, you couldn't deal with the teasing and as much as you wanted to savour this moment you wanted him more. The need to have him inside you was too powerful and your body cried out.

"I want this" you sighed, looking up at him "I want you, I need you-Fuck 'm so empty"

Your body was on fire now. Every inch of you ached to be touched, to feel him pressed against you, to finally give in completely.

His mouth found yours again with a hungry kiss before he began peeling the reminder of your clothes off. It was his turn to feel impatient now, hearing you so desperate for his touch for him, complaining that you felt empty fuck he'd make sure you never felt like that again. He'd make sure to stuff you so full..

It was his turn and before you knew it he was bare above you and the feeling of his bare erection against your thigh had you gasping out loud. You remembered the way he had pleasured himself in front of you in that brothel, the way he moved and pleaded for his release you couldn't help but reach forward and grab the throbbing length.

He whimpered at the feeling of your hand gripping him, his own hand guiding your wrist up and down in a steady pace before his tip was rubbing between your folds as your breaths mixed together.

"You feel so good" He groaned, his voice was a strained whisper against your ear when his head dropped to your neck. He pressed against your skin as if he couldn't get enough of you "So soft.. I could drown in you"

"I've never.. Rafayel I don't-"

"It's okay.. just trust me" He knew what you were trying to say, and your lips parted when you felt him push inside where you needed him most "Just the-fuck just the tip baby"

He was trembling above you and you weren't acting much better. The tip of him rested inside you, your hand still gripping his cock tightly while your other arm snaked around his neck, holding him closer to you. He moved his hips gently, the tip of his length sliding in and out as you adjusted to him.

You could only close your eyes in bliss and tilt your head back into the pillow as the tip of his cock felt so delicious inside you. He stretched you out so perfectly and you could feel your canines growing once more due to the pleasure.

Every so often he'd pull out, rub his cock up and down your folds spreading your arousal and focussing extra on your clit and you've never felt a more euphoric feeling. Even blood couldn't bring you this much pleasure.

For a while he pushed in and out of you, just his tip only while telling you how good you were for him. There were a few extra claims in there, him reminding you that you belonged to him and you wanted nothing more than to tell him that he was yours too.

But then you were startled slightly when he slid further in you without warning.

"Ah-" both your arms were now wrapped around his neck and he groaned as he slid all the way inside you, the feeling of your walls clenching around him caused him to twitch and you whined in pain.

"Fuck-Fuck I'm sorry you just feel so good... I can't help myself" his words were rushed as he rested his forehead against yours, staying still inside you for a moment "Fuck, you’re so tight"

The pain of him suddenly sliding in was very much there but his words soothed you and you knew you would have had to face it inevitably so you kissed him again with urgency, as if he'd float away from you if you let him go.

But he wasn't going anywhere, not with how snug he fit inside you and how well your walls accommodated him. He swore he had never fit so perfectly in anyone before, any woman and not even his palm felt this perfect.

You were his, and there was no way he'd be letting you go after this.

When he finally moved you found yourself biting his lip at the stretch, resulting in a growl from him. He couldn't do anything other than pull out before pushing himself back inside you, slow and steady but you felt every pull and push shatter your body.

He moved quicker as the seconds passed by, his hips surging against your own and you began to lose your breath. Every thrust was possessive, every time his hips met yours again it was a claim, it was a warning that you belonged to him and him only. Your lips broke apart and his eyes never left yours, watching carefully at how you responded to the way his thrusts gained speed and how you arched into him.

"No one else will ever hear the sounds you make... no one else will ever see you like this" he told you, and he felt his heart skip when he saw the brief smile on your face at his words "You’re mine. You hear me? Mine"

You could only kiss him again, your lips melding together as his hips were practically pushing you further and further up the bed. The pain had long melted away and all you could focus on was the way he was so perfectly sliding in and out of you, the lewd sounds filling his chambers and blending with his groans and your whimpers.

If anyone was to walk past his door, they'd know what was happening.

Your legs were around his waist, arms wrapped around his neck as he kissed you more eagerly. Your chests were together and it felt so intimate, your breasts squished against his firm chest and your stomachs grazing every now and then as his thrusts continued. You had a fleeting thought of pressing your hand to your stomach to see if you could feel him there..

He was yours. In this moment, in these chambers he was all yours for the taking and the thought made you claw at his skin.

There was an unfamiliar feeling setting in your stomach and you pulled away from his lips with a concerned face, his eyes watching you carefully as his thrusts slowed.

He figured it out immediately, and with a smile he picked up his pace again, his hips truly slamming into you and you could do nothing but take it. Take it, take it, take it...

"You feel it don't you? You're going cum.." clearly all his restraint was gone by now, because he was moving so quickly in and out of you it was difficult to understand how he kept up the pace when you were losing all control over your body "I feel you trembling. Don't-hm don't fight it"

"Oh..Rafayel-"

"So fucking perfect" he told you and you gripped the sheets tightly "I can feel you, squeezing me so tight like you don’t wanna let me go. You don’t, do you? You wanna keep me buried inside this perfect, greedy little cunt forever"

His voice broke into a whimper as he ground against you, forcing himself even deeper. He needed to be deeper, he needed to be so far inside you that not even the gods could pull him away.

His rhythm was ruined now, his thrusts were desperate and erratic and his hands were gripping you so tightly you wished you didn't heal quickly so everyone outside these walls could see the bruises he made... see the way he claimed you, you wished that you could wear proof of this moment and of him.

His fingers found your clit, rubbing it quickly and franticly as his cock twitched inside you.

"Cum for me" his voice was desperate now, he was practically whining "Please, baby-fuck look at me"

The moment your eyes fluttered open and locked onto his you felt your whole body shatter under his gaze and his words. The feeling of him inside you, the way he was looking at you and calling you his and his relentless finger on your clit you swore you felt like you were starting to float.

The pleasure was too overwhelming for you that when you came you made no sound, your last moan stretching out into silence as your mouth fell open, feeling your walls tighten around his cock as he pushed in you and pulled out at a speed that had your breasts bouncing but you kept your eyes on him.

He was like a siren, calling you to him and putting you under a spell that you could never escape.

"Fuck" his grip on you tightened as he felt you cum, your body flush against him and his hips stuttered for a moment as he gazed down at you "That's it.. that's it baby just like that"

He rode out your high, finishing you with the same pace but it was only when he felt his own release he did as he pleased. His hands gripped your thighs and pinned them to the bed, your legs spread wide as you whined at the overstimulation but it only fuelled him more. Your legs pinned on the bed gave him the perfect angle and you could feel every inch of him.

He leant back and stared down at where you were connected and only bit his lip at the sight of you pushing on his stomach, pleading that you were overstimulated but he needed this... he needed this release.

"Rafayel.." you whimpered and he looked at your face, slowing down his pace and panting thinking he hurt you. But he watched as you bit your lip, lazily looking down at his cock inside you before your own fingers circled your clit "Will.. will you fill me up, my prince?"

Rafayel broke. The second the words left your lips, the last of his resolve shattered.

His entire body jerked and a strangled wrecked moan tearing from his throat as his hands tightened around your thighs, keeping them pinned wide open beneath him. He needed to see you like this, needed to see how you stretched around him, how you took him and how you begged for him like he was the only thing you could think about.

"Oh, fuck—" His head tipped back for a moment, eyes squeezed shut as if the very thought of filling you was too much for him to handle. But then he looked down at you again and fuck he was gone "Say it again"

His voice was nothing but a wrecked whisper, his rhythm turning deep and deliberate. His cock dragged against your walls perfectly, making sure you felt every last inch of him. Your back arched.

"Rafayel—"

His hand shot out, gripping your jaw, forcing your gaze back on him.

"No. Say it. Say exactly what you just said to me, or I swear I won’t let you cum again" His words were a threat but his body betrayed him. He was trembling, holding on by a thread.

You felt powerful.

A lazy, teasing smile spread across your lips as you let your fingers circle your clit again, the sensation making you whimper softly sweetly just to watch the way his jaw clenched, the way his hips jerked against yours. You dragged your eyes slowly down his heaving chest, his toned stomach, the muscles flexing with every desperate thrust he gave you.

And then you locked eyes with him again, completely wrecked and ruined beneath him.

"Fill me up, my king"

Rafayel let out a choked, broken groan, his hips snapping forward hard enough to make you jolt up the bed.

"Fuck...fuck, I’m going to—"

He folded over you, his arms caging you in as he buried himself to the hilt, grinding in deep, deeper, deeper as if he could spill every last drop of himself inside you and still, it wouldn’t be enough. His release tore through him and he let out another ruined moan, his forehead falling to yours.

"That’s it.. that’s my good fucking girl fuck, take all of it" his voice broke as he ground himself deeper, spilling inside you. His hands fisted the sheets as he collapsed onto you, still shaking, still gasping and caging you in like he was terrified you'd slip away.

He hated how he was too caught up in his own pleasure to see you finishing again but at least you were still here. His cum stained your insides, your walls were so tight around him there was no way he'd be pulling out of you anytime soon. His cock was softening now but he stayed still inside you, twitching against your body as his sweat dripped down onto you.

It was then when you smelt the blood again, and once again your eyes opened lazily to see that his neck was still dripping from where your fangs had been and you only started to notice how pale he was.

He was more tired than you, given that he was human, so you rolled him over with a gasp as his softened cock rested inside you. You didn't think twice, gently running your tongue over his wound, cleaning him and ridding the evidence of what you had done.

You had taken so much from him.

He could do nothing but enjoy the feeling of your tongue against him. His breath caught and there was a low, almost inaudible sound of pleasure as you tended to him and you could feel the way his hands weakly gripped your thighs, his touch still desperate in the aftermath of everything. He didn't question what you were doing, in fact he didn't even care if you were draining what remained of him. He really didn't, not when your naked body rested so comfortably on top of his while your cunt warmed his cock. So he laid there, eyes closed and enjoying the feeling.

After a few moments you were done, pulling your mouth away from his skin to see the now closed holes. There was a mark that would clear up in a few days, but for now the bleeding had stopped, and he needed rest.

You sighed after admiring your work, the tension in your chest slowly melting away as you lifted your gaze to his face, only to find him already watching you.

He spoke about you being beautiful, but gods had he seen himself?

His lids were heavy and his eyes soft, so tender that your breath hitched in your throat. You had never seen him so.. relaxed. Then, he smiled and you couldn't understand how he could look at you like that. How was it possible for someone to look at you like that?

To admire you so openly, to touch you so gently even after seeing the parts of yourself that made you a monster?

With a sigh you shifted, laying your head on his chest, the rise and fall of his breathing rocking you into a gentle comfort. His hands found your back, gently running up and down your spine as though he were offering comfort in his own way.

You weren't sure how long passed, but you stayed where you were and his cock had already slipped out from you and you once again felt empty. The feeling of his seed spilling out of you was uncomfortable and you wanted to clean yourself up but you were terrified that if you moved he'd realised what happened and kick you out.

As if he hadn't been the one to seduce you.

"You're still here..." Rafayel’s voice broke the silence, low and raspy as if he had just woken up from a deep sleep. You tilted your head up to look at him, your face close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his skin.

"I am" was all that you could mumble.

His fingers slid through your hair, gathering a few strands between his fingertips and he leaned forward just enough to kiss the top of your head, as if to reassure you that you were still wanted, still needed here.

"Don’t go anywhere" he whispered, his voice rough but filled with quiet intent.

His words lingered and you could do nothing but nod your head, admiring him. He kissed you on your lips again, gently and not desperate, as if he knew now that you weren't going anywhere.

His coronation was tomorrow, he would be king, you had no idea what would change between you but for now you enjoyed being held. For now, you enjoyed not feeling like a monster.

It wasn't until hours later in the crack of dawn when the first light of morning began to creep in through the windows that you were ripped from his arms.

#love and deepspace #lads #lads rafayel #loveanddeepspace #rafayel love and deepspace #rafayel x reader #rafayel x you #rafayel x y/n #rafayel smut #rafayel fic #rafayel fanfic #lads caleb #lads sylus #lads zayne #lads xavier #lads x reader #lads x you #lads x y/n

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simpingforheros · 7 months ago

Text

Jason’s Wife?!

Pairing: Jason Todd X Female! Reader

Summary: Meet Mrs. Todd?! Jason got eloped and he doesn’t intend on sharing his blushing bride just yet.

Warnings: SMUT, Fluff, Established Relationship, Eloping, Jason being an ass to his family (for good reason), Jason calling Reader Ma (can’t remember who wrote about that, please tag them because I love this headcanon), P in V, unprotected sex (don’t advertise for the unsafe sex, put some breading on yalls chicken before dumping it in oil) , Oral (m receiving), Body Worship, Phone/Facetime during the deed, Exhibition Kink, Mating Press, Slight Breeding Kink, Degradation, Praise, crying kink??,TOXIC-ish And POSSESSIVE! Jason Todd is back, Traumatizing Dick again.

Author’s Note: Thank you guys so much for the praise I got on my last Jason Todd Fanfic! I didn’t know you guys would like my first smut that much so I made a part 2. Enjoy your next fix you horny bastards (jk I love you guys )

AN: This is Part 2 to Jason’s Girl??, so go read that for some context. Also a quick shout out to the mutual who started my spiraling decent into his madness, @jjenthusee , who was the main inspiration because of their amazing artwork! Also I’m sorry this was late and I don’t update as often, I’m in my second semester in a health major and I’m stumped man. I’ll update when I can I promise.

A/N: Part 3>>> Jason Broke What??

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Jason Todd is a lot of things. He’s known for bad things and good things. It depends on who you ask.

A menace, a murderer, a zombie, an asshole, etc.

A son, a brother, a hero….

But there’s two things everyone can agree on.

1). He’s a good boyfriend.

For the last 6 months since Jason finally revealed his secret girlfriend of two years, the Bat Family learned just how much of a better person Jason was when (Y/N) was around.

His voice was softer and kinder to others. His temperament was more patient and his fists stayed loose. Her presence acting like a balm to sooth his soul as soon as he feels her comforting hand on his skin.

There were obvious moments of trouble, such as little squabbles or one gets snappy at the other, but normally they sort it out. Even if Bruce and the rest of the family didn’t know her for long, they knew that she had the backbone to handle Jason and give him what he needed without babying him.

Jason even shows his love for her in goofy ways, such as wearing matching shirts or color coordinated outfits. The two are now known for their Friday date nights and lazy Saturdays where they don’t wanna be disturbed. Their late night rides or their silent evenings where either a book or controller is in hand.

Red Hood is known for lingering around certain streets where she would be at when she had to work late, and he always had a bottle of water or granola bar he ‘mysteriously appeared’ out of thin air.

Jason was known for being proud of building the healthiest relationship he’s ever had with someone who didn’t fall in love with him because he was Bruce Wayne’s son, or Batman’s protege. She fell in love with Jason Peter Todd and all he was.

Which leads to the one thing that the family also knew him for.

2) Jason Todd would not tell anyone when he dropped down on one knee and asked (Y/N) to be his wife.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The proposal was a spontaneous to say the least.

Their usual Saturday routine of laying on the couch, too exhausted from the week to move. Jason laid on the opposite side as his beloved, her feet dangling off to the side of his hips as his own rested behind her shoulders. They both had a book in as they enjoyed their silence. The only noise coming from the soft patter of Frank coming over to lay on his adopted father.

The tabby cat that Jason claimed to not like despite the male cat clinging to him like glue. The cat jumped onto his stomach with a deep groan emitting from him. A soft giggle filled the room as she sets her book down and pulls the feline to her.

“I still don’t understand why my cat likes you more than me.” She comments as she strokes the tabby’s fur.

Jason scoffs as he carefully rolls off the couch and onto his feet. “Probably to spite me.”

He heads to the kitchen to grab them a drink as he hears one comment that seemed to change everything in one second.

“What’s gonna happen when we have a kid? Would you think they would prefer you over me or would we have another Frank?…”

The question was a hypothetical one, a normal one couples would ask just to make sound in the air. Jason would have probably answered light heartedly with a kiss or a smart ass comment to make her laugh, but it felt different. He felt different.

There wasn’t a ‘if’ in the question like it would or wouldn’t happen, but a definite of ‘when’ it would happen. Jason knew that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. Hell, he managed to not fuck up a relationship he kept hidden for 2 years. He knew he wanted to marry her the moment he decided to open up and let her into his life by moving her in and introducing her to his family.

So, even if it was on an impulse, Jason returns back into the living room and as he placed their drinks on the coffee table as he kneels on the floor beside the couch. (Y/N) sits up as she smiles at him, unaware of the decision he made.

“Penny for your thoughts, Todd?” She asked playfully as she offers him an imaginary penny in between her pinched fingers.

Jason smiles as he takes her out stretched hand before kissing the back of it.

“Marry me.”

The seriousness in his eyes made her playful attitude dissolve to disbelief.

“What?…”

“I wanna marry you, (Y/N)…You are the everything I could ever want and don’t deserve. But I can’t imagine building a life like the one we have with anyone else. You are one of the few lights this dark world has and I wanna love and protect you for the rest of our lives.” Jason explains as he nervously massages her hand as his eyes shined with deep love and affection. “Even if I don’t have a ring yet and we are in our pajamas, will you accept me and let me become yours forever?”

Tears streamed down her face as she nods frantically. Her arms quickly wrapping around Jason’s neck and pulling him into a kiss.

Jason melts into her and begins to move to be on top of her on the couch until a sharp hiss makes him stop.

“Quiet, Frank…” Jason grumbles at the cat.

“Daddy is trying get some sugar from Mama~”

+++++++++++++++++

A week later, Alfred appeared extra peppy for the day. His duties were quickly done before the family was awake and his fidgeting gotten everyone concerned. Alfred was the normally level-headed gentle hand of the house, so seeing him so giddy made everyone nervous.

It wasn’t until he surprisingly left in one of his better suits and a gift bag that the rest of the Wayne Family just decided that he may be going to an event or some kind.

“Where do you think he’s going?” Tim asks his younger brother from behind a book.

Damian shrugs as he says, “How should I know?”

The answer wouldn’t come until later that evening. Alfred came back with both the brightest smile and red swollen eyes. In his hands were a single pale pink rose and a camera as he scurries to the study.

Tim, Dick, and Damian, who were scattered around the living room, followed out of curiosity. What’s gotten Alfred this way? An old flame? The thought of Alfred getting down and dirty made the boys shudder before they continue to the study and ultimately down to the Batcave.

“Yo, Alfred.” Dick calls out as he exits the elevator.

Alfred stood by the large chair over looking the Batcomputer as Bruce’s hulking form peaked over the leather. The clicking of the mouse playing in the background as Alfred turns his head to address Dick.

“Yes, Master Richard?” He says. In his hand was the camera with cables connecting it to the computer.

“Where have you been? You kinda left in a hurry…”

Tim jumps in as he says, “I mean, we aren’t trying to be rude, but you did seem kinda jumpy this morning.”

Damian’s words cut through the other two like ice as his eyes look at the monitor.

“Did Todd and his woman get married?”

Dick and Tim look back at Damian before their shocked expressions look up to the monitor. Their eyes widen in disbelief at the image before them.

Standing in a suit was a an absolutely beeming smile was Jason Todd with his hands interlocked with (Y/N), who was wearing a white dress. The dress didn’t look like the traditional floor length gown. Instead it was a backless chic dress with a bow on the back. Her hair was down and decorated with pearl ornaments as a matching ribbon choker was around her neck with a single aged pearl on it.

In their interlocked finders, a familiar set of rings shined . Martha Wayne’s sparkling diamond engagement ring and her wedding band was on (Y/N)’s finger as a matching wedding band was on Jason’s finger.

The surroundings didn’t look like a typical wedding venue with flowers and ribbons with a crowd of people. It was a courthouse, Gotham City Courthouse. On (Y/N)’s side stood Alfred holding a pale pink bouquet that was most likely the bride’s. What surprised them the most was a smiling Bruce on Jason’s side, a look of pride on his face that he rarely shown.

The boys break out of their shell as Dick complains.

“This can’t be real… Jason and (Y/N) got married without telling any of us….AND YOU LET JASON HAVE MARTHA’S RING!!” Dick snaps as his irritation grew. “You said I was gonna have it.”

Bruce sighs as he says, “I said that before you cheated on both of your girlfriends with each other.”

Alfred chuckles as he says, “And Master Jason specifically stated that he only wanted me and Master Bruce there.”

Tim frowns as he asks, “Why weren’t we invited?”

Alfred gives the boy a sympathetic look before reciting, “Miss (Y/N) and Jason only wanted a small ceremony and off what he said, ‘Damian makes (Y/N) uncomfortable when he calls her Jason’s woman and a distraction. Dick is plain out not invited because of reasons he knows why. And Tim can’t keep his mouth shut to save his life, so he’s not invited.’”

Damian tsks as he says, “I wouldn’t have wanted to go anyways.”

Dick was flustered as the images of the incident Alfred was referring to. He still can’t get her moans out of his head…

Tim pouts and says, “I’m gonna remember this…But why was Bruce invited then?”

Bruce responds with a smirk , “Because I was asked to give away the bride.”

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

As soon as the newly weds returned their apartment, the lust sprinkled down like hale. Her well manicured hair was now messy as his hands held her head. His mouth devouring her moans as her own lips kept up with his pace.

Her fingers desperately removing his tie as the shrilling ring of Jason’s cell phone fills the air. He ignores it in favor of trailing tongue against his bride’s as she slings off the tie.

“Gonna answer that?” She mumbles as his mouth begins to trail down her jawline. Jason doesn’t answer as his hands scoop up under her thighs to pick her up. Her giggles were music in his ears as he says,

“It’s probably just Tim or Dick. Probably bitching about the wedding…”

Jason carries his wife through the threshold of their apartment hallway as his lips remained on hers. Their vows sealed in teeth and tongues as he expertly guided them into the bedroom.

His phone finally stopped ringing as he places her on the bed. Hands groping and pulling off of clothing as he unwraps her down to her underwear and stockings. His mouth hot against her breast as she pushes his now unbuttoned shirt down his shoulders.

His other hand dipping into her underwear as he flicks her erected nipples like a guitar. Her sweet music filling the room as he’s met with a creamy cunt under her white thong.

“Fuccck, ma..” He moans against her breast. Jason pulls away with a devilish smirk as he runs his finger over her sopping folds, carefully avoiding her hole and clit. “I can’t tell what I like more…your pretty tits or your sloppy cunt…”

(Y/N) feels the wave of shameful arousal fill her stomach as she whines out, “Stop teasing me, baby. It’s our wedding day and you’re acting like a jackass…”

Her body jolts as he pinches her clit. Her hips jerking as she moans at the sensation. Jason had a look of faux sympathy before mumbling against the valley of her breasts.

“Oh, you’re right…” His voice barely audible to her as he begins to rub heart shaped patterns on her clit, making sure to dip down to her gasping pussy as he dips down. “I’m not acting like a good husband, ain’t I? Let me make it up to you, Mrs. Todd.”

His lips attached to her unabused nipple before his middle finger finally dips into her pulsing hole. His groan accentuated by the scraping of his teeth against her sensitive flesh. The feeling of her cunt sucking his one finger in making him light headed as her moans ringed out.

“Jason…stop teasing me…I want you…” She begs as her hips try to meet the thrust of his finger. He growls at her bossiness before yanking his finger out of her pulling her panties down her thighs.

Her eyes glared at him for the loss of stimulation before he quickly pops her pussy lightly. The wet slap of skin making her cringe in embarrassment before Jason begins to leave a trail of open kisses and bites down her body. Making sure to pay special attention to the matching tattoo on her hip before he mumbles to her with a lazy smile.

“Your wish is my command.”

Before he could dig into his meal, the shrill ring of his phone invades the space. He yanks his phone out of his pocket and looks at the screen before declining the call. He tosses the phone onto the bed as he glares at the offending device.

“Stupid Dick..” He groans before a soft hand on his face draws him back to her. Her gentle touch bringing peace to his mind as she pulls him up to press a soft peck to his lips.

His mind goes blank as she gently lures him to stand before she kneels down, trailing kisses down his exposed chest and his scars. Her love poured into his body as her lips traced his autopsy scars. Her eyes shining so pretty as she presses an extra long kiss to his matching tattoo on his Adonis belt.

The silent vow that was made a year and a half into dating on a drunk night out with Roy.

‘I am hers and she is mine’

“Let me be a good wife to you, Mr. Todd.” She whispers against his skin. Her breath like hot fire before her hands snake off his belt and trousers. Her mischievous eyes gleaming in lustful delight as Jason’s lip curls in between his teeth. His eyes almost glowing as she presses her warm lips against his clothed tip. His hand fisting into her hair as he hisses at her.

“Don’t you fucking tease me…”

*RING* *RING*

Jason glares at the phone before he snatches it up. He sees the familiar notification as his own image shown on the phone. FaceTime.

“Answer it.”

“What?” Jason asks in confusion before looking down to her. His surprise was suppressed with a hiss as she pulls his hard cock out of his underwear. Her hand lazyily stroking him as she gives him a look of faux innocence.

“Answer it. It’s rude to ignore family..”

Jason feels a smirk curled onto his face as he realizes what she wanted. His dick hardened to iron as he remembers why he fell for her.

She was just as fucked as he was.

With that, Jason schools his face as he answers the phone with an annoyed expression.

“What?” He says as the image of his brother appears on his phone screen.

Dick glares at Jason before snapping at him. “You got fucking married?! Without inviting any of us?!”

“Didn’t Alfred tell you why we didn’t want you guys there?” Jason asked in as much annoyance as he can muster as he felt the wet pull of lips around his cock.

His hand gripping her hair kept her from getting more than his tip in as he hides his reaction. Her tongue licking his tip like a kitten wanting milk.

“But we are family for fucks sake.”

Jason’s actual annoyance getting the best of him as he hisses,

“I’m sorry, but I recall you trying to fuck my wife.”

“THAT WAS BEFORE I KNEW YOU WERE DATING HER!!”

Jason becomes distracted as (Y/N) starts sucking him off. Her drool and his precum slowly beginning to coat her mouth and hand as it strokes what she can’t fit into her pretty mouth.

His brow furrowed as his pleasure and annoyance started to mix on his face. Jason decides to get some payback on both his wife and brother as he slyly mentions.

“Oh but you had no problem rubbing one out when I sent those videos.”

He pulls her closer to his pelvis to muffle her surprised moan. If he wasn’t on the phone, he would degrade her like a slut with how she acts when she remembers being recorded. Her cheeks hollow as Dick’s jaw drops as Jason mentions the videos.

“I-I..”

“Admit it.” Jason says, his voice grew more taunting. “You probably still jack off to the videos because you’re nothing but a loser who cheats on any good woman he gets because you’re scared of attaching to someone.”

Jason can feel her eagerness grow as she sucks harder, actually pulling him as deep into her throat as she can. He almost wanted to both laugh at how cute she was as she gagged around him and coo at how proud he was of her. Her jaw was gonna be hurting like a bitch either way.

Dick’s baffled expression almost made it better as his eyes shined with shame over what Jason knew to be true.

“That’s why Bruce gave me Martha’s ring.” Jason says as he forces (Y/N) to take him all the way down her throat. Her nose pressing into his light patch of black hair as Jason says. “fuck…I can fuck (Y/N) like I fucking hate her guts and she would take it because she knows I would rather swallow glass than fuck anyone else like I do her. To even love anyone halfway as I do her would be a sin…”

The fluttering feeling of her throat as her nails digged into his thigh affirming his conviction.

“I’m not afraid to get attached… As long as she lives, I’ll never let her go…”

He hangs up before Dick can respond as he yanks her back by her hair. Her coughing and gasping for air as she whine painfully at both the lost of his cock in her mouth and the painful grip on her scalp.

Jason releases her hair before kneeling beside her on the floor. His expression tender as he cups her face. Her light makeup look from the wedding was now smudged off with her mascara flowing down her face with her tears. Her lips puffy and wet from his assault on her mouth. Her body littered in forming bruises from his teeth. Her cunt sloppy and leaking a clear sheen down her thighs. Her cheek leaning into his palm as her eyes shined at him with nothing but love and desire.

“Fuck…” He groans before crawling inbetween her legs as he pushes her to lay down on the floor. His mouth back on hers as his throbbing erection lightly dragged against her fluttering pussy. The head catching her clit despite the watery resistance as she whimpers into his mouth.

“You look so pretty like this…” Jason says before sticking his tongue down her throats. Their tongues tangling for a moment before his hands cup her face and pull her away. “You feel it, don’t you?”

She whines as his hips rolled against hers. Her cunt angry as it fluttered around nothing. His nearly red dick twitching as it desires salvation in her temple as Jason breathlessly whimpers.

“Feel how bad I need you baby? Fuck I can’t stand it. I wanna fuck you every day so I can see you look like this.” He says as he wraps his hand his member. He slaps her pussy with it twice before dragging his head over her entrance, the heavy appendage dipping in slightly as he says.

“I wanna ruin you so good. You’re such a good pretty girl that I want to ruin and make as fucked up as me…”

Her gasps fill the room as he starts to bully his tip into her. Even though they were both well experienced with each other, every time she takes him feels like the first time with that delicious stretch.

His unusually talkative mood doesn’t let up as he pushes his hips into her, forcing her to take him.

“You’re so gorgeous…” He whispers as he pulls her legs over his shoulders as he grasps her hips, forcing them up as he starts to fill her to the hilt. “God, this pussy is unbelievable…gonna fill her up everyday and eat her out every night…”

His thrusts start off slow but hard as her hands desperately held onto what bit of Jason she could as he fucked her like a doll. Her whimpers and moans filling the air as the sticky sound of his balls smacking her ass.

His hot breath tickles her ears as his hips develop the torturous pattern of pistoling into her like a hard buck before rolling in a deep and filling thrust. Her eyes filling with tears and brain fog as he filled her lust sick brain with praise.

“Such a good little wife…a sweet little thing with a nice soft body for me…” He groans as his pace becomes brutal. His precision and memory impeccably beats anything he learned as a vigilante as he assaults her G-spot. Her eyes rolling back as lighting strikes her the brain as she begins to cry.

“Fuck. Fuck. fuck…” she sobs incoherently as Jason licks the tears off her face.

“You look so hot when your cry…” Jason moans as his thrusts start to become more sloppy. His reaches between them as he rubs tight circles on her clit as he thrusts harder into her soft cunt.

“Will you cry some more please?” He’s asked in a cruel tone. His eyes blown out with desire as he lets his full weight pin her down under him. His added weight making her pinned as she cries. Her stomach tightening at the overwhelming presence of him and his cock destroying her insides.

“I’m gonna fuck a baby into you, Ma…” He says as his own whimpers fall through. “Gonna watch you get swollen and carry a little perfect baby and know that you’re mine…that no one can love you like me… ain’t that right?”

Her impending orgasm blocking off all rational thoughts as her mouth hangs open. His hand pulls from her clit to her frustration and grabs a hold of her jaw. Forcing her to look at him as he says harshly.

“Who do you belong to ,Pretty Girl?”

Her eyes widen as she says, “You…I belong to you baby…”

Jason smirks as he starts thrusting faster. Her shrieks just music in his ears as she falls off the edge. Her vision clouded as white flashes in her vision. Her body nearly convulsing as her cunt squeezes Jason into his own orgasm. His warm seed flooding her quivering womb as he presses a kiss into her neck.

The pair remained still for a moment as they gasped for air. The natural chill of the room causing them to tremble at the stimulation. Her small hand moving first as she grabs his hand, her fingers playing with the gold band on his finger as she whispers.

“My husband…” A soft satisfied smile on her lips as Jason grins widely into her neck as he mumbles.

“All yours, Mrs. Todd.”

**********************

AN: Yea I didn’t know how to end this. 😭 I hope you guys like it because I’m not too sure if the smut is good or not. Let me know what you think as I’m trying to clear out the drafts. Again, Thank you @jjenthusee for inspiring these two fanfics and for being a great mutual.

*******************

@simpingforheros fanfic. I DO NOT CONDONE THE THEFT, COPYING, REPOSTING, AND PLAGIARISM OF MY WORK ON THIS SITE OR OTHER SITES WITHOUT CREDIT OR PERMISSION.

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #red hood #arkham knight #arkham knight x reader #arkham knight jason todd #jason todd x y/n #arkham knight x you #batman arkham series #jason todd x you #jason todd reader #jason todd smut #redhood x reader #red hood x you #red hood x reader #redhood smut #simpingforheros

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bonbonly · 4 months ago

Text

𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐌𝐲 𝐑𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: when I'm down on my knees, you're how I pray - when bishop!max decides to stay for the christmas festivities, chapter!charles leclerc finds it harder to hide his true religion: you. (this is a continuation of Temptation) 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: this is a dark fic! you have been warned! do not read if you are not comfortable with dark fics or any of the following: noncon/dubcon, slapping, p in v, fingering, lactation, oral (m receiving), stoning, almost burning at the stake. this fic contains heavy catholic themes/guilt, and also includes angst and redemption. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 9.4k 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: based on popular demand, i've made the sequel for Temptation! (read it if you haven't already!) writing this series made me a charles girlie omg

from the light through the cathedral's glass windows, the heavenly father centered his glory around the statue of virgin mary carrying her holy son, the loving baby jesus. above the ledge from where you stood, you glimpsed down to see the swarm of people shuffling into the main altar, getting on their knees as your child's father offered the lord's blessings to each loyal devotee. you watched the gentle smile on his face as he bowed his head, forming a cross on his chest with his hands. a soft amen fell from his lips, his eyes creased together as he giggled at something a child had said to him. his soft nature contrasted his demeanor towards you every night when he snuck into the attic to deliver another basket of bread and milk. he was a different man past the hours of the cathedral, the devil himself. you glanced down to your blissfully asleep bundle of joy in your arms, his tiny hands wrapped your finger as you gently rocked him back and forth. you could've loved the being in your arms had it not been out of a horrendous union that brought you turmoil more than love. you could've had the heart to smother him in kisses like any mother would to their child, to gift him every joy in the world had he been born to a man that you loved.

"you look cold, here have my cloak," charles leaned forward to kiss your forehead, draping the fabric over your shoulders. his head nestled onto your shoulder, ignoring the disdainful expression on your face. both your eyes fell down to your son, his soft coos echoing in the dark room where charles stored his obsessions. love was not in his vocabulary. for if he loved you, you knew he would let you go. charles gave your cheek a soft kiss, letting his warm lips linger on your cold skin, so that you could understand he would always be a part of you. a reminder of your new life as the mother to his child, another servant of god. your shoulders sagged at the declaration inside your head: this was your life. this was how you would spend the rest of your years. buried away in a dark attic where no man shall ever know of you existence - save your son - and you would rot away without the luxury of having a stable family. you envied your friends who were married and had a robust family tree, a dozen children to their name which they had wanted willingly. charles could see the sadness in your eyes, the way your head cast downwards with tears rolling down your cheeks. his breath hitched when the rays of light shone down on you; he saw the weeping virgin stand before him for a split second, her pain from the earthly world, from him. his eyes cast down to his child giggling with his arms outstretched for his father, and charles picked up the infant.

"leo is looking very healthy," he whispered, his eyes flickering to you for confirmation. you slowly nodded your head, your gaze transfixed onto the stone cracks. "i expect some words from you, mon ange."

"he is very healthy," you murmured, slowly lifting your gaze to face his. his eyes hardened into a glare, not happy with your attitude as of late. you acted as if it was the end of the world. what better pleasure would a woman such as yourself have if not being a servant of the lord, the mother to his child, his only possession far greater than the rosary he hung around his neck. he placed his son in the wooden cradle secretly made a long time ago when he first learned you were pregnant, and he grabbed hold of your arm to have you stand on your feet. his fingers dug into your jaw, forcing you to stare at him,

"what is wrong with you? have you forgotten your duties?" he questioned, watching you squirm under his grasp. your pitiful attempts to push him off were swatted away with his free hand, "you could've been a whore on the streets had i not rescued you. the grace of the holy father has led you to me, this is your chance at salvation and yet you act as if you'd rather live in perdition than with the heaven i have gifted you!"

he watched your tears collect onto his fingers, those rosy lips of yours now a small pout. he sighed out loud, repenting for his mistake of treating you so harshly and he leaned down to capture your lips into a kiss.

"oh, ma chère reine, come now. i am only doing this for your good," he kissed away your tears, caressing your face with his thumb. "it is not good for you to cry, i hate to see you cry. i only want to ever see you happy, n'est-ce pas vrai?"

your response is ignored as he sweeps you off your feet, carrying you to the bed he had placed besides the cradle. there was a small curtain that separated the "room" between yours and your son. charles laid you onto the mattress as if you were a dandelion, at any second you could be blown away out of his arms. his lips found your forehead once more, his touch gentle that for a moment, you were fooled into thinking that maybe he did love you. maybe, despite all the horrible things he had done to you, you could be safe in his arms. with parted lips, he cradled your face in his hands to pepper your face with kisses. your weeping eyes, your red nose, those cold cheeks and those rosy lips that always beckoned to him like the devil that you once were. his lips traveled down your neck, providing your bosom with open-mouthed kisses that were sure to leave marks. you were his, and had it not been his fate to serve for the lord, he would've married you as soon as your belly swelled with his child. it would've been a child out of wedlock and it still was but he didn't really care, but you were a mother. a beautiful mother that gave birth to such an extraordinary child. he undid your corset, letting the fabric slide down as his fingers popped through the strings of your shirt, revealing your swollen tits, already leaking with your milk.

the cross on the valley of your breasts was now a pale scar, and his fingers ghosted over the memories of events precisely a year ago. when he made you his. you weren't even looking at him, your attention on the curtain with your son's soft snores flooding the room. it sickened you that there was no comfort anywhere. charles rolled your nipples around with his thumbs, applying pressure on your hardening peaks as your milk trickled down gently. he squeezed them, leaving his mouth wide open to catch your strays. you always tasted so good. he almost envied his own child for being able to nurse off of you. he moved to nestle himself between your legs, hiking the skirt up. he kissed your ankles, using his free hand to push your panties to the side. spitting onto your cunt, he watched his own saliva glide down your folds, spilling onto the bed beneath the both of you. he would've taken his time with you had he not been occupied with his role as the chapter priest, but nonetheless his throbbing cock was free from its confines and he pushed into your velvety walls, groaning at the sensation. even after birthing a child, you still felt so good. so warm. you felt like home to him. he rocked his hips against yours, smiling when you finally broke your vow of silence to moan out loud and he leaned over to capture your areola in his mouth, drinking up the milk you had to offer him. his thrusts were always sharp, burying himself to the hilt to ensure that even without him filling you up, you'd always feel him inside.

"si parfait et tout à moi," he whispered, tilting his head up to watch you throw your head, completely gone in pleasure. he wrapped his arms around you, pressing your body flush against him, his cock drilling into you with fervor. "that's it, you can cum for me..."

that's all you needed to let yourself go, lips parting into an oval shape as you let out a guttural moan, sobbing into his arms. he silenced your whimpers with his lips, his cock still pummeling into you with erratic thrusts that signaled his climax was approaching. his goal was to fill you up again and again, hoping you'd be able to grow his family. you were so beautiful like this, slumped out against the bed, completely spent. upon hearing leo fussing, he dressed himself up quickly and scooped the baby up in his arms. you deserved some rest anyway.

"you have such a beautiful mother, you are so lucky leo. the lord has bestowed everything you ever need to you, un garçon vraiment très chanceux" he smiled. your eyes traveled up to the debilitated ceiling, unsure if your body could take the toll of having any more children. leo's birth was so tiresome, and it didn't help that you were kept as a secret. charles had acted as if he wasn't the actual father of the child, and he had your face covered so that no one could see that you were back from the supposed dead. you barely had time to recover from giving birth when charles immediately placed you on the wagon to head back to the cathedral. it was a nightmare you never wanted to relive ever again.

charles had left you and the baby to sleep, locking the door behind him. he trusted you enough not to try and escape him, but he knew for sure if you were willing to stay with him. the lord worked in mysterious ways, and perhaps his doubts were best to be cleared after a few hours of prayer. as he descended the back staircase, he passed by father gasly's cell who grinned at the sight of his friend.

"father leclerc! i was just wondering where you could've gone, mon cher ami, you almost could've missed it!" the french man slapped his hand onto charles' back, guiding him down the hallway.

"missed what?"

"bishop max is coming to spend christmas week with us. he was issued by the pope to see how large the spirit is during the holidays," father gasly explained, and charles rolled his eyes. since the day he joined the church, he'd always hated max. it didn't help that max had such close connections to the former pope at such a young age. if charles was the golden boy to his church, max was the son of the catholic religion. it was so clear that in another 10 years, max would become the pope one day. charles hated him for it, he already saw what was going to happen: max would come over and gloat in his face. he always used to beat him to prayer, getting the guidance offered by the senior priests first and charles would get the crumbs. he sucked his teeth, stepping into the main altar to find archdeacon vasseur laughing along with a man in a pointed hat, a cane in his hand that he tossed from one side to another. the archdeacon glanced over the man's shoulder to see charles, a wide grin on his face as he greeted the young man.

"ah, father leclerc! look who has brought glory to our cathedral with his presence!" the old man laughed, and charles' jaw went taut at the sight of max standing there, a crooked smile on his lips.

"ah, father leclerc! such a pleasure to see you again!" max's accent was still as thick as charles last remembered,

"good to see you again bishop verstappen," charles bowed his head slightly, feeling all his anger boil up to his head. he bit his tongue, remembering father bozzi's words from a year ago: never let your emotions get the best of you. keep that tongue of yours in check. charles clutched onto his rosary, hoping the holy cross would burn into his palm so that he would remain silent.

"you may call me father, no need for even more formalities," max laughed, "now i haven't been to this cathedral in quite some times. looks a bit worn, does it not?"

"we have so many visitors that our focus is mainly on them," charles snapped, ignoring the blatant side-eye father gasly was giving his friend. max raised an eyebrow, a hint of an amused smirk on his lips,

"i suppose so. i might need to go around this entire place. do some checks and see what could be added before christmas. pope hamilton said this place was one of the holiest in the world, and it ought to look like it." max adjusted his hat, glancing around the altar with an indifferent expression on his face. using his cane, he pushed charles to the side before walking off.

"what did pope hamilton see in him to promote him to bishop?" charles seethed, and father gasly nudged him with his elbow,

"father leclerc, jealousy does not suit you. if he heard you, he'd have you-"

"let him hear, i don't care. walking into my church and acting like he owns the place," he scoffed.

"your church?" father gasly snickered, "is this church not in the rightful ownership of the holy father? you don't own anything save your bible and rosary."

charles stared at his friend with a very dark expression on his face. he did have ownership. maybe not to the church, but definitely you and your child. he held his tongue, moving towards the altar to get onto his knees and pray. the father from the heavens had to ensure nothing bad would happen with max's presence. christmas was only a few days away, and the last thing charles' needed was a reflection on his cruel actions. no matter how many times he convinced himself that he was doing the world good by having you as his personal whore, he still felt like something was amiss. the light from the cross above him always seemed to dim when he stood before the altar. the organs did not sing the same tunes it once did when he pressed his fingers upon the keys. a mystery that he could not understand. the rosary around his neck reflected the light from the glass panels, right onto his heart. his eyes were closed, however, blind as always to the message the lord gave him.

max had past the hallway to the individual cells for the priests, but his eyes quickly caught hold of the staircase that was covered in sooth and dust. he frowned, running his fingers over the railings and recoiled in disgust at the dirt that stained his pale skin. he shook it off and grabbed his cane, tapping at the wood to make it wouldn't collapse onto him if he decided to climb the staircase. when his checks were through, he carefully ascended up to the top of the cathedral where the gargoyles slept peacefully. the bell-ringers were out for break so he wouldn't have to deal with their thousand questions. from what he could see, it was an open empty space, a clear view to the village down below. there was a room at the end of the passageway that had a few windows. he assumed it was for the bell-ringers to take short breaks and was about to head back downstairs when he heard a slight hum travel through the air. he circled back to the room, taking note of the lock on the door. pressing his ear against the door, he could hear a baby laughing while another voice sang soft lullabies. max moved to the window, peering through the bars to see you sitting on the ground, holding your son up as you took note of the way his legs scrunched together. you bent down to kiss his nose, watching his little face light up.

"didn't know the church held its own nursery here," max watched you stare at him with wide eyes, fear in your features as you held your baby firmly against your chest, his little head nestled in your neck.

"w-who are you? h-how... what are you doing here?" you questioned. even the bell-ringers had never come over. charles had convinced them all that they could do their duty one floor down. the well kept secret was now in the hands of a man you didn't even know.

"no need to fear me, schat." he smiled, "i'm bishop verstappen. i've come here to celebrate christmas with your church."

there was some sort of an edge in his voice, something that you could not explain. you glanced around your room, trying to avoid his sharp gaze. you never realized how suffocating this room really was until now. you set leo back down in his cradle, feeling your back being burned just being in his line of sight.

"you live here?" max inquired, the sound of his cane raking against the bars of the window making you clutch your ears. the metal scraping brought back horrid memories of the confines charles had you in, the whip of air as the flog drew red marks on your tits. you clutched your chest, still feeling the edge of the rosary being dragged on your skin to form the cross.

"y-yes," you breathed out, peering over your shoulder to see what new devil was at your doorstep. he frowned, tilting his head,

"interesting. and who knows about you? other than me of course."

you debated on telling him the truth. should you tell him the events from a year ago? but what if he was just as bad as charles? what if he found out you were originally a heretic and wanted to kill you? you gulped, deciding to play safe in the moment, "father leclerc, but he is nice enough to gift me bread and milk for the baby and i. aside from him, no one else knows."

"father leclerc does charity work? that's new of him," max snickered, "he keeps you locked away in here, though. do you offer him service for his hospitality?"

"n-no," you whispered, gulping, "none of that kind."

"a child out of wedlock," max pointed towards the cradle where leo was fast asleep, "and father leclerc has pitied you for it? he never was the type to do so. he was always stuck up from what i remember."

"he has changed."

"very much so indeed." max's lips formed into a thin line, "well, i shall see to it that you are free from your confines. a woman such as yourself should have the right to roam around this cathedral freely. as long as no one sees your baby, you should be safe." had he known the truth of your situation, you knew he wouldn't have been so kind to you. you nodded your head, listening to his footsteps fade away. you collapsed onto your bed, head in your hands as you thought about what would happen if charles came to hear of this.

charles was listening to a father lament about his dying son, torn between wanting to give him a proper burial but not having enough money to do so. he furrowed his brows, feeling sympathetic towards the man and he took off one of the rings given to him a long time ago by his late father. it was made out of gold, and he usually wouldn't have parted with it but he figured his father would rather the ring be used for something good than just an accessory. he dropped the ring into the palm of the man's hand and bowed his head,

"it is not quite equal to your son's burial but as stated from genesis 23:6 - none of us will withhold from you his tomb to hinder you from burying your dead," charles began, watching the man's face light up, "bury your son with the money the ring offers. if one dares question you, bring him to me and i shall discuss with him. may the lord guide your son's soul to the heavens. i shall send a chaplain soon to your quarters for his last rites."

the man held onto charles' hand, kissing it gently with tears in his eyes, "thank you, father leclerc. thank you, thank you. the holy father has done us all great service by having you among us."

charles' chest tightened at his words, a sensation that became more frequent these days. guilt was eating him alive, but he did not know why. he knew he was continuing the lord's work, being a very devout servant. but in the back of his mind, he remembered you all alone up in that cold room with leo, the sad look in your eyes. he watched the man exit the tall doors of the cathedral, and he caught hold of the statue of virgin mary carrying the infant jesus. his chest tightened once more, remembering the weeping virgin he saw in your eyes earlier. right when he was about to head back to his cell, he felt a firm hand on his shoulder. much to his dismay, it was bishop verstappen and charles rolled his eyes, biting the inside of his cheek.

"father verstappen, did you have a nice tour of our church?" charles glared at him, wanting to make his disgust extremely evident.

"mhm, very nice. i just didn't think you to be so charitable. giving away your father's ring just like that?" max sighed,

"i had nothing to bury my father in when he passed away. i only wish for this man's son to not suffer the same fate. everyone deserves to be buried," charles responded.

"tsk, tsk, tsk, you have gotten much softer, father leclerc, last i remember you were very keen on banishing my soul to hell if given the opportunity."

"that hasn't changed, actually. i'm just trying to be cordial since pope hamilton sent you here." charles growled, "charity is a good thing."

"i never argued with you about it, i'm just surprised the extent to which your charity goes." max narrowed his eyes, "and in the name of charity, i hope you haven't abused your rights as a servant to the lord. the kleine duif wishes to escape her cage. don't keep dogs tied up for too long."

charles gaped in horror as max walked off with a knowing smirk. he straightened his shoulders, glancing up to the ceiling of the cathedral before grabbing his rosary and heading up the back staircase. unbeknownst to him, max saw the chapter priest swiftly ascending the staircase and the bishop laughed to himself, realizing that he had charles exactly where he needed him to be: beneath him at all costs. the pretty dove upstairs was a sight for sore eyes, and by no means was max a perfect man. he had flaws, too. as any man would. years of celibacy could not be easily achieved in this modern world. not when women such as yourself always tempted the innocent priests into sin. he wondered if charles had ever touched you, ever marked you as his. there was no way he wouldn't have, but charles was always known for being so perfect and prudish that it wasn't far out of the question to assume that he was only helping you and nothing else.

charles had unlocked the door to your room, his chest heaving in anger as he saw you laying on your bed with those empty, forlorn eyes. he slammed the door behind him, marching over to see you sitting up on the bed with a finger to your lips.

"you'll wake the baby," you chastised him, but he grabbed your arm and pulled you to him,

"did anyone see you?" he hissed, "answer the truth. if you lie to me, i won't hesitate to have you punished for your disobedience to me."

you swallowed, thickly and shook your head slowly. he could see your eyes gloss over, the rosary shining in your eyes. he grabbed your hair and yanked it backwards, disregarding your pained whimpers,

"do. not. lie. to. me." he punctuated each word with a slap to your face. you bottom lip quivered, your scowl deepening, "tell me the truth. who saw you here? was it max?" he would never give the title to a man he hated, much less the respect he deserved.

"max saw me," and you brought out your hands to try and calm charles down, "b-but i didn't tell him anything. i only said that you had me here to save me from the outside world. you were giving me a place to hide my baby and me!"

he raised an eyebrow, "and how should i believe you?"

"you have to trust me, charles!" you begged, growing frustrated at his lack of respect for you, "if i wanted to jeopardize your future at this church i would've done that a long time ago!"

"oh, really?" charles laughed bitterly, "so you've thought about that before have you not? is that what you're telling me?"

"charles, no!" you cried out, struggling to escape his firm grip in your hair, "you're not listening to me! the door was still locked, all max did was ask who i was and i lied to him! he does not know about our arrangement, he does not know anything!"

"get on your knees," charles hauled you off the bed, dragging you onto the stone floor, "open that mouth of yours. unless your mouth serviced me, i'll assume you have used it to speak lies."

you groaned out loud, clamping your mouth shut as you glared at him. that defiance, that anger in your eyes. he'd last seen it when he first captured you. if looks could kill.

"open your mouth, espèce de petit diable," he commanded, his voice brooking no disobedience. "take my cock into your lying mouth and let it purify your wicked tongue." he pressed the swollen, throbbing head of his cock against your lips, rocking his hips to let his cock slide against your sealed mouth. his fingers tightened in your hair, yanking it harshly and when you cried out in pain, he slipped his cock inside your throat, giving you no space to breathe as he began to fuck your throat harshly. tears streamed down your cheek, your drool seeping down your chin as you stared at him with pure hatred in your eyes. he took note of the expression on your face and he snarled as he forced your head to the base of his cock, your nose pressed against his pelvis.

"take the holy sacrament deep in your lying throat. let it purify your wicked soul." He held you there, buried to the hilt, as he ground his hips against your face, his heavy balls slapping against your chin. "god commands it," he panted, his voice filled with lust, "you cannot deny his will. you cannot refuse your sacred duty to serve his servant, to serve me."

you struggled to swallow all of his cum when he came, coughing and gagging uncontrollably, spluttering out his semen. you watched him tuck his cock back in his robes, grabbing your hair once more so that you could look at him, "let this be a reminder, mon cœur, i won't be so forgiving next time. no one sees you, no one other than leo and me." and with that, he stormed out of the room and locked the door. you laid on the ground with a hoarse throat, sobbing on the floor. was this the "lord's" method of punishing you for being a heretic? in what world was this supposed to make you love the holy father? your questions are silenced by the exhaustion that took over your body. your bitterness was only heightened when you noticed how leo was still fast asleep. the plump baby always slept without a care in the world after he had his dose of your milk. you wished you could sleep in peace like that.

it was a rule that after you misbehaved, you would have to seek forgiveness from the holy father. the only way to do this was to walk with charles down to the main altar very late at night when everyone was asleep. he took note of your busted lip from his abuse earlier in the day, running his thumb over your bottom lip as you winced in pain. he muttered a soft apology, kissing your forehead before taking leo from your arms. you needn't burden yourself so much, besides your only focus should be on being forgiven for your sins. while you moved forward to begin your prayer, father gasly had woken up from his sleep to grab some water when he saw charles holding a baby in his hands. he frowned, approaching the latter,

"father leclerc, whose child is that?" he asked, and charles was just about ready to punch his friend. having to explain himself out of this one would be quite difficult. charles glanced down at his son, taking note of his peaceful features. his little fingers were wrapped around charles' forefinger, and he smiled at the sight. it reminded him of the older man from earlier in the day, asking to bury his son. charles' felt the air in his lungs freeze for a split second, imagining if he would have to do the same for his little boy in the future. it was a thought that scared him. he never wanted to lose leo, he never wanted to lose you. he inhaled, sharply and looked up at father gasly,

"i saw this little boy at an orphanage. i didn't have the heart to leave him out there in the cold so i took him in. he's beautiful isn't he?" charles' cooed, kissing leo's nose.

in the meantime, you had gotten to your knees and clasped your hands together. no matter how many times charles taught you how to pray, it never was an easy task. not when you still refused to believe in the existence of a higher being. if such a god existed, why didn't he save you? why would he have let you be tormented like this? you stared at the cross, tears welling up in your eyes at how hopeless everything seemed. you casted your eyes downwards, remembering what charles had said to you months before when you were faced complications in your pregnancy. your eyes had to be hidden. no one should know about your existence. no one should recognize.

"and if in the case someone meets your eyes, and sees you as (y/n) (l/n) the whore who used to dance in festivals and preach hersey with her followers, i shall find a diamond-encrusted dagger and gouge your eyes out so that no one shall remember what you used to look like..." charles' words echoed in your ears. you shook as you pretended to pray, your head empty with silence surrounding you. you felt a presence besides you, and you turned to tell charles that you had finished your prayer when instead you faced max.

"he's finally let you out, what a surprise," he whispered. you snapped your head back to the cross, your breathing now rapid as you tried to calm yourself. he took note of the way your breasts - from the small glimpse he had under your cloak - rose and fell in quick successions. "schatje, i've told you before, you need not fear me. i won't do anything to you."

"i cannot risk it. i cannot bring attention to myself," you whispered, and max rolled his eyes,

"there's barely anyone awake at this hour. come, i know a good place." he held out his hand, standing up on his feet. you hesitantly accepted his offer, finding it strange that he was treating you so kindly. he was asking, rather than demanding. you knew following max into the confession booth would land you in much more trouble tonight, but sat down besides you with a very soft look in those blue eyes. "here, you can tell me anything, schatje. how did you end up here? who is your child's father? whatever you wish to tell me you can."

perhaps it was out of desperation to finally have someone to properly talk to, but you revealed everything to max. you told him about your previous life, you told him how charles was obsessed with you, how he fucked a prostitute dreaming about you and how he burned your house down when your parents were away, kidnapping you and storing you away in the top of the cathedral in that hidden room to teach you the bible. you told him of your baby leo, how he had your eyes. you cared for the baby, but you could never bring yourself to love him. you sighed out loud after finishing your tale, staring at max as you waited for his reaction. he merely licked his lips, leaning his head back on the wall of the booth as he processed your tale.

"so the baby... is charles'. i knew the bastard wasn't pure," he chuckled, dryly. your face fell, having expected him to say something else. you were oblivious to their rivalry, already caught up in your own misfortunes. max tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear, "ah, my poor lady, you have gone through so much. what all did he teach you?"

"he used to read the-" you stopped when you saw max shake his head,

"no, no, not about the bible. what did he teach you in bed?" he pried your lips open with his thumb, letting your mouth envelop around his digit as you began to suck. "such a good little slut, fuck... i can see why he chose you. i have to give it to him."

"for christ's sake, pierre," charles snapped out of the formality he usually gave his friend, "pierre, snap out of it. the baby was abandoned, no more questions out of you." he was still stuck up in the cell of father gasly, rolling his eyes at the millionth question he had to answer.

"oh come on, charles," pierre scoffed, dropping his act of formality as well, "it's a cute baby. what awful creature would leave this baby to die?" he turned to face the infant, peppering his little face with kisses before pressing his cheek against his own, "can i keep the baby, charles? he's so cute."

"he's not a dog, pierre. he's my-" charles paused, clearing his throat before continuing, "he's an infant."

"an infant abandoned so close to christmas! and he has come to our church! is this a sign from the lord?" pierre asked, and charles' shoulders sagged. he ran his hands over his face,

"pierre, give the infant back to me. i assure you, it's..." charles paused, picking up max's voice from the distance, "is that father verstappen?"

"possibly, i've been told he likes walking around churches at night since the lord has a different ambience then... isn't that right, leo?" pierre cooed, nuzzling his nose against the baby's face. the infant merely giggled in response, trying to grab onto the chaplain's nose. charles bit his lower lip, the realization of having left you alone at the altar crossing his mind. he smacked his hand on his forehead, hurrying out of the cell.

"wait, the baby!" pierre called out, and charles shook his head,

"you can take care of leo for the night," and he hurried down the hallway, grabbing a candle. his fingers looped through the hole of its holder, and he stormed around the dark cathedral, spinning in circles to see where you could've gone. you weren't in front of the cross, you weren't in the aisles. he stopped for a moment, hearing the squelching of juices coming from the confession booth. he could see a small candle through the holes, the shadows of two bodies dancing together like the flames before him. charles' heart sank for a moment, praying that it wasn't you. it shouldn't be you. you were his, only his. he swung open the door to the confessional, and saw a sight that burned his eyes.

max had the top of your dress bunched down to your waist, his lips wrapped around your nipple, drinking your lavish milk while your greedy cunt sucked his fingers. your head thrown back as you let out soft moans, bucking into his hand as his palm rubbed against your clit. max released your tit with a pop, licking his lips as beads of your milk dribbled down his chin and he brought his mouth to kiss your jaw. he was grinning like a madman, eyes snapping to face charles' anguished expression and he picked up his pace, curling his fingers inside you, scissoring your poor cunt as you let out strangled moans, trying to be quiet. you squirted all over max's fingers, your juices coating the walls of the confessional, breathing heavy.

"the dove's quite the slut, father leclerc," max snorted, "so beautiful and perfect. she'd be my personal whore if i took her with me back to rome," he smiled, licking his fingers and sucking on them to relish your taste. "oh schat, you taste amazing."

"get the fuck out of here," charles hissed, jerking his thumb to the side. max slid you off his lap, standing up and straightening his robe. he pushed past charles, placing his cane at charles' neck,

"she told me everything. you're lucky you're loved so deeply by this church, or i would've convinced them to throw you out a long time ago," he threatened, letting the edge of the cane dig into charles' chest. the sharp pain made him grit his teeth, and when max left to return to his special quarters, charles' dark eyes slowly turned to you. you were shaking in the corner of the confessional, hooking the sleeves of your dress back up your shoulder as you got to your knees,

"charles please, i didn't mean it... it just happened so suddenly, i don't know how to-" a sharp sting bloomed on your cheek as your head snapped to the side. charles' shook his hand, the crack of his lap even hurting him. he looked at you with such disgust,

"i should've known... the devil hasn't left you, has she? she's stored in your heart, n'est-ce pas vrai putain?" he pressed his finger against the scar on your chest, forcing you back up against the wall. his hand shot out to grab your throat, dragging you out of the confessional and onto the aisle. your head hit against the wooden furniture, your temples throbbing in pain as you felt him bunch up the skirt to your dress. without much preparation, he thrusted himself in you in one-go, clamping your mouth shut to silence your screams. he did not care if he was defiling you right in front of the holy cross. this would be a mistake you'd never make ever again. he was your rightful owner, not max. his fingers dug into your hips, hips snapping against yours as he continued to drill his cock into your overstimulated cunt your previous orgasm had still left you in a daze because of max's skilled fingers, and now with charles' cock ravaging you, you were crying and begging for him to have mercy on you. your tits were leaking with milk, your body unable to control the sensations you were feeling. charles' hands groped your tits, squeezing your milk out for his tongue to catch and soon he flipped you onto your stomach, bringing his cock right back into your spent pussy. your gummy walls tightened around him, trying to push him out but it only motivated him to drive further into you. he grabbed your hair, yanking your head to face him as your back arched.

"why can't you see it?" charles hissed, slapping your ass firmly, "why can you never understand? you belong to me! only me! you're mine!" and with each thrust of his hips, his hold on you was loosening. you were sobbing onto the carpeted floors of the cathedral, burying your face in your arms as his cock stretched your unwilling walls into oblivion. "how many times do i have to prove myself to you?"

charles' dropped his head down to the back of your neck, his weight pushed onto you as he continued to snap his hips relentlessly. you could feel tears on your back. charles' tears. "why can't you understand?" he whimpered, wrapping your throat with his hand as he brought you closer to him, "will nothing i do satisfy you? what more should i do?"

his words didn't make sense to you, and you couldn't follow along with what he was getting at. not when he was destroying your poor cunt like this. he pulled out of you just shortly after you silently screamed, cumming around his cock and instead flipped you onto your back so that you could face him. his cock was still achingly hard, the tip all red and angry, waiting to cum. a needy moan escaped his lips, his hands fighting the urge to finish himself off, to let his cum coat your skin. but he was denying himself. instead, he glanced down at you as began to sob,

"you know how much i love you?" he whispered, and your eyes widened, realizing that he had finally said the words you knew he would never feel, "my love for you... i love you... i love you so much. why can't you...." he took in a shaky breath, standing up and confining his cock inside his robes, "i love you so much. i just want to be with you, to be loved by you. i love you so much, why can you never see it?"

since charles' confessions, he distanced himself away from you as much as he could. he'd give sermons and return to his cell. the door to your room was permanently unlocked, giving you access to roam around the cathedral as much as you pleased. it was a stark difference from the man you once knew, and you didn't know if he finally cleared his soul, or if this was a storm brewing. father gasly took care of leo so often that you felt free from the confines of being a mother. charles' would escort you to pierre's cell, insisting that a proper woman could only take care of a child even though the both of you knew it was just so that your son still remembered who his mother was. you'd walk the hallways of the cathedral at night, admiring the various statues and glass panels up close, taking note of its details. charles would stand in a corner, never once meeting your eyes. the thought of even touching you made his skin crawl. his chest always felt heavy, a newfound burden taking a toll on his body with each step that he took around the cathedral. the light on the holy cross no longer dimmed when he stood before it, instead it shined brighter. a chance for redemption, but he did not know how to gain your forgiveness. everything that he had done to you finally freed his clouded thoughts; he was a monster. he was the very devil he had claimed to have seen in you. his lust brought his own ruins, he felt ill every time he gave a sermon about avoiding all sins. he'd whimper in his sleep, feeling like a kicked puppy as he replayed the nights where he'd keep you awake to satisfy his carnal urges. he'd wake up more frequently at night, crying to himself at how unfit he was to be a chapter priest. he should be publicly stoned to death for what he had done. he always felt more than he should, father bozzi always told him that. it surely didn't help his emotions when he saw bishop verstappen talking with you more frequently in the darkness of the night. you were opening up to him more often, actually smiling and enjoying his presence, in a way that you never did with charles. he deserved it, rightfully so. he'd shuffle back to his cell, taking leo into his arms from father gasly and would hum some small lullabies to usher the infant back to sleep. he could not stare at the statue of virgin mary anymore, could not stand to see the imagery of the weeping virgin. he brought this upon you. it was all his fault. he had to make it up to you, but he just didn't know how exactly.

bishop verstappen had slipped a piece of paper to charles to watch out for something important later in the day, a special early christmas present for the chapter priest. it was the morning of christmas eve, most of the people were getting ready to settle with their family for the night. the church had been fully decorated, the bell ringers coming with big wide smiles on their faces as they ran to and fro, getting small gifts from the archdeacon for their work throughout the year. charles had let the church discover leo's existence the night before, letting each of the divisions of priests fawn over his "adopted" son as they put it.

"commendable charity work," father sainz smiled, "you really know how to represent what christmas is really about." and charles smiled, thinly.

you had followed bishop verstappen into the streets of your village. the bright light so foreign to you after so long. you brought your cloak over your face, watching the small children run around. some of the faces you recognized as your neighbors' children, the very ones you'd laugh and play with after you finished your work at your stall. you smiled warmly at the memories, laughing as they nearly bumped into you in excitement for some magic show happening around the corner. the sounds of families giggling and embracing each other on the streets made you miss your own parents. you had to know what happened to them. what would they think if they saw their daughter well and alive. and your friends! frederick, oscar, all of them! you knew they must've missed you. you turned to max, grinning at him as you held onto his hand,

"i want to see my parents. they have to be here." but you failed to see the way his arm recoiled at your touch, the way he stared at you as if he had something far sinister in his mind. he merely pulled off the hood of your clock and with an accusatory finger, shouted at your face,

"the witch! she's a witch! she's back from the dead!"

charles had been on the second floor of the cathedral, pressing the keys to the organ to entertain his son who looked at the instrument in awe. he nearly missed the yelling downstairs if he hadn't stopped toying with the organ. he glanced down to the main altar to find bishop verstappen waiting downstairs with his hands behind his back, a grin on his face. charles could feel that something was wrong, but nevertheless, he approached his enemy.

"what's going on outside? a commotion?" charles' inquired, patting leo's back as he bounced the infant in his arms a couple of times. he took note of the crowd outside the gates to the cathedral and he furrowed his brows, moving to investigate before max grasped onto his shoulder.

"you're free from the devil, father leclerc." max smiled and charles scowled,

"what do you mean?"

"you have such an esteemed reputation at this church," max scoffed, rolling his eyes at the stupidity of charles, "we wouldn't want to ruin it. no one knows about this child, you can't keep the truth hidden forever. so you get rid of the truth."

"i... i'm not following along, what?"

"for fuck's sake," max groaned, shaking his head, "i accused her of being a witch, of coming back from the dead. she'll be burned at the stake later today, and you can thank me for it. all your guilt, all your lustful thoughts, all of it will be gone if she's gone. perfect, is it not? i would've kept her as my personal slut like i said earlier, but there's bound to be a million other women like her."

"are you insane?" charles yelled, startling leo who began to cry, "who asked of this from you? she... she trusted you!" he gulped, thinking about how you must've felt at this moment. putting your trust into a man after he had ruined everything for you, only for this cunt to betray you so openly in front of everyone. charles' anger knew no bounds and he shoved max to the side, storming out of the church to see the sight of you on a stick, hoisted into the air. your head hung low, bruises all over your body after being being stoned and flogged accordingly to your crime. charles' gasped out loud, pushing past the crowd to see them bring you over to the pile of hay in the center of the town square, ready to set fate. he watched the other priests, ones that he knew so well, cheer on for this heretic's damnation. leo cried louder, the screams hurting his ears and charles shielded his son into his chest, and with anxious eyes faced you. with what little strength you had left in you, you glanced up to the sky with tears cascading down your cheeks, blood spilling out of the inside of your mouth and there he saw it.

no longer was the weeping virgin just a flicker of his imagination or a sight meant to fool him, she was there right before him. he could see your tears as the holy water he used in his sermons, the glow around your head ready to accept your fate. no, he couldn't do this. after everything that he had put you through, he had to redeem himself. charles would never forgive himself if he stood to the side and let everyone take advantage of you, not to the virgin mary that he worshipped every day and night.

"enough with this foolishness!" charles' bellowed, stepping onto the pile of hay as he glanced down at the crowd surrounding you. "all of you stop this nonsense!"

he took in a deep breath, waiting for each idiot to silence themselves to let him speak. "enough... what are you all doing?"

"she's a heretic!" one man cried out.

"she's come back from the dead!" another hollered.

"a witch, a witch!" the crowd chanted in unison, and charles stomped his foot and screamed,

"silence!" he took in a deep breath, glancing down to see leo staring at him with wide eyes. he always had your eyes. he gulped, tilting his head back up to face the crowd once more, "today is christmas eve. tomorrow is christmas morning. you want to mark this holy tradition with the killing of a woman? is this what our holy father has taught us?"

he watched the crowd shift awkwardly and he continued, "she has progressed much in her religious journey. she is not back from the dead. she was actually... learning the glories of our savior. listen to me, all of you, put aside your fears. she will not... she won't hurt any of us."

"then what do you expect us to do with her? she's not welcome in this village," charles' stared at the man who said this; it was your own father. he sucked his teeth in, shaking his head and sighing loudly,

"we send her to exile. she stays alive, but she shall never step foot in this village ever again." charles' declared, and despite the crowd coming to agreeance, he glanced to see you staring at him with a look of horror in your eyes. he gulped, turning his back to you as he held onto leo, hoping that the holy father would commend him for saving your life.

the wagon sat outside the back of the cathedral. it was snowing outside, too cold for leo but he had his son bundled up in the finest fabric to ensure his little toes wouldn't get frostbite. he stared at the cross from behind him. something felt... empty inside his heart. he had saved your life, but the thought of sending you to exile. it was all his fault, all of it was his fault. and no matter how long he stayed at this church, no amount of penance could save his damned soul for what he had done to you. he watched you seat yourself on the wagon, face all bruised as you weakly smiled at him.

"thank you, charles... for what you did back there." you whispered, groaning in pain as you shifted in your seat. you saw the pained expression in his eyes, and you cupped his cheek, letting him feel the warmth of you skin. "what you did charles, that was real love."

he fell to his knees at your words, tears pricking at his eyes, "no... no, don't say that. i've done awful things to you. i've been a horrible person. my lust clouded my thoughts, i... i really love you. i can't bear the thought... of... no, i can't let you leave me." he grabbed hold of your hand, bringing it to his forehead as he sobbed. his cheeks flushed into a rosy shade of red as he glanced up at you, "t-take me with you. i can't... i can't live here. not after what i've done. i'll come up with you. we can live together in a small hut, we can just be by ourselves and i'll make it up to you, i swear i will, just give me one more chance mon ange-"

"no, charles," you snapped, "no... i deserve to be free. i deserve to have the life i wanted. and as for leo..." you stretched your arms out, ready to take your infant but charles shook his head,

"i refuse. i refuse to let you go, i refuse to let you take away my son. i love both of you. just say you forgive me, say you'll take me with you."

you sighed out loud, groaning under your breath as you felt a sharp pang of pain course through your veins. you bit your lip, "i think we can come to a compromise then."

your wagon departed with your belongings. you never once looked back at charles as you left. you had said what he wanted to hear: "i forgive you. a life for a life. your debt is paid." but it wasn't enough for him. you left leo to his care, knowing that despite how he had treated you, he would never commit horrors to his child. charles could learn to properly love. you knew he had it in him. his heart was always large, always taken by emotions.

he felt too strongly. it was his curse.

he took leo back into the church, and set him down on the table right before the holy cross. he glanced up to see the holy spirit shine before him, wiping away his tears. there was still a long road for him back to salvation, but he promised that he would attain it. he would make up for all the sins that he had committed. he would spend the rest of his life craving for the love that he felt for you. if only you had stayed. the longer that he served for the church, he realized that he was wrong all along. the holy father could not save his soul no matter how hard he tried. all the countless sermons, the masses, the christmas and easter holidays, the verses from the bibles, the holy crosses, the tears from the weeping virgin, all of it was in vain.

because you were his religion.

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peachessndreamss · 5 months ago

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Comfort in You

Summery : After a long and boring council meeting, Cregan looks for comfort with his wife, and she finds comfort from him.

Characters : Cregan Stark x f!wife reader (no use of y/n)

Warnings : Lactation, drinking of breast milk, P in V sex

Word count : 2.3k

A/N : Well, here we are. All my Cregan pieces can be enjoyed alone but are all interconnected and feature the same Lady Stark their children.

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Cregan Stark had developed a throbbing headache an hour into the meeting of the Winterfell council and had now sat with the pain for what felt like days as the sky outside the window had grown dark, and fat, wet flakes of snow had started to fall. The cup boy had filled and refilled Cregan’s cup with weak beer as he drank simply to have something to do with his hands.

The sounds of the courtyard outside the window had changed from the clack and crash of combat training to the squealing laughter of play as the younger inhabitants of the castle had finished their days' lessons and had been sent out to run off their remaining energy. The smell of roasting meat was wafting around the keep and Cregan felt his stomach squeeze with hunger.

The Master of Coin continued to speak on the taxes being imposed for goods travelling the Kings Road when Cregan decided he had finally had enough. Without comment he stood, looking similar to a moving fur covered mountain, took hold of his cup, raised it to the other men around the table in a silent toast before draining it in a single mouthful and putting it back down on the table with a heavy thud.

“We'll leave it there today,” he said before turning to the doors and striding from the room.

He crashed through the heavy, double oak doors and into the main hall of Winterfell. Here the smell of food was even stronger and the room was full of people setting up for the evening meal, laying trenchers and wooden cups along the long tables running the length of the hall. Several large fires burned along the walls and in places where the light from the fire didn't reach there were torches burning merrily.

The head table of the great hall was already laid with pewter plates and silver goblets. Beside his own great chair in the centre of the table his equally large wolfhound was sleeping, the great shaggy beast’s snoring could be heard over the sound of the crackling fires and laughing screams from the children playing in the courtyard.

Crossing the hall, Cregan took the tightly spiralled staircase to the 1st floor, heading directly for Lady Stark’s chambers.

He knocked once before pushing open the door, Lady Stark's chambers were always warmer than anywhere else in the Keep and Cregan immediately shrugged off his heavy fur lined robe and draped it over the back of a large chair. He moved through the main room towards the sleeping chambers, where his wife was sitting in the window seat, their 3 month old son cradled against her chest.

She looked up as he walked into the room and her face broke into a glorious smile.

“My lord,” she greeted softly.

“My love,” he replied as he sat heavily on the end of their bed and started to unlace his boots.

“How was your council?” She asked.

Cregan sighed deeply, his head dropping forward, his chin almost resting on his chest, he paused for a moment before turning to face her, looking at her from under his brows.

“Never has there been a council of men so dull,” he replies, the corners of his lips turning up.

Lady Stark laughed and rolled her eyes.

“Perhaps they find their lord rather dull in return?” She countered, fighting a grin.

“Do you find me dull, my love?” Cregan asked as he stood and moved towards his wife.

He bent down and kissed her cheek before kissing the crown of his son's head.

“Are you well?” He asked, touching the tip of his nose to hers.

“We're well,” she replied, smiling down at the child, “this one's appetite takes after his father,” she added, lifting the child up and allowing Cregan to take the boy from her arms.

Despite the jostling movement as he was passed from one parent to the other, the boy stayed fast asleep as Cregan cradled him against his chest.

“Let's give your mother a rest shall we?” He crooned as he carried his son towards his crib placed at the end of their bed.

Once the child was placed safely in his crib, Cregan turned back to his wife as she stood slowly from her seat, the long, dark skirt of her velvet robe dropping to the floor with a swish. She smiled at him before stepping towards him and falling into his arms. Cregan pulled her tightly to his body, his cheek resting on the top of her head as her arms wrapped tightly around his waist.

“Come and lie down with me,” Cregan said softly as he turned the two of them toward the large, wooden framed bed that dominated the room, “we should rest,”.

With his arm wrapped tightly around her shoulders he encouraged her toward the bed, taking Lady Stark’s hand as she sat on the edge before slipping back and setting against the pillows before Cregan joined her.

He slipped one arm behind her back and rested his head onto her chest. She winced in discomfort at the weight of him on her sensitive breasts but Cregan remained oblivious, he had closed his eyes and a small smile had turned up the corners of his lips as he felt all the tension in his head disappearing as he tightened his arms around her waist. She ran her fingers up and down his back, her own eyes closing as the warmth of his body soothed her aches and pains.

She was half asleep when Cregan shifted his head, the change in pressure and weight of his head sent a spike of pain through her breasts and she gave a sudden cry of pain and surprise.

Cregan bolted upright, concern furrowed his features as he looked over her for sign of injury.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she said with a shake of her head as she placed her hand over her aching breast, trying to dull the pain, “I’m just full to bursting,”.

Cregan’s brows furrowed as he glanced toward the plump baby sleeping at the foot of their bed.

“He takes all he can,” Lady Stark said with a tired smile, “but I’m making enough to feed twins, or half the babes in the winters town,” she added, feeling tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.

“Oh my poor love,” Cregan said softly, leaning toward her and taking her face in his hands, stroking his thumb over her cheek, “I did know you were suffering so,”.

“I could take a job as a wet nurse,” she joked, as distressed by the worry on his face as the pain in her breasts.

Cregan’s eyes travelled from her face down to her swollen breasts where his focus lingered and he felt his blood starting to heat. He glanced back up to her face, a mischievous look in his eyes.

“Would you let me help you?” he asked, his voice soft.

“And how do you propose to help?” she replied, her mind racing with possibilities.

Cregan smiled playfully before leaning forward and kissing his wife softly on the lips.

“With my mouth, of course,” he replied, his voice a warm whisper against her lips.

Lady Stark pulled back from him just a little so she could look in his eyes.

“Do you mean it?” she asked, already feeling her nipples prickling at the thought of his mouth on them.

“I would do anything to end your suffering my love,” he said softly, “I’d burn myself alive to keep you warm,”.

She pushed her fingers through his thick, dark hair and brushed it behind his ear, feeling the burn of tears in her eyes as a wave of emotion rolled over her. Love radiated from his body the same way heat did.

“Please help me,” she whispered with a nod before moving her hands to the small, pearl buttons that held together her velvet robe.

Underneath was a simple linen shift held together at the neck by bows of ivory colour ribbon, Lady Stark felt heat burning her neck when she noticed the two damp patches where her milk had already leaked. Cregan pulled at the first ribbon, undoing them one at a time until the garment fell open and fully exposed her swollen breasts.

“Oh my love,” he whispered, “my poor love,”.

Cregan lowered himself from a sitting position to resting on one elbow, bringing his face inline with her chest. He lent forward, finding his mouth was already watering and his cock was straining in his breeches. He swallowed hard as a small bead of milk appeared on her nipple as if it had been waiting for him.

He turned his gaze up to her face, looking up at her through his dark lashes.

“May I?” He beseeched softly.

Lady Stark nodded, and watched open mouthed as his eyes dropped from her face back to her breasts before closing as he moved forward just enough to take her aching nipple into his mouth and giving it a gentle, experimental suck.

The wet heat of his mouth acted like a balm on the sore skin of her nipples and she felt the thrill of arousal as he licked his tongue around while sucking.

She gave a small cry of surprise as she felt the milk begin to flow, tension melting from her muscles as she relaxed back against the pillows, slipping one arm over Cregan’s back and pulling him closer. Cregan groaned with pleasure as he swallowed mouthful after mouthful of sweet milk.

Cregan broke away from her nipple with a soft, wet sound. He was breathing heavily and his eyes were glossy and dazed as he looked up at her.

“You’re so sweet,” he whispered as he rearranged himself slightly and took her second nipple in his mouth and started to drink.

The relief flooding through Lady Stark’s body was palpable, she no longer felt like her skin was stretched too tightly, the muscles of her back and neck had stopped aching and the constant pain at the base of her skull seemed to be lessening with every pull of Cregan’s soft lips.

Lady Stark moved her hand up his back and pushed her fingers into his hair, letting her nails drag along his scalp, causing a shiver to run down Cregan’s spine and a quiet moan rumbled through his chest.

She could feel the flow of milk slowing as Cregan gave a few final draws on her nipple, desperate to get as much as her body had to offer him. He twisted his tongue around her impossibly hard nipple once more before breaking contact, leaning back a little and looked up at his wife.

“Better?” he asked, his head spinning and his voice husky with lust.

“Much” she breathed, hardly able to form a sensible thought.

Cregan’s free hand ghosted down his stomach and stopped over the now obvious bulge in the front of his trousers. He took a deep breath as he gripped his cock and squeezed, willing away his arousal.

“Cregan?” Lady Stark said softly, “let me help you,”.

“No, no, you don’t need to,” he replied, trying and failing to pull on his deep reserves of willpower and self control.

“Make love to me, please Cregan,” she implored him, feeling her own arousal matched his but was just less obvious.

“Are you sure?” he asked, sitting up to unlace the ties at the front of his breaches, “Are you ready?”.

“I’m ready,” she replied, drawing the skirt of her shift up her legs and pulling it off over her head, leaving her naked and aching in a new way.

Cregan couldn’t look away from her as he fought his way out off his breaches, kicking the off the edge of the bed with before moving with the ease and grace of a wolf hunting its prey he moved across the bed and covered her body with his, pressing her back into the mattress and the pillows with his weight.

Her legs parted for him, lifting up around his hips, she felt the hot head of his cock rub through her wet core. He pressed his lips to hers as he shifted his hips forward, his tip pressing just inside her wet body.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his breathing heavy.

“Please Cregan, please,” she begged, slipping her hands around his waist and pulling him toward her, feeling him stretching and filling her after 3 months of absence.

The familiarity of each other's bodies returned as they moved together, pushing and pressing, clawing and squeezing. They climaxed together, Cregan’s groan rolling up from his chest, sounding part agony and part pleasure.

He dropped heavily beside his wife, breathing deeply and feeling completely spent. His limbs felt like they were made of lead and he wouldn’t have been able to lift them to save his own life. Lady Stark rolled into his arms, pressing her face against his chest, breathing in the hot and homey scent of his skin.

The two of them were on the edge of falling asleep when there was a loud thumping on the doors to the chambers.

“Cregan?” called the rough northern voice of Martyn, Winterfell’s steward and Cregan’s oldest friend, “Cregan, they’re waiting to serve supper,”.

Cregan gave a soft chuckle, kissing Lady Stark on the top of her head as he slipped out from under her.

“Shall I tell him I’ve already eaten?” Cregan asked as he grabbed his trousers from the floor and dragged them on.

Lady Stark laughed before dragging one of the furs over her body to cover herself. Cregan stood, glancing down at her watching him.

“I’ll bring you a plate,” he said as he walked out of the bedroom and into the main chambers, picking up his boots as he left.

“Thank you, my Lord,” she replied with a smile

“You’re welcome, my love,”. He replied with a wink over his shoulder as he headed toward the doors and back into the world outside their chambers.

#cregan stark #cregan stark fanfic #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfic #hotd fanfiction #tom taylor #fanfiction #hotd #hotd fanfic #house stark #cregan #cregan fanfic #cregan x oc #cregan stark x oc #cregan stark headcanons

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mydear-corinthian · 7 months ago

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30,000ft. above sea level

summary - you and your boss does something not that common for you guys to do 30,000 feet above sea level

pairing - aaron hotchner x reader

warnings: SMUT +18, oral sex (m!receiving), semi-public sex, dirty talk, mentions of p in v sex, humping, mentions of cases, typical criminal minds talk

notes: DAY 1 of KINKTOBER, divider by i08cymm

main masterlist | criminal minds masterlist

The team gathered together on the jet. Hotch was passing out the files while Spencer turned on the small laptop in front of him to contact Penelope.

The case wasn't that rough on their stomach. There were two missing girls— both of them were best friends. Both was abducted 3 days, after their dance practice. As soon as team received the file, they quickly scanned and then shared their thoughts with the group.

It was only a short discussion since their technical analyst already has the name of the unsub and the suspected area where the girls were held. All of the team decided to do their own business. Reid read a book that he brought, Prentiss and Morgan were chatting about women, while Rossi and J.J chatted about J.J's son—Henry.

The team sees you and Hotch as the parents of the team. Hotch was strict, straightforward and silent like a father; you were sweet, kind, and cares for the team like a mother. What the team doesn't know is that you and Aaron are dating for a couple months now. There were times where you enter his office and have a little make-out session in there. The team doesn't suspect anything since you know, you both are parental figures— and thank God for that. They probably think that the both of you were discussing case files or help Hotch about his paperwork during those times.

And now, you felt that mood in you again.

The two of you haven't done it on the jet yet so it might sound like new to you and him. You gently stood up to your seat and excused yourself, leaving the team and went to the other side of the jet where Hotch was. You closed the curtains that was dividing the plane.

"Mama and Papa bear are talking about paperworks again. Can't they have a life?" Morgan commented, seeing you going to Hotch and slid the curtains.

"Well, work is always on their minds." Prentiss replied.

As you entered the area where Hotch was, he was sitting down, his back facing you, paper works were all over the table. It wasn't just any paperwork nor file, it's paperwork regarding the team's behavior. You find it funny when he does that since you know how silly the team member gets.

"Hey, what's up?" you walked towards him, getting his attention as he looked at you and smiled.

"Just the behavior paperwork." Hotch answered before his eyes went back to the file and answered.

"The team can get reckless sometimes." You laughed at his statement. You sat on the chair in front of him, crossing your legs. You observed him deeply. He wasn't that stressed nor tensed but you can see how his long sleeved white shirt was getting tighter and his muscles are getting visible which is making you feel something.

That feeling increased when you looked at his face. He was focused, his eyes fall in every word he writes. Jesus— he looked so fucking hot.

"Are you doing my behavioral report?" you asked as he grabbed a new file and opened it. You saw your 2 by 2 I.D card that was clipped on the pages of the file.

"Yes. I've done the others."

"Tell me about them— their report."

He scoffed at your request. Hotch grabbed the previous files and read each report to you. "Garcia hacked 3 private servers. Morgan kicked another door during our cases even though the door was unlocked. Reid academically insulted the local P.D during our previous case. And Rossi insulted another police.." Every word he said, it wasn't coherent to you but that didn't matter.

All your attention was to him. His eyes. His face. His arms. His fingers. And his... you know where. You felt that feeling rise up again. You felt like you need his touch— which you really do. You feel like the seat was stained with how wet you were right now.

"Are you okay? Are you listening to me?" Aaron asked.

The vulgar thoughts suddenly disappeared in your mind. "Y-Yes, I'm okay. And I'm listening to you."

"You're sweating. Your breath is rigid. Something is up." he didn't buy your answer. You stood up from your seat, you pushed the table away to the aisle and sat on Aaron's lap. He was surprised but he saw it coming. Your wet lips finally met his. He returned the kiss deeply, allowing the both of you to taste each other.

It's been awhile since the both of you had sex. Cases were always here and there. You even never had the time to sleep due to how busy the team was with these harsh cases.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked. "We've never done it on a plane.. or miles above sea level.."

"Please, Aaron— I just really badly need you." you begged as you began to rock your heated core with his thighs, riding him.

The both of you were still fully clothed but Aaron can definitely feel how wet you were. You humped on his thigh, finding a friction on his pants; and when you did, you gripped his shoulders for support and moaned softly, your head resting on his neck.

"What if we get caught?" Aaron asked, holding your hips for support.

"They won't. Fuck— you feel so good." you moaned.

His fingers found your clothed breast. It was hard and can be seen through your thin grey shirt and he was drooling about it. Aaron began to toy with your hardened nipple, making you moan out loud. He immediately covered your mouth, muffling out your moans.

As your pace went faster, your orgasm did too. You felt a coil in your stomach and clenched on his pants.

"Come for me, honey. That's it— you're doing such a great job." he praised in your ear.

After a few more rocks, you finally came in your underwear. It didn't stain his pants but it was crumpled.

"Since you're gonna do my report... then I'll show you what a bad behavior is."

You jumped out from his thigh and kneeled. Your fingers started to unzip his pants and pulled it down. Hotch was definitely hard. Then, you removed his black boxers, allowing his hardened cock to sprung out. There was a small leak of precum on his tip. Your fingers started to toy with his tip, brushing it in a teasingly way. Aaron closed his eyes at the pleasure, his back arched slightly. Your palms begin to pump on his whole length slowly.

Aaron was desperate.

Desperate for your touch.

Desperate for your mouth.

Desperate for you to take him whole.

"(Y/n).." he moaned softly.

A smiled carved your lips as you heard him moan your name. It was your favorite music. Your favorite note. Your favorite melody. Your palms pumped his dick faster and faster. He whined and whimpered. His head moved back with his eyes completely shut. In a surprise, your mouth fully took his cock, the tip hitting at the back of your throat. You gagged at first but you got comfortable after a few seconds; you started to bob your head, your tongue licking on his dick inside. Aaron's cock hit your cheeks, the soft and warm feeling made him even more harder.

"God—so warm.. Just like that, yes.." Aaron took a fistful of your hair and guided your speed. He was big, thick, and veiny. You looked at him with innocent eyes but a lustful mouth. You gripped his thighs for support as you continued bobbing your head.Your pace quickened and you felt his cock twitch inside your mouth.

He's close.

"Are you going to swallow it all, honey?" You nodded in response as he thrusted his hips, fucking your mouth over and over again.

"Swallow it all, honey. You're doing such a great job."

After a few more thrust and bobbing, he finally came. White, warm, and creamy liquid spurted out on his dick inside your mouth. You licked his dick from top to bottom clean, making sure you get to taste and swallow every single cum he has.

You stood up and Aaron put his boxers back on and buckled his pants. The both of you were out of breath.

"I'll list that. Not on the file but on my journal." Aaron commented.

"You know, Aaron, we still have 30 minutes 'till landing. Maybe you can pay me back, huh?" you said, grabbing his tie seductively and whispered on his ear.

Little did the both of you know, all the team members were now awake.

And they heard every single noise that came out from the both of you.

#x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds reader insert #criminal minds smut #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner smut #thomas gibson #kinktober

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irmawrites · 10 months ago

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Sleeping with the enemy | One-Shot

Summary: your father, Gwayne Hightower, had always told you to beware of Davos Blackwood, son of one of your grandfather's most ardent haters. But when you meet him at a party years after graduating college, you can't help but think he's not so bad after all.

Rating: Explicit [18+], MDNI.

Pairing: modern!Davos Blackwood x Hightower!Reader (appearance isn’t specified, everyone is 18+ in this)

TW: smut with a tiny bit of plot, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), p in v sex, praising kink, unprotected sex, loss of virginity, dom/sub undertones, afab reader, not proofread.

Words count: 4393

Author’s note: Hi, everyone! This is my first time posting here, and I have to admit I'm a bit intimidated ahaha like a lot of people, I fell in love with Davos Blackwood's in episode three and ABSOLUTELY had to write this idea that's been on my mind for a while now.

I should probably mention that English is not my mother tongue, so please excuse my grammar mistakes!

Davos Blackwood had a bad reputation in your neighborhood, that much was true.

The rumors about him had started when you were still in college, something about red liquid smeared on the mirror in the boys' bathroom. A silly prank involving fake blood and strange theatrics to scare off a younger classmate that had perhaps gone too far. It was your own cousin Aemond who had found the fake crime scene just after the culprit had left, still licking his red-stained fingers. It caused quite a stir at the time, and he hadn't been seen on campus for at least two weeks. It may have been fake blood or just a tasteless joke, it was still inevitable that action would have to be taken.

It was Aeron Bracken in particular who had helped make these bizarre stories popular. He told anyone who would listen that Davos Blackwood was a deranged, violent madman. It was no secret that the two young men didn't get along. But no one expected things to get as bad as they did. There had been rumors in the hallways and whispers in the cafeteria, but that wasn't all. His car had been vandalized and marked with insults on several occasions. Even Gwayne Hightower, your father, had warned you.

A real witch hunt.

As far as you knew, however, the main target had remained unaffected by the situation, even toying with those who provoked him. In a way, he almost seemed to enjoy the wild, mysterious aura that all this fuss gave him.

You, for one, had never really believed it. After all, he didn't look like a bad guy, with his big, green eyes and permanently disheveled black hair. He seemed a little strange to you, a little off, but not enough to be considered a clear danger. But your opinion didn't matter much.

Nothing had ever destined the two of you to spend time together. His parents' company only did business with Rhaenyra's, refusing any ties and especially any agreements with the Hightowers. His father seemed to harbor a fierce hatred and boundless distrust of your family, apparently fearing that Otto's overweening ambition would lead him to overturn the order of succession established by Viserys himself and install his own grandson as sole ruler of the company.

And in your world, your parents had a bit more say in who you dated than they did for other people. You couldn't just go out with a guy because he seemed interesting, especially if he was the son of one of your grandfather's most ardent haters.

So you'd never spoken to each other in college, let alone at the lavish charity galas your family hosted.

Never, until that day.

"You like Iron Maiden?" a hoarse, unfamiliar voice said from behind you as you wrung the water out of your hair, "or is that your boyfriend's shirt?". The sun was high in the sky and you could feel the heat of its rays burning your exposed neck. The clear waters of the Targaryen family pool sparkled, and the garden echoed with the bursts of voices of those Aegon had invited to what should have been a casual gathering of the younger generation with ties to the Targaryen business.

You didn't think he'd invite Davos Blackwood, though.

"It's mine," you replied, giving the young man a mischievous smile, your fingers playing absentmindedly with the string that held the bottom of your swimsuit to your hip, "and yeah, it's one of my favorite bands actually." He seemed to take a moment to assess the situation, his eyes roaming up and down your body, an unreadable smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Never pegged you as a little rebel," he crossed his arms over his chest before continuing, "more of a model daughter." You knew he was toying with you, trying to tease you, but you were more than happy to play along.

Besides, you understood where the thought came from, you who were usually more used to short skirts and high heels than band shirts.

Mentally, you thanked Aegon for thinking of him. "Be careful, Blackwood," your voice sounded like a playful threat, "you might be surprised."

You were about to leave to return to the deck chairs, but it seemed that Davos wasn't quite finished with the conversation. "Wait," he ordered, taking your wrist between his broad fingers. Mechanically, you glanced around to make sure no one was watching. After all, the last thing you wanted was for someone to spy on your conversation with someone who still belonged to your grandfather's enemy side. "What is it?" it was your turn to cross your arms over your chest, your eyebrows furrowing as you waited for some kind of justification from him. It was clear he had something on his mind, but you just couldn't figure out what. "Do you want to come over to my place sometime?" he finally said, and you felt your breath catch somewhere between your throat and your lungs. "Why?" the question crossed your lips before you could even think about it.

You didn't know each other, had never spoken before, not to mention the fact that your families didn't approve of each other. You were tempted to agree, of course, because whether you liked it or not, you felt this kind of almost magnetic attraction pulling you together.

You'd have liked to think it was fate, but you knew it was just your love of danger and the forbidden.

His voice pulled you out of your thoughts again. "You seem like a pretty nice girl, and we obviously have the same taste in music," he replied, finally loosening his grip on your wrist, "we could watch a movie, get to know each other, something like that." The offer was tempting, the prospect of spending a little more time with him appealing, but even though you desperately wanted to say yes, you knew you couldn't. You had to be reasonable and listen to that little voice in your head that told you it all sounded like a terrible idea. But he seemed to sense your reluctance because he quickly added, "Don't worry, no one will know."

***

Davos’ room wasn't exactly what you'd call tidy. You noticed a half-full ashtray on the windowsill and a few empty cans on his desk. It was the opposite of your own bedroom, neatly decorated and perfectly organized. Your wardrobe drawers were a bit of an exception, but that didn't really matter.

Even so, you couldn't help but find it a little charming. The smell of his cologne in the air, the half-unraveled sheets, this was unmistakably him. It tasted risky and illicit, and it stirred something unfamiliar in the pit of your stomach. A reaction that no boy had ever managed to provoke in you.

"There's no denying it, vampires really are the best supernatural creatures," you muttered, sinking your teeth into the last slice of the half-cold pizza you'd ordered earlier. You were especially comfortable sitting cross-legged on his bed as the rain pounded against the windows and the end of the movie drew near on his computer screen. His parents were out of town for the week, on a business trip or something, providing you with an opportunity to finally meet away from prying eyes. He seemed quite comfortable too, with his leg pressed against yours and his hand wrapped around his soda cup, which he sipped absentmindedly. "I have to say, I never thought you'd be into movies like this," he told you after a few long seconds, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his lips, "given your looks, I thought you'd be more into romantic comedies or something." You held back an annoyed sigh.

"Like I said..." you finally replied, "you should beware of appearances."

They can be misleading sometimes, you kept to yourself.

It was true that you were usually a sweet, sensible girl, the ideal daughter who always smiled and never caused trouble. The pride and joy of your parents. But lately you had grown tired. Tired of following orders, of doing everything you were told without ever being able to listen to your heart. You were eager to get rid of this constant fear of disappointing your loved ones if you didn't live up to their expectations, and it seemed that life had given you the perfect opportunity to free yourself from all that.

"Is there something I should know?" the young man’s hand came to rest on the top of your thigh, his thumb delicately stroking the soft skin there, "some dark secret of yours, princess?". His almost mocking tone and the annoying nickname were enough to bring back that scorching heat in the pit of your stomach. The way he looked at you, at your breasts, made you think that he was affected by this sudden closeness, too. His gaze burned, almost as much as his fingers, which were now creeping dangerously up the hem of your shorts. And when you felt them graze the lace of your underwear in the hollow where your leg and hip met, you thought that maybe, just maybe, you'd bitten off more than you could chew.

But even though you were entering unfamiliar territory, something foreign to you, you refused to lose control and let him take what he wanted without saying a word. This wasn't your style. You always had a witty comeback ready to go. And you were going to show him.

Slowly, you moved forward a few inches on the bed to sit astride his very inviting lap, never taking your eyes off his lips. Your hands found his shoulders, and you could feel the hardness of his desire beneath your thighs. Gods, the sensation was divine. This was your doing. You and no one else’s. The sudden surge of power and dominance made your head spin. "Be very careful what you do now," his fingers settled on your hips to bring your chests a little closer together, his grip tight and bruising. "Or what?" you replied in an almost insolent, even provocative tone.

"Or we could end up doing something you might regret."

This was all a very bad idea, that much was true. Davos Blackwood was a very bad idea. But you didn't want to dwell on what the future might hold, let alone the potential consequences of your actions. All you knew was that you wanted more. More of his hands on your skin, more of his lips on yours, and more of him.

And it seemed that he, too, was eager to take it further.

His fingers made their way up from your waist to your chest, slipping under your tank top to brush his thumbs over the two little hardened buds. The ghost of a touch, really, but it was enough to make you moan. Your mouths were now just a few inches apart, your breaths mingling, but you didn't want to kiss him yet, choosing to prolong this delicious, exhilarating tension for a few minutes longer.

"Do you have any idea what you're doing to me?" he asked, his voice hoarse with desire. "Do you feel it?". He backed up his words with action, rolling his hips and planting a kiss right at the corner of your jaw. "You know what this is?" he added, rolling one of your nipples between his index finger and thumb, "what happens to a man when a woman behaves the way you do?". Of course I know, you wanted to say but the words stuck in your throat and only a moan managed to break through the barrier of your lips. You weren't stupid, you were perfectly aware of what happened in this kind of situation. But you'd never seen it, let alone touched it, and the theory was very different from the actual reality.

"Shut up," you replied at last, before planting a kiss on his lips. You didn't mean it, though. To be honest, you wished he would talk to you like that all night long, sending a wave of heat straight to your core with words alone. His tongue found yours, silencing your thoughts, and you wrapped your arms around his neck to keep from losing your footing. "Such a foul mouth," he said, smiling against your lips as he gave you time to breathe, "we'll see if you're still so talkative once I'm done with you."

The young man's hands found the bottom of your tank top and pulled it over your head, and soon it was your shorts that suffered the same fate, leaving you in nothing but your black lace panties. You suddenly felt exposed, lying there under that hungry gaze that regarded you like a precious gift, a prized possession. You waited eagerly for his next move.

Where was the bold young woman who had taken the lead just a few minutes earlier, the one so determined not to lose control? It seemed like she'd already vanished, replaced by some shy creature beneath his crude words and inappropriate touch.

"What are you going to do to me?" you tilted your head to the side to give him better access to the skin of your neck, which he was kissing with increasing fervor. "Nothing you won't like," he replied as he stood up to get rid of his t-shirt, which joined the pile of clothes at the foot of the bed. Your eyes couldn't help but wander over his toned torso dotted with dark hairs, your hands itching to touch him.

Soon enough, his lips found your jaw, then your neck, then the top of your chest, and you immediately shivered. The weight of his body lying on yours was delightful, comforting. "Please..." you whimpered as your hands settled on his shoulders, urging him to give you what you were so desperate for. You felt his fingers slide slowly against the skin of your belly, then lower, much lower, to play with the lace of your underwear, and your back arched almost reflexively. You wanted more, you needed more, and you were getting tired of waiting.

"Be patient, princess," he said, nibbling on the soft skin of your breast, his mouth soon wrapping around your hardened nipple. A grunt escaped you, and you weren't quite sure if it was from your frustration or the dominant tone he had just used. His hand slipped under the fabric of your panties to tease the top of your slit before brushing over your already soaked folds. It was annoying, really, the effect he was having on you with such a light touch. But it was heavenly, and you had decided to ignore the voice of reason for the night.

His index finger found the little pearl nestled at the apex of your center, and the contact felt like a delicious electric shock. You threw your head back, eyes closing, lips parting in a silent cry as he drew little circles around your most sensitive area. "Have you ever had anyone here?" he asked after a few seconds. When you didn't answer, he added: "I asked you a question, and I want you to answer me." There it was again, his commanding, almost controlling tone.

"N... no," you stammered as you opened your eyes again to meet his, "nobody." You suddenly felt like prey under his hungry gaze that devoured your trembling body. "Perfect," you heard, just before his fingers found your entrance, which was already clenching around nothing, "and here?".

The idea of being the first to enter you seemed to obsess him.

You nodded, this time from left to right, signifying that no, you had saved your virginity for the right man, the one who would know how to make you tremble under his ministrations, the one who would know how to make you beg for more, always more.

"Perfect," he repeated again, as the first knuckle of his index finger sank agonizingly slowly into you, teasing your inner walls. It was barely there, nothing really, and yet you already felt incredibly full. "You're so tight," he growled against the skin of your throat, "so warm too, you're going to feel amazing around me." He added a second knuckle and soon his finger was completely buried inside you. It felt good, and it felt right, but it didn't feel like enough. You wiggled your hips and it seemed as if Davos had understood your silent request immediately. "I need you to take another," he straightened on his left elbow to look at you with lust-blown pupils, "do you think you can do that for me?". Once again, you nodded your head in agreement, but this time it didn't seem to be enough for him. "Use your words, princess." You fought the urge to roll your eyes. "I... I can take more," you murmured right against his lips as you looked down between your thighs.

"Good girl," he said, his voice low and rough as you felt his middle finger pressing into you. He curled them both, brushing that spongy spot against your inner wall, and you threw your head back.

You dug your nails into his pale skin to stay anchored in the present as his thumb found your clit. But you knew you wouldn't last long. You could already feel tingles of pleasure buzzing through your body, and in the pit of your belly, the fires of delight burned a little more fiercely. You wanted to warn him, to tell him you were close, but he was quicker than you: "Come for me."

He didn't need to tell you a second time.

Soon, the wave of your orgasm washed over you.

It made your whole body shake with spasms, your climax exploding like fireworks behind your eyelids. Your lips crashed against his neck to stifle your final moan as your back arched under the intense sensation. The young man was merciful enough to give you a few seconds to recover before withdrawing his fingers, leaving you empty and frustrated. "Look at the mess you made," you heard him groan, "clean it up." His index and middle fingers brushed across your lips, which parted eagerly to welcome them into your warm mouth.

You timidly wrapped your tongue around them under his predatory gaze. The mere thought that you could taste yourself on your taste buds set your body on fire once again. It was indecent, inappropriate, and you probably should have been ashamed to be used like this, but you couldn't care less.

Maybe it was his fault, or maybe you'd just found each other despite everything that kept you apart.

His fingers left your mouth to wrap around your neck. But as he lay back on the mattress and guided you towards his lips, you resisted. Once again, you straddled his hips, only this time completely naked. He looked at you for a few seconds, a little confused, until you reached under the elastic of his underwear to slide it down his legs. This seemed to make him realize the extent of your intentions. His hard member jumped free and caught your eye. Standing proud with a mass of dark curls adorning its base, the sight alone made you salivate. "Let me thank you," you said, as your fingers gently traced its length. "I want to make you feel good too." You slowly moved between his legs to kiss his inner thighs.

You reached out tentatively and wrapped your fingers around his manhood. It felt heavy in your hand, massive and your index finger couldn't quite touch your thumb because it was so wide. You brought your lips to his crotch and, watching Davos from beneath your long lashes, planted a quick kiss on the head where it was already weeping for you. Your tongue traced a vein on the underside without ever breaking eye contact. He threw his head back, his lips parted to let out a muffled curse.

The rush of power you felt when you saw him so vulnerable under your touch was sinfully delicious.

You tilted your head to the side to plant a series of kisses all along his hardened manhood, your big innocent eyes still locked with his. There was a pause, a few tense seconds, before finally, finally, you moved your head forward to take him fully into your mouth. His big hand found refuge at the back of your skull, and you let him guide you completely.

The grip on your hair tightened, almost to the point of pain. "Breathe, through your nose," the young man ordered, but his voice was more urgent than before, his breathing becoming ragged from the growing pleasure. "You can do better than that." The fingers buried in your locks soon forced you to swallow him whole, your nose pressed against his pelvis, the unruly hair tickling your face. You could feel yourself drooling around him, the action messy. "Such a filthy girl," he said as his thumb came to caress the corner of your mouth, right where his member disappeared between your lips, "sucking my cock like a real whore." You let out an audible moan around his length in response to the foulness of his words.

But instead of disgusting you, it only served to encourage you.

You hollowed out your cheeks, still following the rhythm of his hand, which had resumed its place at the back of your head. He was big, and he filled your mouth in a way you hadn't experienced before, but you wanted to prove to him that you could satisfy him, that you could make him proud. Tears formed at the corners of your eyes, which he hastily wiped away with the tip of his free thumb. "Shh... you're doing so well," he praised you in a reassuring tone. You knew he was close to reaching his climax. His breathing had become labored, his movements erratic, and it was evident that you were causing him to lose his balance. But it seemed he didn't want to end it that quickly.

"Wait, not yet," he straightened into a sitting position, placing his hand on your cheek to force you back a few inches, "I'd hate to waste it." The implication made your cheeks flush, but you couldn't help but look forward to what would come next.

His hands came to rest on your waist, encouraging you to sit on his hips again, this time making his still impossibly hard manhood brush against your soaked cunt. The contact alone was enough to elicit a moan from you. His own fingers wrapped around his member as he guided it towards your narrow entrance.

And after what felt like an eternity, he finally thrust into you.

He stretched you to perfection, the foreign sensation a mixture of delicious pain and aching pleasure. "Fuck princess, you're tight," your head found refuge in the hollow of his neck, but you could hear that annoying smirk in his voice, "I'm going to ruin you." And oh how you couldn't wait for him to make good on his threats. "Move," you pleaded against the skin of his throat as you hesitantly moved your hips up and down to get that delicious friction you craved. He seemed hell-bent on teaching you self-restraint, even though you desperately wanted to see him lose control. He grabbed your waist in a firm grip, keeping you pressed against his hips and making you whine. "Did I say you could move?" he asked, kissing the side of your jaw. Once again that night, you'd annoyed him by not answering, and he repeated, "did I say you could move?".

It seems he was also trying to make you learn obedience, in addition to patience.

You didn't even have a chance to react before the young man used his grip on your waist to pull back almost completely, revealing his member glistening with your sticky juices before thrusting himself into you once more. His head was rubbing against that most delicious spot inside you, making your legs tremble with pure bliss. "Please, I..." You didn't even know what you were asking for as he moved back and forth continuously. You thought he'd ask you to speak again, but he was too caught up in pleasure and close to his release to be bothered by your pleas.

But even if he'd lost his rhythm, it was clear he was still determined to satisfy you. His thumb was back on your little pearl, tracing small circles around it, while inside you his length relentlessly pounded against your inner wall. You could feel yourself clenching around him, and the heat between your thighs was back with a fiercer intensity than ever. “I’m going to fill you up,” his teeth nibbled at the soft skin of your neck, marking it possessively, “I’m going to fill you up and you’re going to take everything I’m going to give you, feel me for days.” The moans that came out of your mouth were now completely incoherent, a confused jumble of yes and please.

Your climax hit hard and fast—stronger than the one Davos had offered you earlier that night. You dug your nails into his shoulders, leaving red half-moons as evidence of your forbidden actions. Your back arched off the mattress, pressing his body against yours as reality slipped through your fingers and a myriad of stars danced behind your eyelids. He followed you just a few seconds later, pouring into you with white ropes.

He stayed inside you for a few more moments, his length softening. But neither of you felt like moving, not when you were so comfortable, lying against each other, your limbs tangled. He placed a tender kiss on your forehead that made your heart clench. You still refused to think about the future and the problems that might arise from such a strong connection between the two of you. All that mattered for the moment was his skin against yours and your fingers in his hair.

"We should do that again," you murmured as you kissed his cheeks, his chin, his nose, "someday."

He smiled.

"We will," he said with confidence, "I'll make sure of that, princess."

The nickname made your stomach flutter with excitement.

#davos blackwood #davos blackwood x reader #benjicot blackwood #benjicot blackwood x reader #hotd x reader #davos blackwood x you #benjicot blackwood x you #davos blackwood fanfic #benjicot blackwood fanfic #hotd fanfic

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kasagia · 1 year ago

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Right Hand V

Pairing: Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!exBeneGesserit! reader Summary: The Bene Gesserit has something... very interesting to show you—something that only makes you question your situation more. During this time, Feyd is also put to a great test. But how much can your relationship endure before you both come to the conclusion that maybe you're not meant to be together? Warning: 18+; violence; blood; Feyd Rautha; death; fight; brutality; smut; Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Main Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ PART IV ~•♤♤♤•~ PART VI ~•♤♤♤•~

Dreams have a strange power. You can see your future and past in them. You can drift between dreamland and the real world and be semi-aware of your surroundings. You can create a new reality that is more tempting than your real life. Dreams can be either your sweet escape from reality or your dark oppressor.

For you, dreams were reminders of what had been, ghosts of the past, catching you in your most vulnerable state. But this time, you weren't dreaming about your past.

You were in Giedi Prime. You walked through familiar corridors, hiding from the Harkonnens' eyes. It was rare to meet anyone in these corridors. Most of them were dead ends with secret passages that were unknown to most of the inhabitants of Giedi Prime. That's why you were terribly surprised when suddenly someone pulled you by your cloak.

You freeze, startled, and turn slowly to face the small child. The kid looks like Harkonnen's child, but not quite. His skin is creamier than white, and white hair grows on his head in unruly curls. But what you recognised perfectly were the blue, bright irises that only one person could boast on Gieidi Prime.

"Mommy!" A boy around 5 years old runs up to you and hugs your legs as you look at him in shock and confusion. “Dad said he would take us on a trip! To Lankiveil! We will swim in a real lake! Can you imagine that?!” – he asks excitedly and holds out his hands to you. You automatically scoop him up into your arms and place him on your hip, trying to figure out what the hell is happening.

Someone's quick footsteps echo in the corridor. You look past the child and see one of the harpies approaching you. She breathed a sigh of relief and bowed to you when she saw the boy in your arms.

"You can't run away like that, my lord Na-Baron. The baron told us to look after you."

"I didn't run away. I quickly left to find my mom. Dad wanted to speak with her. Besides, it's not my fault that you're so slow." Both you and the woman next to you do everything in your power not to burst out laughing. You smile, burying your face in your "son's" hair. He was so damn similar to his father and you.

The boy jumps out of your arms and grabs your hand. He runs with you through familiar corridors and hidden passages, not caring if you can keep up with him.

This way, you are in the war room in just a few seconds. Feyd stands with his back to you, analysing something on the hologram of the planets in front of him. He doesn't even flinch when the secret passage closes behind you with a bang.

"Dad, I brought mom." Your boy announces proudly, leading you to Feyd. The man turns and runs his hand through your son's hair. The little one smiles, showing a series of night-black teeth... with small cavities. He looked so damn cute. Like a little version of his father...

"Good job, Feydor. At least you are able to find your mother in her shadows. Go, torment your uncle. I've heard that you promised Rabban a great fight after our lessons." Feyd says teasingly, wrapping his arm around your waist. You roll your eyes at his comment about shadows, but you can't help but watch his interactions with your son in fascination.

Feyd was rarely around children; on Giedi Prime, they were quite... not shown much. They were a temporary inconvenience rather than a source of pride, and the noblest and most important of the inhabitants rarely cared for their own descendants. The nannies and servants usually took care of them. That's why you observed with admiration how soft and tender he was towards the boy, who was a living mix of both of you.

"I did! I can't wait to use the voice on him. I love you, dad. I love you, mom." He hugs you and practically runs to the training room, looking forward to training with his uncle.

"Just don't humiliate your uncle too much! And remember to turn on your shield!" Feyd shouts after him, and you feel like crying at the worried and caring look on his face. You've never seen him like this. Well, not when the two of you were in no danger. "In moments like these, I feel sorry for Rabban. He has to face a deadly mix of both of us. Devious beast, just like us. It doesn't matter that Rabban is not using all his strength against him; he would have defeated him anyway with his tactical mind and the tricks he learned from you. I need to start training with him so that he doesn't become too arrogant and self-confident after his numerous victories over Rabban. He must always be alert and ready for his opponent."

Honestly, you're not listening carefully to what he's saying. You are shocked by this new reality in which you find yourself. It was too surreal for you. But you couldn't stop your heart from fluttering as he spoke about his son with such tenderness and pride. Your son.

"What's wrong? You look pale. Are you two alright? You had unusual cravings again, and now you regret what you ate?" The concern in his eyes confuses you even more. He places his hand tenderly on your stomach and watches you carefully, searching for any sign of discomfort as you wonder what the hell happened to make him... like this. It must have been your imagination. This couldn't be any vision of your future, because even in your wildest dreams, you had never imagined it to be so... beautiful. "Y/N? Talk to me, my baroness. Should I call a healer?"

"I'm fine." You reply with a smile, shaking your head and placing your hand on his—the one that was still tenderly caressing your small pregnancy belly.

"You sure?" Your lips hurt from smiling as you try your hardest not to cry in front of him with emotion. So you grab him by the neck and pull him in for a kiss.

He caresses your lips so gently and tangles his hand so carefully in your hair that you feel like you're about to cry from the way this rare, soft side of him makes you feel that he so bravely shows you.

"Yes... we... we are perfect." You whisper, resting your forehead against his, not at all referring to yourself and the child. You close your eyes, letting yourself breathe in his scent as he draws patterns with his finger on your stomach, keeping his arm possessively around you.

You wrap your arms around him tightly and bury your face in his neck, holding him as close as you can. He laughs softly and presses a kiss on your temple.

"There you are... I almost forgot how sweetly clingy you are while carrying my heir under your heart. We should've tried for a sister for our Kwisatz Haderach a long time ago." He murmurs against your skin and lazily plays with your hair, massaging your head. "Are you sure you are feeling good? You have been very quiet. Usually, you would throw all sorts of insults and banter at me. It's not too late for you to swallow your pride and admit that you want to give birth on Arrakis or anywhere other than on this polluted planet. Damn what those old hags think of you; it won't make you any less of a Harkonnen."

Your heart swells with every word he says. It takes a lot of strength on your part not to cry in his arms and to keep your voice from shaking as you try to form a coherent sentence.

"I... just promise me you will never let me go." You ask him, not daring to even look at him because you're afraid you'll cry the moment his eyes meet yours.

"You stuck with us, my baroness. Nothing can separate us." He promises it to you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head and tightening his hold on you. You felt safe. Warm. Loved.

"Good." You mumble, snuggling into him even more. You act as if this is really happening, like this is really supposed to be your life and future.

You have come to the conclusion that it is impossible and unrealistic for Feyd to change like this. The Harkonnens were not soft; they did not lead a tender family life and cared for their wives if they did take one. But in the end, it's your dream. So you sink into his arms, enjoying the sweet words he whispers in your ear and the way he strokes your hair.

Feyd had never been in such a hurry to get to his chambers. His heart was beating fast, and adrenaline was pumping through his veins as he thought about what had happened in those few hours. The baron is missing. He was kidnapped or killed by the Fremen. Feyd was to take his place until they found his uncle's body or the council officially declared him dead.

And Feyd had his suspicions about who could have contributed to the sudden disappearance of his beloved uncle. You couldn't have given him a better birthday present. In fact, you could, and he was practically running back to his chambers to pick it up.

He enters the chambers and immediately senses that it is too quiet there. He tries to dispel any suspicions and enters his bedroom, only to find the bed empty.

“Y/N?” He calls out, knocking on the table a few times to make his presence known. He peeks into the bathroom, slightly hoping that maybe you're waiting for him in the hot bath to tease him even more, but you weren't there either.

He frowns. He wonders if this isn't one of your games. Isn't that what you wanted—to play cat and mouse with him, to give him an exciting chase before he wins and can finally ravage you—but he quickly dismisses that (charming) idea. You were as desperate as he was. You wouldn't leave this room unless it was urgent. At least he hoped so.

He clenches his fists as he steps out into the main room of his chambers. The idea crosses his mind that maybe this time you actually ran away from him. He wouldn't be surprised. Maybe you finally snapped; maybe he scared you too much; maybe he went a step too far today by injecting you with truth serum and torturing your former lover/friend.

After all, you didn't say you loved him. You also didn't say that you despised him or that you wanted him to leave you. You could have escaped from him when the perfect opportunity presented itself…

"My lord, Na-Baron?" The frightened tone of one of the guards' voices brings Feyd out of his thoughts. He realises that he has gone out into the hall and is standing in the doorway, staring blankly at his two men. He clears his throat and turns his cold, calculating gaze on one of them.

"Have you seen my right hand?" They both shake their heads, not daring to look at him.

"No one left or entered these chambers except you, my na-baron." His madness grows as he unintentionally compares them to you. You always had the courage to face his anger and look at him, proudly bearing his burning gaze.

If you really run away from him... he will unleash hundreds of hounds, bring you back to him at all costs, and make sure you never leave his side again. He won't give a fuck if that's what you want. He gave you countless opportunities to leave him and end things between you two in a civilised way without brutality or bloodshed, but you didn't want it. The only thing stopping you two from being together were your stupid prejudices and fear. He planned to get rid of them completely once he got his hands on you again.

"Bring her to me." He growls at them, turning to go back to his chambers.

"But my lord..." Before the soldier can finish his sentence, Feyd reaches for his blade and cuts his throat with one skillful move. It eases the tension in his muscles a little, but the moment the man falls dead to the floor in front of him, his mood sours again. Because he remembers how, in moments like these, you often gave him a disapproving look and cleaned up the mess he made.

He growls at the other soldier, who is shaking with fear, to clean up and closes the door behind him with a loud bang. He had to find you. You got too deep under his skin for him to just forget about you. First, he had to determine whether you disappeared alone or whether someone had helped you. And God save him who dared to steal his baroness from under his nose.

He carefully examines his chambers, slowly exploring every corner. He frowns when he sees a familiar, polished dagger in his weapon collection. He picks it up and looks at it carefully. It was your blade. The one you had attached to your thigh. You had never left it—not since you got it from him for your birthday.

"Na-baron. You wanted to see me." You say, walking onto the balcony of his chambers. Feyd doesn't turn towards you. He stares at Giedi Prime spread out below him, the city completely shrouded in darkness. Only the few white stars that managed to penetrate the polluted atmosphere illuminated the planet with a pale glow. You quickly catch the hint and stand next to him, also looking at the buildings.

"I hate it here." He confesses to you without knowing why. "My home planet had seas, lakes, wild landscapes, and tundra that no one dared to tame. And here everything is so..."

"Controlled. Polluted. Defiled. Exploited. No room for anything... wild or natural." You finish for him. He nods, agreeing with your words.

It's been two years since you served him. And he had to admit that he didn't have such a good man on whom he could always count. You were extraordinary. Loyal, faithful, brave, honourable, and cunning. Feyd wanted to liberate you. Not many could live up to his expectations, but you seemed to know exactly what he wanted and needed after just one look. It aroused in him... strange feelings. Disturbing. But he didn't think about it when he was around you.

He preferred to admire your… difference. The hair that flowed slightly in the wind, the way your eyebrows knitted together in anger when someone questioned your position as his right-hand man, the way you walked, the way you could disappear into the shadows, the cunning and strength of your mind. You were an extraordinary woman. He started to appreciate you for the time you spent planning together. Nightly conversations about the nobility of Giedi Prime, your battle plans, and court intrigues became… something other than work for him. He was starting to like being close to you.

And at night, when he was with his concubines... he found himself imagining you in their place. And how much he wanted you... so much so lately that every little thing you did was the hottest, erotic act for him, even the way you moaned in appreciation when you ate good food. He was fucked up. Like a teenager in love.

But he didn't love you. He could not. His uncle had told him many times that the Harkonnens knew no love or affection. He just had to wait until this desire passed or find another right hand and make you his concubine, which was a much more difficult task. There were many pussies and holes he could have used, but you were the only one who seemed to have a mind even remotely like his. He couldn't afford to lose such a good strategist and soldier.

"Do you need anything, Na-Baron?" Your gentle question brings him out of his thoughts. He nods and goes to his chambers. He returns quickly with a black box in his hands. He hands it to you, carefully watching your reaction.

"Happy birthday, little witch." He says, not hiding a small smirk when he sees your shock. He managed to surprise you so rarely that he treated every such moment with reverence, as if it were the most important moment of his life. Pathetic. What power you had over him…

"How did you..."

"I have my ways too. Open it." He interrupts you, excited by your reaction to his gift. He puts his hands behind his back, feeling his fingers tremble slightly as they begin to sweat. He ignores it, completely focused on you as you gently untie the white bow and open the box. You hold your breath, staring at the dagger in awe. "Steel from my home planet. Don't stab yourself with it by accident. When it pierces someone's body, a piece of the blade dissolves under the heat of the attacker's blood. A small dose of this metal in the human body causes, in the worst case, a moribund state and death. We call it the shadow killer because death occurs hours after the attack unless an antidote is administered."

"I... I don't know what to say." You whisper, taking out the blade and running your fingertips over it. He looks at you with pride. He made it all by himself. For you. A detail he would take with him to his grave rather than admit to anyone.

"You can thank me. Didn't the Bene Gesserit teach you this?" He asks teasingly, making you roll your eyes at him. However, you give him such a beautiful smile that his black, rotten heart beats faster, letting him know about you for the first time in years.

"Thank you, Feyd." He melts when you say his name. You used it so infrequently that he had every little moment seared into his memory when you let your professionalism slip through and did it. And he loved the way his name sounded on your lips. He couldn't help but imagine what it would sound like when you shouted it, under much more pleasant circumstances.

"You know, we Harkonnens kiss each other on the lips as an expression of gratitude." He says this as your eyes move back to the dagger. He sees you freeze at the memory of it. You blush slightly, but enough for Feyd to notice the slight change. And he absolutely loves seeing you blushing and confused.

"I'm not a Harkonnen." You respond with a cheeky smile, and he shakes his head in amusement.

"But you are on our planet. I guess you should follow our rules and customs, right? Besides, in a few years, you'll be considered one of us."

"If I survive."

"I think you have a good chance." He smiles at your banter. The pride in his chest grows even more when, instead of looking at his black teeth in horror, you giggle, unfazed. You were so different…

However, he freezes when you take a step towards him. You cup his cheeks in your hands and pull him in for a kiss. He almost moans into your mouth like a total slut. It takes all of his willpower not to kiss you back, not to pull you closer, and not to actually taste your lips. But he can't. He won't show that he is that weak for you. So he keeps this fake kiss very professional. He is digging his nails into his palms until they bleed, as he is too afraid that he will accidentally reach for your body and pull you closer to him.

You pull away from him as suddenly as you place your lips on him. And he's both shocked and angry that your lips left his so quickly. His eyes wander to your lips as you lick them. Feyd curses himself for how badly he wants that pink tongue of yours to wrap around his own... or the hardening manhood in his pants.

"Thank you, Na-Baron Feyd Rautha." You whisper and head towards the exit, leaving him there, completely horny and wanting more of you—your touch, your kisses, your lips, your taste, your everything. He feels himself blushing at the thought of what he wants to do to you.

"Your welcome, my little witch." He mumbles as you disappear back into your shadows. He puts his bloody fingertips on his lips, tasting his blood. He closes his eyes, imagining how sweet you must taste...

Yeah... Feyd couldn't love you. A lie he had told himself since that night every time he felt his heart pound in his chest whenever he saw you.

"Brother… I mean... my Baron…" Rabban's voice reaches him vaguely as he continues to recall that day. Now he knew the taste of your lips... and your more intimate parts. And damn him if he doesn't put his fingers and tongue on you again.

"What?" He growls at him furiously, unsheathing his dagger and attaching yours to his body. The blade of the dagger was a bit uneven. And soft in his hands. It must have been used recently. And from the dried blood on the handle, he guessed that someone had clumsily tried to clean it. Someone took you from him.

He returns to the bedroom and grabs your shawl from the floor. He puts it to his nose and inhales your scent. He calms down a little—not enough for his fury to disappear, but enough to start thinking logically.

He was going to turn Arrakis into a living hell.

"The council has met. All high families. They are waiting for you."

Feyd would ignore it and go straight to find you, but your disgruntled face appears before his eyes. He would know that you would advise him to go to the council and present himself as best as possible—show his strength. He sighed, wrapping your shawl around his wrist as he made a decision.

"I see. Let's go." He announces this as he leaves the room and doesn't wait for Rabban to follow him. His brother runs after him, cursing under his breath as he tries to keep up with his fast pace. Feyd had a plan in his head and a clear goal. He'll have you in his arms at the end of the day, or he'll burn this damn planet down looking for you.

"And your witch?" Feyd suddenly stops. He turns his head slowly and looks at his brother, narrowing his eyes at him.

He shakes his head, knowing full well that you would castrate his brother before allowing him and his men to take you away. Rabban was too stupid for that and too afraid of him. If Feyd had to bet on who did it, he would choose the Bene Gesserit or Atreides with his Fremen.

"She won't be there. Order our men to close the airspace and monitor movements in the desert. Tell them to keep an eye on the Reverend Mothers and the Bene Gesserit. If they object to or question my decision, order to tell them that the baron is only trying to keep them safe. They are to report their every move to me. Once you've done that, join the meeting."

"Me?" He asks in shock, following obediently after him.

"You are my brother. We have to show that we are strong and that there are no divisions between us. Especially after my uncle is dead. They may think we are weak targets and want to get rid of us, just like we did with the Atreides. We must assert our dominance."

Rabban nods, looking at him warily. Feyd doesn't care what he looks like. They took you away from him. He'll do anything to get you back. It doesn't matter if he makes you seem mad or a worse psychopath than he already is.

Why does he need a reputation as a bloodthirsty beast if someone dared to get their hands on what's his anyway? People sentenced themselves to death and then dared to say that he was unpredictable. Pathetic idiots. He hoped you were giving them hell. His heart ached uncomfortably at the thought of someone hurting you while he had to deal with the nobility.

"Let's be honest. Baron Vladimir is dead. Paul Atreides is still at large, probably planning our murder, and the Fremen are rampaging in the desert, worshipping the false prophet. What are you going to do about it, Baron Feyd Rautha?" Feyd clenched his fists under the table. He slowly stopped being surprised that his uncle had become such a man.

After talking to the emperor for a moment, he felt like cutting out his tongue and gouging out the eyes of other high families staring at him. As if his role was to play their hero...

"We have already taken the first measures. It only takes a few bombs to extinguish the spirit of these desert rats. As for Paul Atreides... my people are looking for him. And my right hand went missing the night my uncle died. We suspect this is a related case. I'm going to head out into the desert and join the search. Of course, leaving members of high families in the care of my brother and some of our people. No one will leave Arrakis until the traitors are killed."

His calm, unruffled demeanour, and silent threat caused a slight stir in the room. Feyd suppressed a smirk. He loved controlling the crowd this way. However, he knew that impressing the emperor would be more difficult. Words were not enough to prove that the Harkonnens were a force they should be afraid of. And so far, his brother and uncle have only brought humiliation to their family. He had to fix it. Only with you by his side. That's why he had to leave this pointless meeting as soon as possible and start taking some action. His weapon craved blood.

"It wouldn't be the first time a concubine had gone missing." Princess Irulan comments. Feyd shifts his gaze to her, analysing her carefully. She was paler than usual, her posture more indifferent, as if she were trying hard to hide her true emotions behind her mask. Feyd made a note to look at her more closely.

"Probably not, Princess Irulan. However, in light of recent events—the Atreides attack, the death of my dear uncle, and the increased activity of the Fremen—I am certain that this is not a mere disappearance. This is a deliberate action. Attack on noble houses. Attack on the Harkonnens. And maybe I wouldn't be so concerned about my right hand being missing if it weren't for the baby." After his words, silence fell in the room. Feyd delights in the shocked look from the princess and the nobles in the room.

"The baby?"

"My heir she carries." Feyd nods, repeating his words to the emperor.

Feyd could barely contain his smirk, knowing full well how much you would like to see the faces of representatives of great houses now. To say they were shocked was an understatement. But what else was he supposed to say? That he goes looking for you with a thousand of his troops because he loves you and simply can't lose you? Only the thought of losing his heir was... a good reason to search all of Arrakis and close the airspace—any possibility of leaving the planet.

Because who would stop Harkonnen from desperately searching for the woman who carries his heir? Even a fool wouldn't dare. And if the Bene Gesserit were behind your kidnapping, they wouldn't dare do anything to you either after hearing that... surprising information. After all, they needed his offspring for their plans. Why would they destroy one? Feyd just hoped to get to you first before anyone discovered that you weren't pregnant at all.

"You horny dog! Why didn't you say anything?" Rabban pats him on the back, laughing hoarsely. It breaks the awkward silence in the room. But still, everyone's eyes are on him.

"We preferred to wait with any celebration until we were sure that the baby was growing healthily. After all, this could be our Kwisatz Hederach. Of course, now the safe return of my fiancée with our child is much more important. Therefore, I hope that the Emperor will consent to whatever… measures I intend to take in this matter. Whoever dared to raise a hand against the Harkonnens will pay the weight of their crimes in blood." Feyd continues his lies, knowing full well that you will kick his ass when you find out he called you his fiancée in front of great houses.

"But… I talked to the Baron…"

"My uncle... has not been in good health for a long time. May he rest in peace. Whatever arrangement he made with you, the emperor, during my reign it must be discussed again. Unfortunately, he will not rise from the grave and give us all the details."

"Of course… Baron Feyd-Rautha." The Emperor nods at him. Feyd takes the opportunity and decides to leave the room while he can. He nods to his brother, who turns out to be intelligent enough to understand the message and stands up as well.

"Excellent. If you don't mind, we'll leave now."

He doesn't wait for an answer. He just goes out, with Rabban close behind him. He orders him to prepare the army for the march and place spies around the fortress. They split up halfway to Feyd's rooms. He goes to prepare for his departure, hoping that Rabban will cope with the tasks he has entrusted to him. He missed you. He knew he wouldn't have to worry about anything if you were by his side.

He sighs as he enters his chambers. He stops in his tracks, seeing Princess Irulan next to his collection of weapons. He closes the door behind him with a bang, announcing his presence. The woman trembles and turns towards him.

"Baron."

"Princess." He responds coldly, looking at her carefully. He didn't say anything more. He wanted her to explain her sudden presence in his chambers. He notices, however, that his new title sounds nasty coming from her mouth, no matter how seductively she tries to say it. He imagines you whispering it in his ear as you ride him on his new throne on Giedi Prime...

"I thought you were leaving." He returns to the present moment, making sure he remembers to fulfil this fantasy once you both get back from this damn planet.

"I needed to change first." He replies and clears his throat, suggesting that she should leave. Unfortunately, she either doesn't want to or doesn't understand his hint and stays where she is, watching him carefully.

He feels like he's playing chess. One wrong move, and he loses a pawn. He hated this game until you started playing with him in the evenings, when you exchanged gossip from the court and your own comments. He doesn't remember how many times you fell asleep and he carried you to his bed. His harpies hated these evenings, and he too hated them at the beginning. Over time, he was just waiting for that moment when he was able to watch you snuggle into his pillow, sleeping peacefully.

"I… that's good. I was hoping to talk to you before you left."

"Talk then." He says this and starts taking off his clothes. He notices her blush and the way she looks away. But there's nothing sweet or funny about this gesture, unlike the way you do it. He changes into his usual tactical battle armour as fast as he can, still thinking about the way you used to even shout at him when he was going fully naked around you.

"I was shocked by this news. About the baby. And your fiancée."

"Why?"

"Well, you know very well, my lord, that the Bene Gesserit has planned to unite our families. This shouldn't have happened." He furrows his hairless eyebrows, feeling the anger start to boil within him again. How dare she tell him what he should do? Who should get pregnant, and who should not? He didn't care what the Bene Gesserit wanted. Feyd wanted you, and you probably wanted him. That was all that mattered.

"Would you rather be at my fiancée's place? Would you rather carry my baby instead of her?" He asks dangerously, approaching her slowly. Before she can react, he lunges forward and almost crushes her neck in his grip when he prevents her from using the voice. "You are trembling with fear, princess. It is pathetic that the Bene Gesserit even thought we could connect in any way. Even if we got married, I wouldn't lay a finger on you. At best, I would kill you right after I consolidated my power as emperor. Now that we both know where we stand... Tell me, where is my little witch?"

"The Reverend Mother sent her to Paul Atreides' hideout." She answers him obediently. Feyd smirks sadistically and maliciously as her eyes widen in shock when she realises he has used the voice on her. "How?" She managed to ask before Feyd tightened his grip on her throat again, giving her a bored look.

"With one of your witches by my side, do you think I won't do anything to learn your tricks? I'm not an idiot to let an opportunity like this pass me by. You think that I didn't also see you wince with every move at the meeting? This must have happened right after my fiancée stabbed you when you kidnapped her, right? The poison took effect, didn't it? Are you feeling weak? Do you feel how you slowly lose your vitality with each breath? It will get even worse. Maybe my fiancée will have the mercy to give you the antidote, but I have no intention of doing so. Now listen to me carefully. You won't say or write even a word to inform anyone about what happened. You will lock yourself in your room and endure the effects of the poison without complaining to anyone that something is wrong with you. Get out of my sight before I finish my beloved's work."

He throws her away like a rag doll, feeling defiled just by touching her neck. The only reason he kept her alive was because she was the emperor's daughter, and he couldn't afford to get rid of her YET. She runs away from him as soon as his grip on her neck is gone.

He smiles mockingly and leaves his chambers as well. Now that he knew you would be in the desert, he was going to dig up those damn sand folds and kill all the Fremen and Bene Gesserit who had a hand in your kidnapping.

And once you are by his side again, he will give you the heads of the princess, Corrino's Reverend Mother, and Atreides on a golden platter—an engagement present worthy of a real baroness. Well, he'll have to convince you to marry him first. He sighs, realising how much work is still ahead of him.

You wake up feeling numb. Entirely. There's a gag in your mouth, your hands are tied behind your back, and your ankles are cuffed together, completely preventing you from moving.

You look around your surroundings, realising that you are in one of the Fremen hideouts. A small room carved into the sandy rock resembles a prison cell. You gasp as you try to get off the floor. With a groan, you lean against the cold wall behind you as you somehow manage to sit up. You wonder how the hell you ended up here. And how can you escape when you are completely incapacitated?

Suddenly, the door to the room opens, and Corrino's Reverend Mother enters. You look at the woman with a calculating gaze, showing no emotion other than disgust.

"Y/N Y/L/N. We thought you were dead."

You roll your eyes at her. The old hag knew perfectly well that you had a gag. The fact that she expected any response from you was ridiculous.

"You betrayed your sisters. We should have killed you the moment you were recognised by one of us. You're lucky we're still keeping you alive."

You would snort if you didn't have a gag in your mouth. The Bene Gesserit knew no mercy; if they kept you alive, it was because they still needed you in their plans. After all, you were the strongest of them, which might not be visible now, but it was the truth. They didn't train you all your life and shape you into their ideal form of some sick Holly Mother, just to throw you away now.

You are tensing as the old woman walks up to you and painfully grabs your jaw. You glare at her furiously with your own, not showing an ounce of fear or remorse. What you wouldn't give to have at least a butter knife with you…

"Do you think you are smart, child? That you managed to escape fate? Not at all. Our visions may have been blurry, but now we see everything. Paul Atreides sees everything. After his plan succeeds, he becomes emperor, and you will become his concubine and the mother of the Kwisatz Hederach. Until then, we will keep you under control."

"Who allowed you to come in here?" A cold, commanding voice echoes throughout the small cell. The Reverend Mother steps away from you as if she's been burned by him, giving you the opportunity to look at Paul Atreides as she steps inside. You shiver as his cold gaze falls on you, but you show them nothing but disgust and anger. If you're going to die, at least you will make sure that before you do that, you'll be remembered by them as one big pain in the ass.

"I..."

"Silience!" Atreides yells at her as she feebly tries to explain herself to him. You frown, wondering how the hell he gained such power over the Bene Gesserit. "Leave us alone."

The woman nods obediently and leaves, closing the bars to your cell behind her. You shift your gaze to Atreides, examining him carefully. He was… more portly than you remembered him last time. He became stronger, tougher, and visibly hardened by the sands of Arrakis, since his posture was stiff as armour. You catch yourself thinking that if he stood in the arena in Giedi Prime, he would still lose to your na-baron.

"I am not here to hurt you, Y/N." Atreides says, walking over to you. He crouches down so that you are both at the same height. You look closely at the features of his face, analysing them carefully, trying to read what's behind the strange behaviour of the mysterious Fremen's prophet. "We both have our roles to play here. Something that is above us. I learned a lot about you.I know about your service to the Harkonnens, what you endured as a Bene Gesserit, and every darkest part of your past. And I know you are a wise and very strong woman. You probably understand why all this is so important and why we must fulfil the prophecy and take our places in this story." He says, removing your gag. You clear your throat as he finishes his speech, and, trying to hide your concern, you growl, your voice so hoarse and dripping with madness that Feyd would surely be proud of you:

"You are a mad freak. Feyd will kill you as soon as he finds you. And hell knows, he will come for me. It will be pure joy to fight him for the privilege of being the one who impales your head." Atreides gives you a small smile. He shakes his head, amused by what you're saying. He stands up, helping you to stand on your two feet as well, placing his hands on your waist respectfully, and touching you as little as necessary.

"Come with me. Let me show you something." He says this in an extremely calm voice as he removes the chain from around your ankles. You briefly consider kicking him and trying to escape, but you realise there's not much you can do with your hands tied. You are also still weak—too weak to maintain control over someone else for long with the voice. "Do not be afraid. I told you. I have no reason to hurt you." He encourages, concluding that your hesitation is out of fear and not a desire to attack him.

"I lived for years among the Harkonnens. I'm not afraid of anything except myself."

He gives you an ironic smirk, as if he were convinced that he was an evil worse than the Harkonnens. You don't care about his poor attempts to intimidate you. You weren't some desert rat to be terrified of a man with nice curls and eyes.

You walk through a series of corridors, and of course he leads you, holding your arm tightly and making sure you don't do anything stupid on this little trip around his kingdom. It brings you great satisfaction. Your reputation had obviously taken its toll if he continued to be vigilant around you while you were still half sedated and tied up without any weapons.

You smile sadistically at the Fremen you pass. They look away from you, too afraid to meet your gaze. You were known among them as the Na-Baron's bloodthirsty right-hand, whose cruelty rivalled that of many Harkonnens.

You and Atreides go deeper down. You slowly start to feel dizzy from the number of corridors, corners, and stairs he tells you to take, but eventually you reach a more spacious room. You sigh, feeling the humid air—a sweet change from the dry Arrakis wind. Atreides takes the torch and leads you deeper into the room. You gasp as you see a large pool full of water.

"The Fremen treat water as something sacred. They collect it from the bodies of their people; the water of the more deserving people goes to such pools."

"This is a waste. And stupid, considering that they are dying from a lack of water while having pools of it safely hidden from the Harkonnens." You notice, staring at the pool of water. You tense as you feel Paul's searching gaze on you. You turn your head and give him an intimidating look. He doesn't even flinch. He is unfazed as he continues to analyse you—something you don't like at all. You wish Feyd was here. He would gouge Atreides' eyes out the first time his gaze lingered on you for a second too long.

"Possible. But it's not the first time we waste something in the name of faith, right?"

"Faith befuddles and stupefies. Same as prophecies. We are responsible for our own fate. It doesn't matter what some crazy old man wrote in the books a hundred years ago, probably under the influence of drugs or other alcohol. No one influences our future except ourselves."

His silence at your words worries you. You turn your head to look at him. A small smirk spreads across his face—a sign that your words didn't outrage him as much as they were supposed to. He nods, agreeing with your words, and you realise what he really means. The son of a bitch was testing you. Logical, considering that he was the one who started the cult of him. He thought like you. He did not believe in any Kwisatz Hederach, and even if he did, he considered himself one. He just needed you to keep the propaganda and people's faith in him.

He wanted to show that he had tamed the Harkonnen's witch.

Atreides walks over to you and carefully places a hand on your shoulder, directing you to a different side of the room. You pass by a pool of water. In the centre, there is a large stone bowl on a platform.

"The Reverend Mothers call it the mirror of wisdom. It shows us our future if we continue on the path we are currently on. Look. See what awaits you with your crazy beast by your side."

"It's very brave of you to think that I'm not one." He chuckled at your words. He lets go of you and takes two steps back, keeping his amused, curious gaze on you.

"The Harkonnens are different from us. You may think you are one of them, that you have absorbed their ways and behaviours, but the truth is that you are not one of them at all. You may have adapted to survive among them, but can you look me in the eyes and tell me you don't long for something more... normal?"

"Normality is for the weak." You reply, huffing furiously. "Apart from that, my life has always been different from normal. This is my normality, Atreides."

"Even the bravest warrior needs a break, a moment of respite. Look. Aren't you curious?"

You were very damn curious. Especially after that strange dream/vision you had. So, without saying a word, you approach the bowl of water. You take a breath and dive your head into it, letting the images flood your mind.

This time you are not on Giedi Prime, and you are not a participant in the events. From a distance, you watch the older version of yourself adjust the crown on her head. Empress's crown.

You see yourself flinching in the mirror as the door to your chamber bursts open. Feyd, dressed as an emperor, walks in furiously, heading straight for you. He pushes the large mirror, smashing it against the wall with a roar.

However, you don't care about his sudden attack and watch him, unfazed, as he gasps with rage.

"Is something wrong, honey?" You ask in an almost too-sweet tone, mocking him.

"Do you have the nerve to ask me that? Why don't you tell me where my concubine is instead? Where did you send her? You gave the corpses to the harpies to eat? If any harm has come to her, I will make you eat all three of them before I tear out your cunning heart from your chest, witch."

"You'd have to touch me first. And we both know that lately you're more afraid of laying a finger on me than of our son dethroning you. Which is very surprising, by the way. Has that concubine of yours brainwashed you so much?" You see yourself smiling mockingly as you watch his anger grow with every word you say.

"Don't talk about her like that. Unlike you, she's not a cold, uncaring, selfish bitch."

"Of course not. A smart woman wouldn't willingly sleep with you." This completely breaks the remnants of his composure. He walks over to the older version of you and wraps his hand around her neck, pressing her against the wall.

But he doesn't do it the same way he does with you. It's not a gentle neck hold, a warning, or anything sexual—something that would turn you both on. He just cuts you off, choking you, watching with sick satisfaction as you squirm, trying to get out of his grasp.

"What's stopping me from ending your miserable life? You have already given me a son; your usefulness has long passed, and yet I still let you breathe the same air as me." He says this, tightening his grip on your neck. You gasp as he pushes you away.

From the way you fall to the floor and choke for air, you assume that the older version of you was only seconds away from suffocating. But you don't surrender to him; you don't give him any satisfaction in trying to intimidate you. You start laughing derisively, shaking your head in amusement as you slowly get up from the floor.

"Aw... you couldn't kill me. You're like a dog. You bark and do little. You love me too much to kill me, don't you remember? How did you beg me all those years ago for a piece of my feelings? Who said I love you first? Who was begging on his knees for my hand? Who wanted to have a child? You. You are just a desperate little boy looking for love and affection. You probably even liked the fact that I'm jealous of you and kill your lover? Unfortunately, I don't give a shit who you fuck. I didn't steal your whore, so get out and don't waste my time, husband." You mock him, waiting expectantly for his next move.

He stares at you with pure hatred and resentment. You feel the tension in the room begin to build; the immense anger and disgust between the two of you are palpable. You have no fucking idea how you came to be so hostile towards each other, but... you can't say you're surprised. Because if you were already imagining a future with Feyd... this was the scenario that came to your mind most often.

The two of you were too broken to trust each other and entrust each other with the remnants of the heart that beat and remained within you.

Feyd looks like he wants to say something. But he gives up and instead just leaves the room, slamming the door behind him.

You swallow, observing your pathetic fate. The empress locked in a golden palace. At eternal war with everyone. Lonely. Your heart aches at the thought of this being your fate. This is what you were running from. Before relegating you solely to the vessel she was to carry and give to the world, Kwisatz Hederach, Because what would be the use of you then? You would be rejected and alone. Waiting to die. However, you didn't expect your end to look like THIS.

A figure emerges from the darkness of the room through a hidden passage—a man who is a copy of you and Feyd. You see a similarity in him, in your movements, in your creeping through the shadows. He approaches you from behind, holding a dagger similar to the one Feyd gave you on your birthday. You don't react when you feel steel around your neck, as if you had long ago come to terms with how you would die—and by whose hands.

"You were right, mother… I was destined to achieve much more."

And with that, he cuts your throat. Crimson blood runs down your dress, almost invisible against the black material. You die quickly. Quietly. Like a rat...

"Have you seen something interesting?" Atreides' voice reaches you as you step away from the bowl after the vision ends. You sigh heavily, breathing heavily. Drops of water roll down your face and soak into your linen shirt.

"Screw you." You snap at him, trying to wipe your face on the frame. He tears off a piece of his shavl and walks over to you. He wipes the water from your face and hair, not caring about the scowl you throw at him in warning.

"I told you. The future with Harkonnen cannot end well. But if you stay with me, I promise nothing will happen to you. You can be more free with me than you ever could with him."

And you're tempted as hell to accept his offer. You can't say you're not interested at all, that what you saw hasn't made you question your choices... but you've been a Harkonnen for so many years. Could you really forget all this so easily? Forget about Feyd? Maybe in that stupid Bene Gesserit's bowl you saw your tragic end at his side... but did it really have to end like this? You could avoid all this. Take a risk to gain something much better...

"So this is your offer? Freedom and security for lending my uterus for 9 months?" You ask him, wanting to know exactly what options and choices you have.

"In very simple terms, yes." He nods, still staring at you. You find this very irritating of him; you were usually the one who pierced other people with your gaze. Not the other way around.

"What for? You're telling these fools that you're their saviour and the messiah. Kwisatz Hederach, ahead of his time. Why do you need me?"

"I need the support of the Reverend Mothers of other families. I may have... your powers and be the strongest of them all, but I've learned that if you can gain someone's support in a peaceful way, it's better to try it before reaching for a weapon."

Atreides stared at you like you were a puzzle to solve. You didn't like the hidden arrogance in his eyes—the belief that he was truly capable of discovering all your secrets.

Maybe he knew your past, and maybe he saw visions of the future, possible scenarios of what might have happened after his decisions, but the present was yours. And only yours. You will be more than happy to show him that no one could tear out all your fangs and claws.

"Feyd will kill you sooner and bind me with tighter chains than you did, than he ever allowed such a turn of events." You say confidently, convinced that he won't just leave you. In this situation, it's a huge relief for you... but in your head, you can still see his sadistic smirk as he choked you against the wall.

"Not if I kill him." You tense up at his words, and your heart starts to beat faster as you process his words. You would never think that Feyd Rautha could ever die—not by another person's hand, of course. And certainly not Atreides.

He fought too well, was too intelligent and cunning to fail in battle, and yet... you couldn't deny that that one simple sentence Paul said with such confidence didn't send a cold shiver of fear down your spine or that you felt no threat.

"Have you ever seen him in the arena? Or how does he fight? You may have become stronger thanks to your time on Arrakis, but he was trained from childhood to be a small, psychopathic killer and ruthless warrior. You don't stand a chance, Atreides. You won't last a minute fighting him."

"Maybe not in an equal fight. But by trick? More than one great king fell under the intrigue of a lesser man."

"Are you talking about your father or maybe even your mother?" You ask mockingly, making his jaw tense and his hands clench into fists. You are very pleased with yourself that you finally managed to hit his sweet spot. Feyd would be proud of you.

"I'm talking about what will happen. Feyd Rautha will die. From my hands." The more he talks about it, the more your anger grows. However, you decide to stay calm and continue the little exchange between the two of you, trying to get something useful from him.

"Are you that sure about your visions? You don't hesitate for a moment, Atreides? It must be so boring knowing what's going to happen. Never having any element of surprise…"

"There are no more certain and clear visions than mine. Maybe you should also start believing in them?"

"Not as long as I have my brain." And my own visions. You add it in your mind, thinking about what you had dreamed about before you woke up in this hole.

"The rumors about you don't lie… Harkonnen's witch." He hums as he walks over to you. His hand reaches up to your cheek, using the pad of his thumb to gently wipe your cheek clean of the drop of water still left on it.

You shiver, staring into his eyes. His touch burns, but not in a nice, familiar way. And when you realise that the reason you're not attracted to him is because he doesn't have the familiar ice-blue irises, pale skin, and bald head, it scares you more than Atreides' sudden proximity to you.

"I'm glad I didn't disappoint you, Atreides." You whisper, moving away from him. You quickly lean in, wanting to bite, or preferably bite off, his finger that was caressing your skin, but he withdraws his hand and takes a step away from you. He laughs at your feeble attempt to harm him.

He opens his mouth to say something, but then the ground around you starts shaking. The sand rock crumbles, causing some of it to fall from the ceiling onto the ground. Atreides looks at you suspiciously.

"Didn't you see it in your visions? Maybe there's a sandworm crawling through your halls?" You ask mockingly, shrugging your shoulders.

"Stay here." He commands you using the voice. He doesn't spare you a second glance, simply heading for the exit. You look at him in disbelief and quickly follow him. The last thing you want is to get buried in one of these rats' corridors because one of them summoned a sandworm in the wrong way.

"I could be of much more use to you there than here." You say, as you are catching up with him, desperately trying to convince him.

"Not if these are Harkonnens!" He replies without looking back and slamming the door shut. You kick them in rage, looking around angrily at the large hall where he left you.

"That's the point…" You sigh, fed up with it all. You walk around the room, trying to find a way out, but even when you manage to find the side passages, you can't take a step beyond the threshold. You are forced to stay inside. "Fucking Atreides."

Instead of wandering aimlessly around the room, you decide to try and break the shackles that bind your hands. You try to smash them against the stalagmite, only to hit harder as the metal cuts into your wrists. After a while, when you have released all your anger, you somehow manage to free your hands. You rub your wrists, letting your blood soak into the sleeve of your linen shirt. You close your eyes and listen to the quiet sound of the water and the footsteps you hear from the upper floors. Something is happening...

Frustrated, you wander over to the pool filled with water. You crouch on the edge and dip your toes in the water. You watch the drops fall, wondering how many people have already given their lives. How many died at the hands of the Harkonnens? You wonder whether your water and blood will also join the ranks of their victims. It seems surreal to you now that Feyd could ever kill you or your own son... but how were you supposed to know what your future was supposed to be? Were you supposed to trust some strange visions or yourself?

While playing with water, you freeze when you suddenly see someone leaning over you. Before you can turn around, a hand covers your mouth, and another wraps around your waist, lifting you up. You scream and kick, trying to get out of someone's tight grip, but your attempts to break free are futile. You freeze when you hear a familiar, raspy voice whisper in your ear.

"Don't worry, it's me. It's just me. Shhh… You're safe. It's me." You relax a little in his arms. You reach your hand up to his and remove it from your mouth. He loosens his grip enough for you to turn in his arms.

"Feyd." You sigh when you see his face. You throw your arms around him and nuzzle your face into his neck. You rest your chin on his shoulder and breathe in his scent as you hold onto him tightly.

You hear him breathe a sigh of relief as well. He places a kiss on the top of your head and hugs you tighter. After a moment, he pulls away from you—not too far away, only a bit—so he can look at your face and see if you have any injuries.

"You're getting out of here. Our men are hidden in every corridor of this hole. Take a few of them and go to the exit. They will take you to the ship. Wait for me there." He gently cups your cheeks in his hands and forces you to look into his eyes. Your heart beats faster as you recognise that concerned look in his eyes from your dream, mixed with anger. "Y/N. I mean it. I know you want to fight; you're brave and a great warrior, but do it for me and just go to that damn ship."

"No. Wait, listen to me. I have to tell you something..."

"You'll tell me you love me later, now you have to get out of here, so I can destroy this place." He interrupts you, gently pushing you towards the exit. You feel anger and frustration building within you as yet another person tries to control you and tell you what to do. No matter how sweet and protective Feyd is acting now, you are fed up with constantly obeying everyone around you.

"Stop!" You shout at him, making him stop in his tracks in shock. Under any other circumstances, you would laugh at the surprised look he gives you, but not now. "Do you trust me?" You ask, looking at him expectantly. You know you're asking a lot of him right now, but if you're going to change your future, you have to act now. And fast. Very fast.

"Y/N this isn't the best…"

"Do you trust me?!" You interrupt him, raising your voice. He must see the desperation and seriousness in your eyes because you see him swallow, considering the question you've asked him. You unconsciously hold your breath, waiting for him to respond.

You both know this isn't an ordinary question. It means something more. Admitting something you both had been avoiding since the first day your blades met in a little skirmish that earned you his sympathy. He had long admired you for your mind, intelligence, ingenuity, cunning, and natural charm. But could he trust you completely?

"I… I do. If I trust anyone, it's you. Only you."

You feel tears welling up in your eyes. You take a step towards him, cupping his cheek in your hand and kissing him. He tenses in surprise but kisses you back pretty quickly, moaning into your mouth as you express all the passion and desire you feel for him. He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you closer to him, wanting to feel your body against his to make sure this isn't some dream. You caress the skin of his neck, shuddering as an electric shiver runs through you as he deepens the kiss, taking everything you have to offer him.

Kissing Feyd always felt like it was the first kiss between the two of you. He kissed like he fought—with his whole being, not holding back, transmitting all his passion and desire. He didn't even know how much you needed to taste all of him right now. And how bittersweet that kiss was for you.

You reluctantly pull away from him and press your forehead against his. You close your eyes, letting out a shaky breath.

"I love you, Feyd. I have always loved you. And I was very afraid of it, but I'm not anymore... I... I don't want to be scared of this anymore." You admit it as a single tear falls from your eyes. He reaches to wipe it off, but you shake your head. His hand freezes, hanging between you as he stares at you in shock, trying to process what you said.

Just as he's about to open his mouth, probably to tell you the same thing, you lean in and kiss him again. Slower, more gentle. A few tears escape you, allowing you both to taste them through the kiss.

You reach for the sword attached to his waist with trembling hands.

"I'm so sorry. But it's not our time yet." You whisper, moving away from him just as Paul Atreides returns to the room. He slowly walks towards you, his sword dripping with black Harkonnen blood. And you decide that if anyone spills blood in this room, it will be you. It must be you.

So when Paul is about to approach you and stab Feyd in the back, you close your eyes and stab Feyd with his sword. You hear him let out a shaky breath as his black blood slowly seeps from the wound, staining your hands. You keep your other hand on his shoulder, supporting his weight as he slowly sinks to his knees in front of you. You try to ignore him, not look at him or in his eyes... you simply cannot. Instead, you stare at Atreides.

Paul is beyond shocked by your actions. He looks for a moment at Feyd's black sword, the tip sticking out of his back—proof of what you did. After a moment, his eyes meet yours. After a while, he approaches you, sheathes his sword, and smiles proudly.

"This will be the beginning of a wonderful alliance, Lady Y/N." He says this, offering you his hand, which you reach for. You shake them, glaring at each other, assessing each other's behaviour as a new agreement forms between you.

You smile, hiding your fear as best as you can and holding back tears when you see Feyd's unconscious body out of the corner of your eye. But you've come too far to change your mind. From now on, you decide your fate.

Only you.

To be continued...

Taglist: (I REALLLLY hope that everyone who wanted to be here is here...😅 I;m sorry if I missed someone <3) @skymoonandstardust @prettybubblesintheair @thegabbyh @himesuedi @wo-ming-bai @beebeechaos @mamawiggers1980 @moonsoulk @avidreader73 @heartarianagran @dreamlandcreations @ancientbeing10 @lovereadingfanfic @jeansjoie @workof-a-rr-t @aixicl @ladyredstar1991 @evangelineimagine @hobobobo-fett56 @happyant3 @marsflys @aaaaaamond @kamcrazy123 @k1swass @yum-yahgurt @tyns13 @oh-you-mean-me @menari @tyns13 @vaf24 @dacreshoney @emrennoll-blog @tian-monique @slightlypossessed @celestialadrift @lauramooij05 @flaps200 @chixnugg22 @aaaaaamond @marvelfangirl04 @sw33tsnow @emeraldsgirl @imyourbubblegumpop @tempt-ress @harkonnin @k1swass @alana4610 @cloudroomblog @lotus-888 @lowlyloved @spoolsofgreenspoolsofblack @w3ird11 @kythefangirl25 @hobobobo-fett56 @nj452896 @oneandonlybbygrl @noirecatt @iloved1lfs0 @mamawiggers1980 @lololfixu @barnes70stark @obsessedvibee @aaaaaamond @workof-a-rr-t

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godmadeaterribleerror · 3 months ago

Text

I've Never Been Higher

Main Masterlist - Soldier Boy Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, established realtionship, the tiniest amount of fluff and angst, just pure, raw smut (fingering, p in v sex, choking)

Summary/Warnings: Request from an anon! After you get drunk and expose your secret relationship with Ben, you know there will be consequences. Good thing they seem to be the fun kind.

Author's Note: I'm putting this one in the 60s-ish. It is very horny. Enjoy!

Word Count: 5k

This is a disaster.

You barely drink. It takes half a bar to get you drunk at all. You rarely have the patience or time to get to buzzed, let alone wasted.

Stumbling and tripping over your heels and words, the world is vibrant and bright but also a little hazy—like watching it through a thin, shimmering layer of fog—and loose-lipped, giggly, wasted.

Curled up in a booth with your normal, non-supe friends and whispering about nothing wasted. The room is spinning and turning but you’re too engrossed in how funny the word squirrels sounds wasted. One of your friends always keeping a hand on your shoulder, or an arm around your body, because one wrong ditzy smile or mention of him, and you’ll start to float upwards fucking wasted.

And they know that.

And you’d been really drunk. It was the weekend, and it was a celebration of something—you didn’t really remember what—and you’d been so fucking drunk, so when one of your friends asked how’s Ben with a teasing grin, you’d almost ascended just from the sound of his name.

You think you said he was perfect. Actually, you know you said he was perfect. Despite the entire night being hidden behind a shifting curtain of your drunken brain, you know exactly what you’d said about Ben, word for word.

Because it’s printed on the front page of the news. A massive quote of Soldier Boy settles down with B-list Hero? In big, black letters, accompanied by a very handsome picture of Ben, and a smaller, poorly lit photo of you.

An inside source tells us that, last night in uptown Manhattan, Vought’s own second list super-heroine Hurricane revealed that she and Soldier Boy have been going steady for over a year, and proved herself to be quite smitten with American’s Son.

You’d always hated that title for him. Ben was not America’s Son. He was more in line with America’s very grumpy father, and you were not a second list hero. You had the third highest save rate, and you’d only been at Vought for two years. You’d caught up with everyone in the first three months, and surpassed the rest by the end of the summer. You’d been warring back and forth with Liberty—the snide, conniving, weirdly possessive over Ben and hateful bitch—for second place for about a year now.

If fact, if you counted non-criminal saves—aiding people with their daily troubles, helping people who were in crisis, offering aid to charities and foundations—you were only a dozen or so behind Ben.

He says that’s why he noticed you. He says he’d seen how close you were creeping up behind him after only a year, how fast the gap between him and second place was closing, and he’d been furious but intrigued. Then he’d always say that he went to find you to snap that you should calm the fuck down and stop acting like you own this place, but you’d been so damn beautiful he’d forgotten how to breathe.

“I’d known you’d be mine right fucking there.” He’d grumble, his lips latched to your neck and his arms caging you against the wall. “I see a lot of hot fucking women, baby, but you’re the only one who’s made me look twice.”

You’d always giggle, run your hands through his hair, and try not smile like too much of an idiot into the air. “You know, you can’t be positive I didn’t just steal the air out of your lung on-“

Ben would swallow your words with a deep, rough kiss, shove his knee between your thighs, and chuckle at your high whine.

“I’m real damn sure,” he’d grunt your name, guiding you to grind against him as he spoke. “Because that shit doesn’t work on me, doll, and you fucking know it.”

“I-“ You’d gasp, pulling at his hair and squirming in his grip. “You’re getting cocky again-“

“You fucking love it.”

God, you did. You loved him. He’s full of shit, and you know he’s full of shit—he hadn’t been awestruck by you, he’d marched up to you, told you that you were a fucking problem, and then walked away—but you don’t love him any less for it. If anything, you love him more. He’s honest. You’ve never seen him be anything but himself, and it was a little like a sanctuary. Ben would tell you if you were being dramatic about something if you were in the wrong, or he’d threaten to chop off the balls of whoever had hurt you with such a violent fervor in his eyes if he knew you were right.

You feel bad a little for whoever one day pisses you off enough to let Ben loose on them.

He’d make sure your ideas were heard and implemented, when nobody was listening to you, then point at you when someone congratulated him on it and snap it was her fucking idea, you pussy-faced cock gobbler. Thank the lady then keep fucking working.

He’d bring you silent gifts every time he stepped over the threshold of your apartment. He’d fuck you like an animal in your bedroom, then hold you in the dark like you were something priceless. He’d put a hand on your thigh under the table, when meetings got too heated and you were in danger of quite literally flying at some dumbass who thought he was smarter than you.

And he did keep you secret, but you’d never protested. It had been your idea to begin with, and maybe you’d expected him to one day grunt at you that this dumb fucking secret shit is over, you’re my date to the movie tomorrow night, but he never had.

You’d go to all the red carpets separately, he’d track you down in the bathroom and fuck you on the sink—muttering low, dirty praise about how good you were taking him, how everyone was going to be able to fucking smell his cum filling you up, how you looked so fucking gorgeous in that dress and you were trying to damn kill him—before you parted ways and acted like co-workers for the rest of the night, right up until he showed up at your apartment as the after party settled down.

And you could’ve had him like that for a million years. If it was all he could give you, you’d take it and worship it and never try to make him more than he was. He was already, arguably, too much. But he was yours. He didn’t fuck other women—he hardly even looked at them—and it had never mattered what the vultures of the press said, you’d known Ben was yours, and that was all that mattered.

But now you’re staring at the paper, re-reading the article over and over like the words could suddenly change and nothing would be wrong, and for the first time, you’re afraid.

Not of Ben. Never of Ben.

Of how you’re going to lose him.

Because you’d been explicit. Vulgar. Incredibly detailed in ways you never were while sober.

Hurricane described in great deal her alleged sex life with the Golden Hero, claiming him to be a firm but generous lover, using a multitude of words not suited for publication. Our source details how she’d claimed that she reaches climax about “four times a night,” and that she wants to “marry his and have all his stupid, giant babies.” Multiple times throughout the conversation, Hurricane called Solider Boy the “best thing that ever happened to her,” and said she’d “jump off a cliff if he asked her to.”

If these claims are true, should the public prepare for an upcoming great American wedding? Or is Hurricane speaking of a one-sided obsession? Solider Boy has rarely been seen in public with the air-powered supe, and there is no evidence but her alleged word that they are anything more than co-workers. If Hurricane is lying-

You have to stop reading there, or you might choke on your own spit and fear. You’re not lying. It’s not alleged, it’s real and you meant every word of it, but Ben wasn’t supposed to know that. He was supposed to take the lead about where you went, and you were supposed to trail in his wake, admiring the way his skin seemed to sometimes be golden, and bask in how when he looked at you there seemed be something flaring and catching light in his eyes that was never there for anyone else.

You mean something to him. You know he sees you as more than a body. Ben calls you his girl, and his jaw twitches when a Vought suit or lower-level hero tries to flirt with you, and he has all the money in the world but he touches you like you’re the most valuable thing in his life.

You’re not sure how you’re going to face this. You have to face this—it’s the front fucking page, and it’s a mess, and you’re solely responsible—but you don’t want to. You want to fly up to space and never come down, or sink into the floor, or seal all the doors and windows and never leave.

And you know none of that would work. Ben would launch himself after you and you’d slam into his gravity because you didn’t know how not to. He’d pull you up from your self-inflicted grave without breaking a sweat. He’d kick and pry the doors open no matter how tight you sealed them, crashing into your apartment with an animalistic look in his eyes, his arms flexing and attention all on you, before picking you up and cradling you without a word because he was bad at them, but he did care.

Ben really did care.

And you can’t face him.

But you have to go to work.

And you hope you’ll just vanish off the face of the earth before you can enter the building, but the universe doesn’t seem to like you all that much today, so instead you’re barely a foot through the door before Legend his standing in front of you, brows raised and voice firm.

“Hurricane.”

“I, uh,” You swallow. “Yeah. Hi.”

His face doesn’t even move an inch. “I believe we need to talk, girl.”

“Do we?” Your voice is barely a squeak, and you really wish everyone would stop fucking looking at you. “I don’t- um- Look, I swear I didn’t-“

“My office.” Legend snaps. “Now.”

All you can do is nod and shuffle behind him, feeling a little like a child in trouble. You can feel all their eyes, almost hear the judgmental expressions and thoughts, the bitter and withering fears you’d been harboring in your chest since Ben asked you out—although it was more like he said you were smoking hot and he wanted to fuck you, you’d told him he’d need to try harder than that, and then the next day he’d shown up with more roses than you could hold in your hands and said you were hot, and interesting, and he wanted to fuck you put he wasn’t going to do it until you were begging him for it—coming to life in a loud and suffocating cloud around you.

You know he’s out of your league. Ben’s out of everyone’s league. He’s more than a god, he’s something primordial that crawled out of the earth just to guard it with his whole fucking existence.

And when you sit in Legend’s office, it feels even more certain that this is the end of more than just the love of your life. It’s so drastic, how much higher and better Ben is than you are, that there’s no way they’ll allow you to just say he’s yours. The public would never want him to be yours, because they can see it too. Everyone can see how unworthy you are-

“You get three minute to explain yourself.” Legend mutters, settling in his big, velvet chair, spinning a pen in his hands. “But you better have a top of the line reason for fucking around and claimin’ all that, or we’re going to be revisiting your tenure here. Go.”

Every breath you take is thin in your lungs. You need to speak, but no words are coming out. His chair is a throne, and the pen is an executioner’s axe, and you whole life is on a thread that depends on you speaking, but you can’t-

“I-“

There’s a crashing sound outside, a roar that sound like a lion or dragon or avenging angel, and Legend looks away from you with a shocked expression—which for him, means genuine interest flashing in his gaze and a twitch near his eyes—as Ben crashes through the door.

“Mr. Solider Boy, sir-“ Legend’s receptionist is scrambling behind him, her voice high and frantic. “You- He’s in a meeting- You’re not supposed-“

“Shut the fuck up, Mary.” Ben grunts, and the receptionist’s snaps closed. You mouth think she’s shocked he knows her name. “And close the damn door, Legend and I need to have a fucking chat.”

You swallow, starting to push to your feet, but Ben’s faster. His hands grasp your shoulders, pushing you back down into your chair, and they rest there as he glowers at Legend.

“Ben,” Legend sighs. “I told you we’d be meeting later-“

“And I told you there’s no way you’re talking to my girl without me there,” Ben hisses, his hands squeezing on your shoulders, and you’re a little dizzy.

His girl.

Not a secret, but still Ben’s girl.

And suddenly nothing really feels all that faraway or terrifying at all.

“I understand this is distressing for all of us-“

“Oh, fuck off and eat my fucking ass,” Ben rolls his eyes, leaning slightly over your body as he leers at Legend. He’s really warm. “You don’t know what in goddamn Christ you’re talking about, Legend, and you’re being a pussy fucking idiot-“

“Ben-“

“I said fuck off.” He growls your name, and it’s not at you. It’s like a wolf snarling and snapping at a threat to their pack. “She didn’t do a goddamn thing wrong, and you’re going to make her give herself a fucking aneurysm, so calm the fuck down and listen when I tell you to just fucking drop it, or I’ll carve your brain out of your skull and fucking feed it to you.”

Legend doesn’t flinch. He only tilts his head, scanning over Ben with an odd expression. “What have you been offered, Solider Boy, to defend her-“

Ben scoffs. “I can’t be fucking bribed, you dick-headed asswhore, I goddamn love this woman-“

It hits you like a freight train. Explosive and fast and brutal, irreversibly changing everything in your body until it all just a crumpled pile of Ben.

“You-“ Your voice is hoarse, and you lean back to look at him with wide eyes. “You love me?“

“Of course I fucking love you, shut up and-“ he grabs your hand, pinning it to the chair. The world had gotten so light, and you’d started to float, and Ben was keeping you there. With him. And he loved you. “Don’t lose your damn mind. Let me save your fucking job-“

“I love you too,” you whisper, and that manages to air its way through his fury.

“I know that. Stop flying.” Ben turns back to Legend, and you think he’s somehow taller. “You fire her, you lose me.”

That makes Legend’s face twitch again, and his eyes dart to you for only a second. You’ve seen that expression before, during meetings or negotiations that weren’t quite going his way.

He weighing his options. Trying to work out if Ben is bluffing.

Legend should know better.

Ben doesn’t bluff.

His hand still squeezing with carefully measured pressure on your shoulder, and his gaze is firm, and he’s not a liar. Ben has many, many vices—fractured and chipped and defunct parts of him you love just as much as the shining titanium that makes up the rest of him—but lying is not one of them.

If anything, Ben only ever doubles down.

“Don’t be a damn idiot,” he drawls, his words casual but his gaze on Legend a silent promise of violence. “The people fucking love it. They love her. She scores higher points with younger demos, and America loves love. They’ll love us. so I don’t know why you’re being such a pussy-brained motherfucker, but she is the best goddamn thing to happen to this company in fucking years.”

You think you’re going to ascend. That all the dizzying light and joy that Ben always silently plants in your body is going into bloom and rocketing up to the sun with his every word, and you have no choice but to rise up to that high, clouded but bright heaven with them. It’s a place born of Ben’s love. It hazy, pastel clouds, but they’re sturdier and more certain than anything else has ever been. You could build something here, known it would never crumble because Ben really, truly loves you. Even Legend’s skeptical expression and cool words can’t drag you down from down this.

And what they trigger only launches you further upwards.

“They’ll have to actually believe it,” Legend snips. “If we are going to allow this-“

Ben’s hand glide over your throat to grab your chin, he tips your head back, and kisses you. Deep and rough and heavy. The type of kiss he’s only ever given you behind a locked door, where he’s folding himself over you and invading your every sense, because now you’re pliant and moaning, and everything is Ben. Reaching up to try and tug on his hair and urge him further, grabbing his forearm for balance despite sitting down, making a strangled sound that’s meant to be his name when he presses his tongue down your throat-

He pulls back, presses a smaller, dangerously sweet kiss to your brow, and looks back to Legend.

“That fucking believable enough?”

You’d like to see Legend’s expression, but your gaze is trapped on Ben. His hand is still on your chin, grip relaxed as his thumb trails over your lower lip—you’re not sure he knows he’s doing that—and you can see the exact place on his jaw that you want to try and suck a mark on, even if it’s never worked before. His brows are raised in a challenging question as he stares down Legend, and his hair looks soft, and when he licks his lips slightly it sets off a million little sparks in your lower stomach-

“Ben.” You whisper, and he looks down at you with a frown.

“Wha-“

“Please.” You squeeze his arm, and he tenses behind you. “I- Please.”

A smirk creeps over his lips, and you think someone coughs, but they’re not Ben so it doesn’t really matter.

“You need me right now, sweet girl? Can’t even fucking wait, need me to fucking ruin you in the goddamn office-“

“I- You-” you squirm in your chair, reaching up to try and tug him back down to your level. “Stop being mean-“

He chuckles, but doesn’t move an inch. “You know I’m not being mean. You’ve seen me be fucking mean,” he drawls your name, and if he doesn’t move soon, you’re going to explode. “I’m just waiting for you to beg me fucking properly-“

“Please, Ben, please-“

“Please what.”

You’re past dignity, or trying to spar back and forth with him on this. He said he loves you. He said it, then kissed you like that, and nothing in the world is more important than feeling him all around you and over you and in you-

“Fuck me, Ben, please-“

There’s that same cough again, but you don’t really hear it. You can’t really hear anything but your heartbeat in your ears as Ben’s face splits into a wide, almost feral grin, and you won.

He slams his mouth back down to yours, grabbing you by the waist in a second and hauling you up to his chest—your legs wrapped around his torso as you shamelessly grind onto his stomach—and holding you there as his kiss turns starved and brutal, like he hasn’t done this almost every night for the past year.

You’re not complaining. With just his mouth almost molded into yours, one hand fisted in your hair while the other holds you steady against his body, and grunts that you can feel vibrate in his chest, you’re wrecked and whimpering in his arms. You need more. He’s everywhere but it’s not enough, and you’re aching and burning under his touch but it’s not enough-

Ben breaks the kiss when you start to scratch at his shoulders, and you take a ragged, sudden breath. You’d forgotten you needed to breathe, and the rush of air is sending you so high-

He starts to attack your neck and shoulders, tugging at your supe costume to continue his dizzying assault on your skin, and you wrap your arms around his neck in desperate attempt to not fly out of his hold. Ben’s own grip tightens in response—he knows how close you are, just from his kiss and touch, he always knows so you so well—and you squeak his name when he bites at your neck-

“Alright. I got it.” Someone’s talking that’s not Ben. Legend. You’d forgotten he existed at all. “It’s not fake, you’ll be dating, fine. You two can stop now-“

“Get out of my office.” Ben grunts, and Legend sighs.

“We’ve been over this, Soldier Boy, it’s not your-“

Ben pushes you down on the desk, rips off your shirt, starts to kiss over your breast with a possessive growl that sends a shiver up your spine, and Legend groans.

“Fine.” You’re vaguely aware of something shuffling around, but Ben’s rubbing a thumb over your nipples through your bra, and you’re incredibly focused on just holding on. “No messes.”

Neither of you make any promises, and you don’t think no messes is possible. Not as Ben shoves his hand into your panties the moment the door closes, tearing off your bra and lowering his mouth to suck and bite along your breasts.

“I-“ You gasp, your hands shooting to grip at his hair when two rough fingers shove right into your cunt, starting to pump in a smooth, unyielding rhythm. “God, fuck-“

“Say my name, baby,” he grunts, flicking his tongue over a nipple, working you into a frenzy as his fingers bump that deep spot and crook against it- “Say my fucking name and I’ll ruin you like you fucking deserve-“

“Please-“ You squeak as his thumb finds your clit, just pressing as he starts to kiss down your stomach. “Ben, please-“

“There she goes.” Ben nips at your stomach as he lowers himself further, an arm wrapping around your waist to pin you down when the remainder of your clothing is torn from your body and his fingers still, leaving you grinding hopelessly against his hand and gasping for air as a warm breeze picks up in the room. “Want my cock, sweetheart? Going to fucking beg for it like the pretty little slut you are, so fucking needy-“

“I’m-“ You gasp as he bites at your inner thigh, and you can feel his grip tighten again as your hair starts to float around your head. “Just for you, Ben, just need you, please-“

“Such good manners,” he drawls, pressing one, mockingly sweet kiss to your clit as he shoves your knees further apart. “So fucking wet, too. Anyone else get you like this, sweet girl-“

You shake your head, bucking your hips up into the air. “No- Never anyone else, just you-“

“That’s fucking right.” He growls, his thumb pressing to your clit, his breath warm over your cunt. “You’re all fucking mine-“

“Yours,” you gasp. “Ben, please-“

He rises back up, pinching your clit as his mouth crashes back into yours and groaning your name when you writhe against him.

“Christ on a fucking cross, baby-“

“Ben-“ Your snake your hand between when his body is wrapped over yours, palming at him through his pants. “More, need more-“

“Always fucking give you more,” he grunts, pulling your hair until your head tips further back with a whine. “Need to wait, use those pretty fucking manners-“

He cuts himself off with a groan as the wind starts to tear through the room, and you shove your hand into his pants, wrapping your hand around his dick and stroking it until his hips rut up into you-

Ben catches your wrist, and before you know what’s happening you’re flat on your back, your hands pinned over your head and Ben’s face hovering inches over yours.

“I said fucking wait.” He hisses, and you swallow. “You pull that shit and I’m going to blow all that cum you love so much on your fucking hand. Is that what you want?”

You shake your head, grinding up into where you can feel him, pressed right on your inner thigh.

“Words-“

“No.” Your words are breathy and desperate, and you don’t care. “Ben-“

“What do you want?” His tone is mocking, a smirk pulling at his lips, and God, he’s such an asshole but you fucking love him-

“You, want you, Ben-“

He hums, dropping the full weight of his hips over yours and chuckling at your high whine when the head of his cock bumps at your clit. “What do you want me to do-“

“Fuck me,” there’s no hesitation in your voice. With Ben, there never is. “Want your cock, Ben, please-“

It’s all he needs. Ben slams into you with one movement, but doesn’t move. He just splits you open beneath his and grins at your dazed expression, the head of him pressed right on that spot and fuck, he needs to move-

“Need a second, pretty girl?”

“I- move-“ You squeeze around him, pride glowing in your chest at the low, rumbling groan it draws from his chest. “Ben-“

He gives one rough thrust, pulling all the way out before slamming back in, and you let out a high, strangled sound of need.

“Say you’re mine.” He growls, repeating the movement, a little faster. “Tell me who fucks you this good, who you fucking love, who makes you a cockdrunk, needy little slut-“

He’s makes another thrust with every demand, and the euphoria of Ben all around and in you is like a truth serum. If you wanted to lie, you couldn’t.

This feels too fucking good.

“Yours Ben, I’m yours, it’s only you,” you gasp as he bruises against that one spot, his mouth diving down to suck at your neck. “Always you, just you, I love you, please-“

That snaps him. Ben starts to fuck you, really, properly fuck you, your hands still trapped above you and his cock bruising your cervix as he hammers into your dripping cunt, letting your scratch and claw at his broad, muscled back and whine his name as his balls slap on your ass and his free hand plays with your tits until you’re writhing and gasping below him-

“Fucking mine.” He grunts, his thrusts never breaking pace as you hurl towards release. “So fucking desperate for me, baby, nobody’s gonna fuck you like I do, fucking love you, love this pretty fucking pussy, such a good girl for me, squeezing my cock so fucking tight-“

You make a strangled sound that’s supposed to be his name, and Ben swallows it with his mouth over yours.

“Need to cum in you, baby,” he growls down your throat, his hand gliding your body to rest over your throat. “Need to fucking fill you up, let everyone know you’re fucking mine-“

You nod a little stupidly, a white-hot coil wound so tight in your stomach, so close to snapping-

Ben pushes up off of you, reaching an inhuman, abusing and perfect pace in your cunt, and right as the coil burst like starlight through your body, he squeezes his hand around your throat with just the right amount of pressure to drag the mind-numbing pleasure on and on, letting you ride your orgasm as he roars your name and comes with one last slam of his hips.

He tugs you back to his chest as you both come down, knowing far better than you let your body go when you’re still light-headed and drunk on how warm you feel. Full of Ben and used by him in the best possible way, and he loves you, he’s said it two times now and that’s real.

Ben drags two fingers through your dripping, still fluttering pussy, stuffing his cum back inside of you—a tiny ritual he always seems to do for himself, because you’re on the pill but he always glows with pride after, so you let him indulge—as he kisses over your collarbone, and you bury your face in his neck with an easy hum.

“Are you,” you sigh, clinging to his body like a baby as his rubs firm circles over your back. “Were you serious?”

You can hear the frown in his voice. “I’m always fucking serious-“

“I know, I just mean-“ You sigh, leaning back to scan over his handsome, solid features. “About us. Are we- Is this public now?”

His jaw clenches slightly. “You’re the one who was calling me the best thing that ever happened to you-“

“I- you are, I just want to be sure you’re sure-“

“I’ve been sure since I fucking saw you,” Ben says your name, his voice firm, and you just stare at him. “The secret shit was your idea, and I’d move a fucking mountain for you, so I did it, but it’s always been fucking dumb as shit.”

“Oh.” You swallow, offering him a small smile. “Sorry.”

He rolls his eyes. “Shut up. We’re public, sweetheart, and every single fucking pussy in the world is going to know you’re mine.”

“Good,” you hum, resting your head back on his shoulder. “You’re mine too, you know.”

“I’m damn well aware.” Ben kisses the side of your head, tracing a hand up your spine. “All fucking yours.”

End Note: I never have more fun than coming up with Soldier Boy insults. Channeling all the swearing I can't do at work into this.

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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dollfacefantasy · 2 months ago

Text

THE LUCKY ONES ♡

pairing: satoru gojo x fem!reader x naoya zen'in

summary: after he disrespects you at a party, you and satoru teach naoya a little lesson in manners.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, threesome, p in v, oral sex (m + f receiving), misogyny, humiliation kink, orgasm delay/denial

a/n: comm for @nexysworld!! reblogs & comments are always appreciated <3

Lanterns lined the stone pathway leading to the main hall of Jujutsu High. The decorated lights dangled from the trees and swayed in the light wind blowing across Jujutsu Tech’s courtyard. Naoya had never been to the Tokyo campus. His eyes scanned the decorations before taking in the large building before him. Swaths of people hovered around the entrance. He supposed the higher-ups wanted to make a big deal out of this event. It wasn’t every day that the three families struck a deal like they had last week.

Despite the joy plastered on the faces of everyone around him, his expression remained neutral. He walked in silence next to his father. In a way, he was excited. This was the first event he would be attending not as the son of Naobito, but instead, as the future leader of the Zen’in Clan. And future leaders didn’t walk around with goofy smiles or a lot of pep in their step. They stayed cool and calm, projected their strength through their presence alone. Naobito had done as much for Naoya’s entire life, so that was how the younger man planned on acting tonight.

The delicate hum of string music drifted through the air from the building ahead. It grew louder as they approached, though the chatter of sorcerers sprinkled all around drowned it out a decent amount.

A small group of students lingered near the main doors of the place. Naoya kept his golden eyes straight ahead. He hoped that because they were already outside that meant they would be leaving soon. That way he wouldn’t have to talk to his useless cousins. While he’d normally relish a chance to taunt the twins, soon-to-be clan heads didn’t engage in petty squabbles like that.

Naobito crossed the threshold into the party first, and Naoya followed right after. The lights inside burned brighter than the muted ones outdoors. Gatherings of people circled around tables set up throughout the place. They laughed and talked over plates of lavish food and glasses of expensive drinks.

There was also a bar set up to the side of the room. Even though it wasn’t the main attraction by any means, Naobito locked onto it after only a few seconds.

“If you need anything, you know where I’ll be,” he said with a grin, not even looking in Naoya’s direction before taking off the other way.

Grimacing at his father’s pathetic display, he crossed his arms. Not that he would admit it, but Naoya felt a little lost standing all by himself at the front of this event. He recognized a lot of these people, but he’d never spoken to them. His father was the one who was supposed to help weave him into the social fabric of this place. Everyone knew Naobito, and there was always something to talk about with the reigning head of the clan.

Naoya, on the other hand, took a few steps forward and honestly felt like he might be invisible. At home, people looked when he entered a room. They stood at attention and recognized the greatness that was their future patriarch.

Here no one spared him a glance.

He scratched at his elbow and continued on into the main part of the room where most of the people had conglomerated. At the very least, he could grab some food and figure out what to do from there. He slithered around statuesque men and women with cold eyes.

The glare on his face grew more severe as all of them failed to acknowledge him. He was above every last one, and he knew it. They just couldn’t see that yet.

When he finally reached a clear spot near the railing of a large staircase, he heard a laugh that rang familiar to him. Turning his head, he spotted the source standing a few feet up on the landing. He wasn’t hard to find. Standing at six foot three put Satoru Gojo above most of the other heads in the crowd. And even though he hadn’t seen him in nearly a decade, Naoya recognized those snowy white locks right away.

A small smile bloomed across his face despite himself. Finally, he’d found someone here on his level. He stifled the look of happiness before rounding the bannister and making his way up the couple steps that separated them.

“Satoru,” he called out.

The other man paused his conversation to find who wanted his attention. A dark scrap of cloth covered his eyes now. Even with it there, Naoya could still picture the cerulean irises that lie beneath. They were impossible to forget. He didn’t think he’d ever seen anything so pure in color before or since.

He couldn’t see Satoru’s pupils either, but he felt them fixate on his form when the other man finally stopped the search for who had spoken his name. A second went by before his lips quirked up another inch.

“Naoya, right?” he asked in return.

Now the smile was truly gone from the younger sorcerer’s face.

Right?

Why was he asking ‘right’ like he wasn’t sure? Like he didn’t remember Naoya. He was the future head of the fucking Zen’in Clan for Heaven’s sake. He’d spoken to Satoru before. He’d asked him questions about leading a clan and holding that kind of power. He wasn’t just someone you let slip from your memory like a background actor you still didn’t know the name of after seeing them over and over again in movies.

He’d admired Satoru, but clearly, the sentiment had been one-sided.

Instead of pitching a fit though, he maintained his composure like a clan head should.

“Of course,” he scoffed.

Satoru didn’t seem to take offense to the irritation in his tone. He just chuckled and shrugged.

“Sorry. Took me a second. You look pretty different,” he said.

A plume of heat rose to Naoya’s cheeks. He could only hope it didn’t show through his skin in a light tint of pink. While he wanted to continue to ruminate over this perceived injustice, he realized Satoru was right. Back when they’d seen each other last during his early days as head of the Gojo Clan, Naoya didn’t have all the piercings he now wore. His hair had been its natural inky black rather than the harsh blonde that covered his locks now. In the same way that he took a moment to recognize himself in old photos, Satoru needed a second to recall the man he probably hadn’t thought of in almost ten years.

However, the more irrational part of Naoya still felt like he should’ve known anyways.

“So do you,” he huffed. “You look older.”

That brought a laugh from Satoru. “Right,” he responded, clearly nothing but amused at the quip.

In truth, Naoya meant what he said. He just didn’t mean it as an insult. Satoru didn’t look old at all. He just looked older. Over the eight or nine years since he used to stop by the estate for talks with Naobito, he’d grown into his features. Back then, he appeared gangly, like his body had been made a size too big. He walked around on his skinny legs with exaggerated confidence. His large hands always seemed like they didn’t know whether to droop by his sides or stay shoved in his pockets.

Naoya remembered watching him strut by from the edges of the gardens. He couldn’t believe that was who everyone called the strongest. A guy whose pants didn’t even seem to fit him right. There was no way someone wearing trousers that left their deathly pale ankles in full view was considered king of the Jujutsu world.

But as he stood before him now, Satoru looked like the god everyone described him to be. His giant stature was accentuated by healthy amounts of muscle mass. Instead of lingering around with an awkward hunch, he kept his shoulders back. His chest puffed outwards, and his arms rested naturally by his hips. The violet suit he wore hung on his body without an imperfection in sight. It covered everything it should. Maybe even covered a little too much.

“Well how are you? I didn’t know you were coming tonight. What’s it been? Ten years?” Satoru asked, pulling the younger man from his thoughts.

“Something like that… I’m great, actually. You probably already know, but I’m head of the Hei. And I’m going to be head of the clan soon,” Naoya said.

Satoru’s brows rose a bit, but not with genuine surprise. “Soon, huh? Does Naobito know that?” he teased.

Naoya sneered, curling his lip like a provoked dog. “Of course he does. I’m his heir. That’s why he brought me here tonight. To learn how to associate with all of you,” he spat. “What is it that you do now? You’re a teacher, right?”

“Something like that,” Satoru answered, his own expression cocky as ever. He took a few seconds to just stare at the Zen’in before him. “You look different, Naoya, but you really haven’t changed.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he snapped. He had changed. He’d changed a lot in the years since he was eighteen. Back then he was an adult by age, but now he was a man in the truest sense of the word.

Before Satoru could explain his comment, a smaller hand wrapped around his bicep. The faint touch pulled his attention away from the conversation, and his body shifted to reveal who he’d been talking to previously.

You came into Naoya’s view. Some woman he’d never seen. Like everyone else in this place, you were shorter than the head of the Gojo Clan. Your eyes gazed up at the honored one with a bright twinkle of admiration.

Naoya watched, expecting Satoru to dismiss you or even reprimand you for interrupting a conversation you had no place in. But that didn’t happen. Instead, the taller man smiled at you. He took your hand and pulled you closer, tucking you under his long arm against his side. The deep purple of his suit jacket complemented the lilac silk of your dress. For a moment, it almost looked as though the two of you were a couple…

“Naoya, there’s someone I should introduce you to,” he started.

“Is this your wife?” he interrupted immediately. He didn’t see any rings, but that would explain why Satoru was being so lenient with you. He thought better of the strongest sorcerer, yet to Naoya’s absolute dismay, he knew that most non-Zen’in men didn’t make an effort to control their women.

Satoru laughed at that assumption while you gave a timid smile and stood up a little straighter.

“No, not my wife. She may keep me in line like one, but officially, she’s my assistant. She just started working at the school. Yaga thought I needed some help with organization and that she needed a little extra instruction on her cursed energy,” he explained before shrugging. “Marriage or not, I guess we are kind of a match made in heaven.”

Naoya rolled his eyes at that. “Please. I doubt any divine being would pair you with a woman. Let alone one so below your status.”

Your features scrunched with indignation, and for the first time since arriving, Naoya felt in his element. Though he still couldn’t believe you actually worked at the school. You didn’t look like a sorcerer. You looked like a piece of arm-candy. Your shiny dress was too tight and revealing for an employee of the school. Your hair was too styled and pretty for anyone who wanted to be taken seriously. Really, your face was just too cute for a life of combat.

Despite your reaction to the words, Satoru remained composed. “The rest of the world doesn’t live by the Zen’in Clan’s backward rules, Naoya. While you’re here, you’ll speak about everyone with respect,” he said, cool as could be.

And that really lit Naoya’s fire. Not only was Satoru going to let you interrupt and masquerade as someone worth anything, he was going to defend you? He gritted his teeth and stared down the two of you.

“She hasn’t done anything to earn my respect,” he seethed, fist clenched.

“You’re not giving her the chance to. How is she supposed to earn your respect when you’ve already decided she doesn’t deserve it?” he asked.

The question left Naoya without an answer. Humiliation began to cloud his mind as he scrambled for a defense. He knew he was right. You didn’t deserve his respect by virtue of the very way you were acting. You could earn it by behaving how you were meant to, subservient and deferential. AKA looking pretty while standing silently by Satoru’s side.

However, he knew saying that would only worsen Satoru’s opinion of him, and as much as he disagreed with him on his treatment of the opposite sex, he still wanted his fellow clan head’s favor.

Luckily, Satoru saved him from stewing in his embarrassment any longer. “How about you try starting over?” he offered.

It was a gesture of compromise, but it only mortified Naoya further. Satoru was only one year older than him, yet he was speaking like he would to a misbehaving child. There was no other way out though, so he reluctantly nodded.

“There we go,” Satoru praised. He then spoke your name and title like it was the true beginning of the conversation. Naoya had been right. He’d never heard of you before.

You stuck out your hand with a cordial smile. “Pleased to meet you,” you said as if he hadn’t insulted you only a minute ago.

Seeing your outstretched limb nearly sent a wave of nausea through Naoya. The two of you really expected him to shake a woman’s hand. To act as though you were his equal.

He paused and hesitated, but the weight of the six eyes compelled him to grasp your palm and give it a shake.

“I’m sure you are,” he said.

He gripped your hand as hard as he could, wishing he could break every bone beneath the smooth flesh. The smallest semblance of pain flickered in your eye, but you continued the shake just as long as he did. Part of him wished for you to cry out. To look towards Satoru for help, desperation swirling in your eyes as you realized you needed someone superior to save you.

But instead, the only subject of Satoru’s attention was Naoya. He watched as the younger man loosened his grip on you and allowed the interaction to end.

“Good boy,” he teased, “See how much better things are when you play nice?”

Obviously, it was meant to be a joke, but the words stoked the flames inside Naoya in a totally different way than before. Now the heat radiating in his chest didn’t come from anger, but rather something less ugly. The warmth that crawled up his neck and spread across his cheeks felt less harsh. It was something much sweeter.

“Whatever,” he grumbled and looked away in an effort to conceal his blush.

From the lofted walkway nearby, a deep voice called out for Satoru. The three of you looked toward it in sync, finding Masamichi Yaga waving for the white-haired sorcerer.

“Looks like I’m needed elsewhere. You two behave yourselves. I don’t want to be breaking up any fights later,” Satoru teased, patting you on the head before walking away.

Naoya stared at you so hard it seemed as though he was trying to burrow a hole in your head with his gaze alone. Why did YOU get the parting inside joke? Why did you get the friendly end of the warning while Naoya was left excluded? You were an assistant. Barely even a sorcerer, yet Satoru acted as though he respected you more. Ridiculous.

Once he had departed and begun his ascent to Yaga, you returned your focus to Naoya.

“So now that Naobito plans on working with the other families in a larger capacity, do you think you’ll be involved with the schools more? Maybe not here but in Kyoto?” you asked.

The question wasn’t backhanded or manipulative. Your eyes didn’t reflect with condescension or arrogance. It seemed as though you were genuinely trying to start over. To give Naoya the benefit of the doubt. To believe he could overcome the attitude that had been instilled in him since he learned to read. You spoke with a genuine effort to connect with this man who had so disregarded you.

Unfortunately, it was an effort he had no interest in.

Brushing you off with a wave of his hand, he started after Satoru. “Don’t speak to me unless it’s to ask if I want a drink,” he spat in parting, leaving you staring at his back in disbelief.

He kept his distance, taking the steps at an even pace to project the image of nonchalance. Satoru’s back was to him now, so it wasn’t like he would see. But he still wanted to avoid anyone thinking he was clingy. Or needy. Or desperate.

By the time he reached the top of the stairs, Satoru had already integrated with the group of higher-ups who summoned him. Naoya wondered what they could be talking about. It couldn’t be anything too important or else they would have asked for him too. But it didn’t look like anything fun either as Satoru’s plush pink lips rested in a bored line.

The blonde sorcerer stuck to walking along the railing that overlooked the lower level of the party. He played it off like he was just wandering, getting a better view of everything that was happening. But his peripheral kept Satoru in his line of sight at all times.

He wanted so badly to interject and be included in whatever matters all of them were discussing. These were the leaders of the Jujutsu world. The people who made all the decisions. It was a conversation he deserved to be a part of.

They probably wrote the Zen’ins off on instinct, and he couldn’t really blame them with how Naobito was currently downstairs drinking himself blind. But he could show them that would all be changing soon if only they’d give him the chance. The Zen’ins would be strong once again. With him at the head, they’d have power and influence. Under his rule, they’d be a part of this world along with the other families. Him and Satoru, side by side could lead their clans into this new generation of Jujutsu and leave his father and company in the dust where they belonged.

In the midst of outlining this mental manifesto, he caught the end of the nearby conversation. Satoru turned away from the gaggle of old men, his shoulders relaxing slightly with the freedom. Naoya turned too. He faced the opposite direction and grabbed onto the wooden bannister. Hopefully Satoru wouldn’t suspect he’d been doing exactly what he had been, watching in envy.

Only a couple of seconds passed before he felt a hand clap over his shoulder. Satoru then followed, sliding into his left field of vision.

“You stalking me or something?” he quipped. “Thought I left you downstairs with my right hand.”

Naoya rolled his eyes, but he kept his tone neutral. “I got bored. I’ve never been here before. I thought I’d look around a bit and get to know the place better.”

“And you planned on doing that by lingering around me?” he smirked.

“No, I- I’m not lingering around you. I just-” he defended, shooting a glare towards Satoru.

Oh, how Naoya hated this. How was it so easy for this man to twist things around and tie people into knots using only his words? It was horrible, like constantly walking into verbal traps he didn’t even know were set. Talking with Satoru meant accepting this constant feeling of embarrassment in his belly, coming to terms with the fact that every word he spoke amused the strongest sorcerer.

“It’s ok. It’s kind of funny. Reminds me of when we were younger. You used to trail after me when I’d visit the estate, ask me tons of questions and watch my every move. Felt like I was being studied,” he laughed.

“I did not ‘trail after you.’ You make me sound like a dog or something. I just wanted to talk to you because I knew we’d be rulers of our clans at the same time one day,” he responded, calming down a little at Satoru’s lenience with him.

“Heh. Yeah. Even back then you made it sound like Naobito was only days away from keeling over and leaving the whole thing to you,” he said.

That brought a slight frown to Naoya’s lips. He had been pining for leadership for all that time. For a second it made sense to him why he was left out. Why would the higher-ups take him seriously when it seemed like Naobito would never actually die? Why would they bother wasting their time with a potential leader who may never even come to fruition?

His grip around the railing tightened as his jaw clenched. “It doesn’t hurt to be prepared. Not all of us were lucky like you. Born with enough power to be seen as the leader even as a child,” Naoya huffed.

“Really? Lucky? That’s what you think of me?” Satoru chuckled, a hint of bitterness lacing the sound.

Naoya’s golden eyes looked him over from the side. “Yes. You are lucky. You get to do whatever you want-”

Now it was Satoru’s turn to interject.

“You get to do whatever you want. Do you think anybody could just waltz in here and insult a grade one sorcerer with no consequences? Could they follow me around like a pouty kid because no one else will pay any attention to them?” he asked. “You’re lucky, Naoya. You get the promise of power without any of the responsibility.”

None of the words came out with true anger, and that might have been the worst part. Satoru wasn’t passionate about this. He wasn’t enraged or furious. He couldn’t even work up a scowl for Naoya. It was like he was stating simple facts.

“Like you have so much responsibility. You have an assistant! You’re supposed to be the strongest of us all, but you need a woman to help you with your work. Pathetic,” he spat.

Satoru looked unimpressed by his assessment, but before he could respond, his phone rang. Retrieving it from his jacket’s interior pocket, he glanced at the screen and scanned the caller ID.

“Ah, no fun. I have to take this. I guess we’ll have to finish our conversation later,” he said, not waiting for Naoya’s response to turn away.

He headed over to the other side of the hallway and slipped through a sliding door. Naoya remained in place, hands still locked onto the wooden rail in front of him. Waves of heated anger rolled off of him. His mood didn’t cool off any in the face of Satoru’s dismissal.

He stared down at the rest of the party in disgust. The other guests galavanted around, talking and laughing like they didn’t have a care in the world. He hated them all.

One day there wouldn’t be a person in this room who didn’t know the name Naoya Zen’in. One day they’d vie for a chance to have his attention. He may never garner enough power to surpass Satoru, but he’d wield enough influence to provide some healthy competition.

Now, he realized Naobito probably had the right idea in keeping the other families at arm’s length.

As he thought of his father, he wondered if the old man was still working his way through the party’s liquor supply. He glanced towards the bar, expecting to see Naobito throwing another glass back by himself, but instead, he found you sitting near his father.

It might have been ok if you didn’t look so pleasant. The sight of you resigned to numbing the sting of his demeaning words with booze probably would’ve made him happy. Your misery could have alleviated him of the humiliation Satoru had just inflicted upon him. But no. You sat one stool away from Naobito with a pretty smile spread across your face, nodding along to whatever bullshit he was feeding you.

In that moment so much fucking rage filled Naoya, he thought actual flames might erupt from his head.

He let go of the structure in front of him and started towards the stairs without a second thought. Going down he took them two at a time, bumping shoulders and brushing past everyone else without so much as a nod. None of them deserved an apology anyway.

As he crossed the floor, his mind operated on autopilot, motivated by nothing but the urge to destroy. All he wanted right now was to wound you. To tear you apart and leave you tattered in humiliated shreds.

“If your plan is to sleep your way to the top of a clan, you’d be much better off trying to get into bed with me,” he called when he was finally in range. He walked up to the bar, standing only a couple feet from you and his father.

The pair of you turned upon hearing the words. Confusion etched across your face. Obviously, you didn’t think he could be talking to you, but with the way Naoya stared into your eyes like they were mini-bullseyes, it was hard to believe he was speaking to anyone else.

“What? What are you talking about?” you asked.

“You can act innocent all you want to, but I know what you’re doing. Playing ‘assistant’ for Satoru, acting like you really care at all about anything my father has to say-” he began his list of accusations.

Naobito rolled his eyes at the display. He didn’t look confused at all. Simply unamused. “Will you give it a rest? For God’s sake, you always gotta bitch about something…” he grumbled before taking another swig of his drink.

“I wasn’t-” you tried to defend yourself simultaneously. But Naoya didn’t give you the time to say more.

“You were. And I can’t fault you. What are you to do? It’s not like you can get an advantage over any of us with actual skill,” he continued. “I’m just pointing out that your aim is off. I’m the one who will rule the Zen’in Clan in the long run. You shouldn’t bother with my drunken father who won’t remember your name come sunrise.”

“Shut yer trap already, Naoya. If she was getting into bed with anyone, she’d pick the guy she works for. The one already in power,” Naobito cut in again, attempting to silence his son.

“I’m not trying to sleep with anyone!” you finally declared. Swiveling around on your stool, you stand up to face Naoya. “I was being polite, which is what you’re supposed to do at things like these. Not sulk around and throw a fit cause people don’t wanna kiss your ass just for existing.”

“Liar. You don’t fool me. Unlike my father, batting your eyes won’t work on me. Showing yourself off in this thing won’t either,” he said, hooking his fingers beneath one of the straps of your dress and giving the thin material a tug.

Fury blazed through your eyes at the contact. You smacked his wrist away hard, the clap of skin on skin slashing through the background noise of happy chatter and pleasant music. Naobito had turned back to his drink again in irritation, but the attention of people nearby began to drift to the both of you.

“Don’t touch me,” you told him without any room for argument.

But he only smirked at you. This was helping him feel better; as if he was siphoning all of his own anger into you instead. He couldn’t work up any true passion from Satoru. Maybe you could be the next best thing.

Ignoring your command, he reached for your face and swept the bow of his index finger down your jawline.

“Women, such emotional creatures,” he tutted.

You slapped his hand away again. “What is your problem? We were just talking, and it had nothing to do with you.”

“It’s my clan, so it’s my business,” he retorted and stepped closer to you, letting the height difference between your frames show. He wasn’t as tall as Satoru, but he was still taller than you and that was enough for him.

To your credit, you didn’t back down. You continued to glare at him without letting his physical advantage intimidate you. “It’s not your clan. You don’t actually control anything.”

“I have more power now than you ever will,” he replied. “You’re Satoru’s little lap dog. You sit behind him and make sure he can do all the things you wish they’d let you try for yourself.”

“Are you really this desperate for attention? Or is it jealousy or something?” you snapped. “Someone actually wants my help. Satoru likes having me around. He chooses to teach me things. No one has ever chosen to be around you in your entire life. Everything you have is because your daddy gave it to you.”

That actually stung a little bit. Naoya suppressed his wince, and instead pursed his lips. A small part of him was exhilarated by the challenge your words brought, but he couldn’t let you win.

“Deflection, deflection, deflection. You know the only way for a woman to get anywhere in this world is to spread her legs. And you clearly lack the training to be a proper wife, so you’re trying the next best thing. I mean, being a slut comes so naturally to you, doesn’t it?”

Unlike him, you didn’t hide the sneer that came to your face. “You don’t even know me! How can you-” you started on the brink of exploding.

“I don’t have to know you to know the truth,” he spoke over you. “I’m just saying that if you plan on whoring yourself out, you should make sure you’re getting on your knees for the right man.”

You raised your hand for some kind of attack - maybe something with your technique, maybe a simple slap. Either way, he put a stop to it by grabbing your wrist with the force he wanted to use earlier. A hiss of pain slid from between your lips, and a surge of heat flooded the pit of his belly.

“You’re actually kind of pretty looking up at me like this. I wouldn’t mind being the one to show you how to behave,” he said in a lower tone.

“That’s enough.”

The cool sound of Satoru’s voice brought everything to a screeching halt. Not only did any other words die in Naoya’s throat, but the entire party seemed quieter, commanded into order by Satoru’s firm statement. His words came out even more monotonous than they’d been upstairs. A rare occasion where he spoke without any teasing or affection in his tone.

The assist from the other sorcerer didn’t pull your eyes out of your hateful stare, but Naoya’s head whipped around to look at him. There Satoru stood, arms folded across his chest like a disappointed parent.

Naoya blinked at him, unsure of what to do. He didn’t want to back down. Not with a small crowd onlooking this confrontation. But he didn’t want to cause more of a scene either. He was never one to start fights he knew he would lose.

“Let go of her,” Satoru spoke again at the lack of response. He walked closer to the pair of you, tightening the scope of the drama so less people would feel inclined to watch. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”

“Me?” Naoya sputtered, maintaining his tight grip on you. His full focus landed on Satoru now. “This entire thing is an embarrassment. What are we even celebrating? A deal that I’ll be sure to undo as soon as I’m head of the clan?”

“That’s what you’re pretending to be upset about? You hate that people are… having fun at a party? You’re mad that they’re not already planning for the hypothetical day where you undo it all?” Satoru asked. A hint of mocking returned to his words as another bid to get people less interested.

“It’s not a hypothetical. It’s going to happen whether you or anyone here likes it or not,” he seethed.

“Sure, sure. But my assistant has nothing to do with that, so like I said, take your hands off of her,” he said.

“She was disrespecting me,” Naoya defended. “I said one thing to her, and she talked back.”

“Isn’t that how a conversation’s supposed to work? One person speaks, and then the other talks back…” Satoru said, his mocking no longer hidden.

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it! She was out of line. Trying to tell me how I should act.”

“Well when you’re insulting her, I would say that’s within her right.”

Naoya narrowed his eyes. While he knew he was exaggerating a bit, he didn’t expect Satoru to accuse him so readily. He thought he hadn’t heard most of the conversation, if any. But you hadn’t piped up to deny his words either, almost as if you knew Satoru would take your side no matter what.

“I wasn’t insulting her. I was correcting her behavior. I was offering her some advice. That’s within my right,” he said coolly. “If you were any good at training her, I wouldn’t have to. She would know not to talk to her betters like that.”

“Her better?” Satoru laughed. He shook his head and took a couple steps closer. “You two are the same rank. You have basically the same position. What gives you the idea that you’re in any way her superior?”

It was a challenge. A dare for him to say what he truly meant, what Satoru had already told him to let go. Naoya ground his teeth together while glaring at that smug smile. Either option felt like losing. One was backing down, the other was walking into a trap. But he supposed there was no honor in giving up, so he kept going in pursuit of an honorable demise.

“I’m the heir to the Zen’in Clan. I’m better than some mouthy little bitch who thinks she knows everything because she sucks the strongest sorcerer’s cock for a living,” he spat.

That seemed to be your breaking point. This time around you didn’t wait for Satoru to handle it. Instead, you stomped on Naoya’s foot with your pointy heel. Hard.

He cried out at the sudden burst of pain and dropped your wrist in an instant. He stumbled back, giving you the opportunity to swing at him with your elbow. Even off balance, he managed to block the attack. It didn’t dissuade you any though. You lunged at him like a feral animal, only stopped by one of Satoru’s arms slipping around your waist.

“Mouthy? I’m mouthy? You’re the one who’s been yapping the whole night!” you snapped.

Satoru didn’t use much force with you. Truthfully, he had no interest in protecting Naoya from violence at your hands. His only interest was in minimizing the scuffle. He didn’t want to get any shit for this later.

He kept his hold around your waist, waiting until you settled enough to nudge you to his side.

“Keep your cool. Don’t do something that’ll get you in trouble with the higher-ups,” he instructed.

Naoya watched on with a scowl on his face. “Finally, you put a leash on her.”

“Only so I can deal with you myself. Figure you’ll go easier this way,” he shrugged.

Before Naoya could even get out a question to clarify what that meant, Satoru reached forward and cupped the back of his neck, leading him away like one would a disobedient puppy. While it was probably easier than if you had tried, he still struggled. His feet floundered against the floor as his arms flailed to try and peel the other man’s hand off. Naoya was strong, but it didn’t matter. Even with a forceful tug, Satoru’s hand stayed firmly clasped around him.

“What are you doing? Let go,” he said, trying to sound as masculine as he could while pleading for mercy.

“So you don’t like it when people grab you to show you your place, huh? Funny,” Satoru said.

Naoya’s cheeks burned a furious shade of crimson. How many times did he have to point out that comparisons between you and himself were moot because of one stark difference?

It seemed as though every set of eyes in the building were on the pair of them as Satoru forced him towards the exit. To make it look even a degree less humiliating, he tried to take a swipe at the other sorcerer like you had to him, but Satoru dodged it with ease, only adding to the frustration.

As they approached the door, he attempted one final time to get the advantage. He stuck his leg out to the side, hoping to trip the other man. If he could bring him to the ground, he could gain the upperhand. Satoru possessed more strength, but Naoya could counteract that with speed.

But all of that was irrelevant because he only slightly stumbled. The move did seem to actually irritate him though. His jaw clenched and he jerked Naoya by the neck before shoving the side exit door open with his shoulder.

The night air cooled Naoya’s flushed skin the second he was dragged out onto the stone. It seemed easier to breathe out here. The music and chatter alike had become muffled behind the walls and shutting doors. But to his dismay, as those sounds became more distant, another followed behind him and Satoru.

A pair of heels clicked against the hard ground in rapid succession. He tried spinning around to get at you. Without a crowd, he didn’t have to hide behind the veneer of civility. He didn’t have to grab and insult. He could go after you like he wanted.

“You really are like a fucking pet, following your master wherever he goes,” he snapped.

Unfortunately for him, he didn’t get anywhere close to striking you. And also without the surveillance of onlookers, Satoru didn’t have to be polite. He flung Naoya forward, sending him crashing to the ground and into some stone fencing a few feet away.

“You’ve humiliated yourself enough for one night, don’t you think?” he asked.

Naoya winced against the sturdy structure, rubbing the back of his neck as if to get any remnants of Satoru off. He glared up at the other man who now towered above him like this. The sight sent a weird rush through him. A twisted, nausea-infused version of the heat that boiled inside him when he grabbed you.

“I gave you a warning. I thought I showed you that your night would be easier if you played nice,” Satoru said coolly. “You think anyone in there wants to deal with your shit? Your own fucking father couldn’t be bothered to take a break from the booze to tell you to cool it.”

“Because he knew I was right-”

“Because he knew you were acting like a spoiled brat and that other people could shut you up just as easy,” Satoru corrected. “I mean really. Your sixteen year old cousin has more maturity than you.”

The mention of Maki inflamed him more than anything else. He launched off the fence behind him, seeking to grab the skinny leg in front of him and wrangle the other man onto the pavement. But before he could, Satoru raised his foot and knocked it into Naoya’s shoulder. The contact sent him back into the rock with a thud.

Shaking his head, Satoru crouched so he was at Naoya’s level. “You’re lucky all I did was take you out of there. I could have done so much worse, taught you a real lesson.”

Naoya rolled his eyes and turned his head away. He refused to accept defeat even with no path to victory remaining. But only seconds later, those long, pale fingers grab his jaw, tugging his face back in line.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you,” Satoru said. As if to make that easier, his other fingers rose to the blindfold on his face. A digit hooked beneath the scrap of cloth and tugged it up to rest on his head. The purple fabric pressed against his silky locks of hair, pushing them back out of his face.

A chill went through Naoya’s entire body at the sight of those piercing eyes. The bright blue irises glowed in the moonlight casting down from above. They completed Satoru’s face. They made him look human. But they also made him seem that much more terrifying. With his eyes exposed, his emotions became so much more accessible. That little blindfold’s adjustment exposed the frustration that had been building.

“You were struggling back there. You wanted to fight, yeah?” Satoru continued as the pads of his fingers dug into Naoya’s fleshy cheeks. “I should’ve let you. I should have let you think you had a chance at proving any kind of point, only to put you on the ground in front of everyone. I should’ve let you hear how tough that shit sounded coming from someone pinned underneath me.”

“You wouldn’t have won so easily. You think I’m the arrogant one, but-” he started to defend himself before being cut short.

“But look at you,” he replied, tightening his grasp. It felt as though he was mimicking the strength Naoya used on your wrist. “You think you’d have a shot? Look how easily I got you out here. You’re pitching a fit about this, but I could’ve done worse than that. I should have. I should’ve made you really apologize. To her. In front of everyone.”

“Satoru…” you said, your own voice much softer than before. It almost sounded like a gentle plea. Like you were telling him he didn’t need to ruin the rest of the night with something so dire. Like you didn’t want him to go too far. You stepped a few paces closer, your leg now inches from his side.

But he didn’t ease up any.

The hard stare. The uncompromising tone. The dull pain radiating in his cheeks. All while you watched on in pity. It was all starting to increase that sickening warmth in his stomach.

“I would never apologize to a woman,” he maintained.

Now you rolled your eyes, clearly regretting that you’d tried to intervene at all. You folded your arms across the satin material of your dress and looked at Naoya with distaste.

“Oh, you think so?” Satoru said, a faint smirk pulling at his lips. “You don’t think I could make you?”

And for a second, it felt like everything stopped. All the nearby crickets went silent. The breeze didn’t blow. Naoya’s heart stopped beating. He knew it was meant as a threat. A warning of violence if he didn’t comply. But with Satoru’s mouth so close, with his breath fanning onto his face, with his eyes looking into his very soul, it came across as a much more convincing method of persuasion.

As much as he tried to fight it, heat pooled in his belly and clustered in his lap. He could feel the appendage between his legs stiffening up a little.

Satoru caught the slightly widening eyes and hitched breath. His own brows furrowed in confusion for a moment.

“What? What’s that look for?” he asked. “You know I could.”

Naoya didn’t answer. Instead, he tried to think of the words that would make up one. In the bout of silence, your hand drifted forward and tugged Satoru’s blindfold the rest of the way off. You twisted the piece of material, wrapping it around your own wrist before running your fingers through his now loose strands of ghostly hair.

It made it worse in a way. Your touch looked so soft, so caring. Adoring and reverent. Almost loving but definitely familiar. It was a touch he craved.

“Nothing…” he said, swallowing to mask the dryness of his throat. “I’m just tired of your lecturing.”

“Really? You’ve been so desperate for attention the whole night, but now that you have it, it’s not good enough?” Satoru mocked. His voice came out a little lower than before, slightly breathier. It also didn’t help at all.

Suddenly you laughed. Both of the men’s heads snapped in your direction.

“He likes the attention,” you giggled, biting your lip as you grinned down at Satoru.

Both men remained bewildered for a few moments more, but Naoya caught onto your meaning first. He’d hoped it wasn’t visible or noticeable; though, that was proven unrealistic. You nodded towards his lap, guiding Satoru’s vision to the semi-hard bulge straining against his pants.

His brows raised for a second, and then a chuckle came from his lips. Naoya’s cheeks burned with embarrassment. From the way it felt, he’d bet the red tint glowed like a night light out here.

“You really like the idea of me forcing you, huh?” Satoru teased.

“Shut up,” Naoya said, though it came out closer to a plea.

“This is why you’re so miserable, you know. Maybe if you dropped the attitude, you could get a pretty girl to help you relax,” he mocked. You continued to snicker along to his words in the background, only making them sting all the more.

“I don’t need a girl. Women bring nothing but weakness,” he said. But his words came out less confident than earlier.

“I don’t think you could be any weaker than you are right now,” you simpered. “You’d probably cum in your pants from just this.”

You reached forward with your other hand to touch his hair as you’d done to Satoru. Your soft fingertips just barely grazed his scalp before he wrenched away like they were coated in acid. It only made you laugh more.

He glared at you, but his attention soon snapped back to the man in front of him. Satoru loosened his grip on Naoya’s jaw before skimming his thumb over his bottom lip. It felt soothing. A small method of quelling his anger.

“If you needed help with women, you could’ve just called me up. I would’ve helped you,” he taunted.

“Yeah, right,” Naoya scoffed on instinct before correcting himself. “I don’t need any help with that.”

“Mmmm, you definitely do. The stuff you say, all that anger you have towards them for just existing… those aren’t real panty-droppers,” he continued. “But you’re good looking. You’re sharp. You’re rich. It wouldn’t be so hard for you if you put in some real effort, Naoya.”

Satoru finally let go of his face, but not without patting his cheek. He then stood up again next to you. His arm swooped behind you, wrapping around the curve in your waist and pulling you to stand in front of him.

“It’s really not that hard. All it takes is some soft touches, sweet eyes, some sappy words,” he crooned while lowering his lips to your neck. “Isn’t that right, honey?”

His hands swept up and down your sides and settled on your hips while his mouth parted to lay some warm kisses on your skin. The only answer that came out of you was a delicate little moan. You took your bottom lip between your teeth again as your eyes fluttered.

Confusion slapped itself across Naoya’s face before angry realization dawned on him. He peeled himself off the ground, dusting some dirt off his clothes.

“So she is sleeping with you,” he hissed.

“Well… we don’t do much sleeping when we’re alone,” Satoru joked, his blue eyes flitting up from your neck. “It’s a good way to blow off steam after missions. Like I’m saying, you should give it a try.”

“I was right!” he seethed. “That’s the only reason you’re putting on this whole show. You gotta show your little whore that she’s more than that. She won’t keep spreading her legs if she knows you don’t respect her.”

Smooth as could be, Satoru slid around so that you were tucked to his side rather than pressed against his front.

“You know, it’s really hard to take you seriously when you still have a boner poking through your pants,” Satoru mocked.

That was all the humiliation Naoya could stomach.

“I’m leaving,” he muttered, stomping past the pair of you with his eyes cast down and his face hot as a glowing ember.

But before he could get far, Satoru’s hand grabbed his wrist. He pulled him back in front of you two.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he dismissed. Even with his firm grip, his voice wasn’t menacing.

His fingertips trailed up Naoya’s arm, making the flesh break out into tiny bumps. They dragged up to his shoulder, coasted across his collarbone, before wrapping around his throat. With a little tug, he inched him closer.

“You think I’m putting on a show, right? Well I should at least get you to apologize then,” Satoru hummed.

He stared into Naoya’s golden eyes. His thumb smoothed back and forth across his neck, ghosting over the strong thump of his pulse.

“I’m not apologizing,” Naoya maintained.

“You really want me to force you?” he grinned.

“Satoru, I’m not-” he started, attempting to brush off the hand around his neck.

But Satoru kept his hold tight and pulled their faces even closer together. Naoya’s eyes widened as he felt an eruption of butterflies in his belly.

“Not even if I offer a little reward for it?” he purred.

Naoya nearly choked at the implication. His pupils scanned over Satoru’s face, trying to detect any signs of a joke or a trap. But he couldn’t find any. He then looked to you, to see if you would recoil at the suggestion. Only, there you stood, gazing up at Satoru like he was a statue to worship. Your fingers ran up and down the hem of his suit jacket.

“Don’t look at her. She’s not gonna help you,” Satoru teased. “She already doesn’t like you, and she can be just as bad as me. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

“Mhm,” you nodded, resting your cheek against his chest as you watched. Your voice oozed out smoother than before, almost a little dreamy. You were getting turned on too.

Satoru’s smile only spread further. “She’s like a cat sometimes, loves playing with mice.”

“I’m not a mouse,” Naoya denied.

“No? Then be a man and admit you were wrong. That’s the price of entry. Otherwise, you can try your luck in there again. See if anyone else will throw you out,” he said, letting go of the other man’s face.

His lips pursed. The very idea went against his entire being. “I wasn’t wrong.”

“No? Then at least say you’re sorry for being a dick and causing a scene,” Satoru said.

A few seconds passed. He folded his arms over his chest as his face settled into more of a pout. He really, really did not want to claim to be wrong. But he also didn’t want to be left at this stuffy party while you and Satoru went off together to who-knows-where to do who-knows-what.

“I didn’t mean for you to get so… angry at what I said…” he tried.

“That’s not an apology,” you frowned.

He rolled his eyes, about to grumble some words about how ungrateful you were, but Satoru stepped in.

“Be patient, baby. It’s a start, yeah? You can pull some more out of him in a little while,” Satoru teased, ducking down to peck your cheek.

You squirmed at the sudden smack of affection, but it did ease you up. “Whatever,” you huffed as you nestled back into his side.

“Don’t expect any more. I’m not gonna say it again,” Naoya corrected.

“Sure you won’t,” Satoru said.

“I won’t.”

“Mhm, mhm. I believe you,” he nodded, his canines sparkling under the moonlight. “But you are gonna come with us, right?”

“I guess…” he said, looking away. He tried his best to act casual, like he could take this or leave it. Like he wasn’t gonna have to jerk off behind some bushes if he ended up being left behind.

But neither of you did anything so cruel. Instead Satoru gave the collar of his shirt a little tug. “Good boy. Just follow along, and we’ll get you that reward I was talking about,” he praised.

With that, the two of you turned around and started walking away from the main building. Swallowing hard, Naoya followed as instructed and trudged along a few paces behind you.

By the time the three of you had made it back to Satoru’s quarter’s, Naoya felt his heart beating like it wanted to leap from his throat. What had been awkward reservation had morphed into full on anxiety.

Especially now that he sat at the end of the king sized bed, watching you and Satoru make out.

The two of you stood a few feet away. Your hands cupped his cheeks while he worked on sliding the straps of your dress down. He could hear the puffs of your breath, the ragged sighs as your body grew hotter and the pressure between your hips began to make you squirm.

Your mouth glided down onto Satoru’s throat, coaxing a groan from his lips. His head fell back and rolled to the side so that his lidded eyes landed on Naoya’s bored form. A lazy smile spread across his face.

“What’re you pouting for? You had no problem inserting yourself before,” he said.

In contrast to his previous attitude, Naoya didn’t snap or snarl. He didn’t even roll his eyes or huff. Now that you and Satoru had let loose, things were different. There was no mask to hide feelings behind. In this room, everything was laid bare. He didn’t know how to reconcile with that.

“I…” he tried to think of something sharp to say, but nothing was coming out.

“Get over here,” Satoru said with a wave of his hand, saving him from his own failing vocabulary.

As if possessed, Naoya found himself rising off the luxurious mattress. He stepped towards the pair of you. His legs felt as though they might dissolve and leave him crumpled up on the floor in a pathetic heap. A small puddle that would remain dormant while you and Satoru simply stepped over him and got on with things as usual.

But nothing so dramatic happened. He made it to your sides and stood there for a moment. Satoru chuckled lowly before grabbing a fistful of his shirt.

“See? You do need my help,” he teased.

Before Naoya could even think of replying, the hand latched onto his top tugged hard, yanking him closer. His eyes widened as his lips crashed into Satoru. It was weird, almost unsettling at first. He was too cognizant of how wet his lips were, probably with your saliva. They were too squishy too. Too soft on his own.

After a few seconds though, the initial shock wore off. Satoru’s mouth moved, parting against his own. He sucked on Naoya’s lips. His tongue swiped over the skin in a small teasing stroke. Just like that, Naoya was melting into the sensation. He was stepping closer and leaning in, looking for more.

In no time, his nose was bumping Satoru’s and soft moans were trickling from his lips. His hand came up to hook over Satoru’s bicep. It was a way to get more contact, but it was also a method of balance to ensure he wasn’t going to faint.

It was as if all the repressed need that had shrouded him for so long was blossoming into a beautiful meadow of desire. The ache for attention, the desperation for care; it didn’t feel so ugly anymore. It felt vibrant and sweet. Like if the warmth he felt earlier on the balcony was given a doubled dosage of steroids.

Satoru reciprocated the enthusiasm while still managing to hold you close and encourage your efforts on his neck. After a few kisses more, he pulled back. His lips gleamed now. A soft dusky pink coated his cheeks while the black of his pupils blew so wide it nearly masked the blue of his irises.

His fingers came up, wiping a fleck of drool off Naoya’s chin.

“You know, I always liked you. Back then… you had so much potential. I thought you’d leave the rest of that clan in the dust. Shame you turned out to be such a brat,” he panted.

A surge of something close to panic washed over Naoya. Right now, he wanted- no, he needed Satoru to like him.

“But you said I hadn’t changed,” he said.

Satoru smirked at the clear yearning written all over his face. “You haven’t. But being a brat isn’t as cute as it was all those years ago.”

“It’s annoying now,” you mumbled as you pulled off Satoru’s neck and looked up at the both of them.

Naoya’s expression instantly soured. His hand came up to shove your head, but Satoru grabbed his wrist, flexing his fingers around the limb as a reminder of his strength.

“Be nice,” he said. “You’re running out of warnings.”

Naoya sputtered almost petulantly. “She’s the one who said it. You didn’t say anything to her-”

“Quiet,” Satoru commanded softly. “You’re gonna try to behave yourself right now, or you won’t get anything, alright?”

“Alright,” Naoya agreed quietly. He looked down. Accepting defeat was easier if he didn’t have to look at you as he did it.

“Atta boy,” Satoru praised. “Now I want you to kiss her.”

Naoya’s head rose back up, eyes wary. With a quiet chuckle and gentle nudge, Satoru guided him to stand behind you. Looking over your shoulder, your eyes met with his golden ones. For the first time, he didn’t feel automatic disdain. He took a second to look at you. Really look at you. His eyes ran over the curve of your nose and the fullness of your cheeks down to your silken lips.

“Are you gonna stare all-” you started to ask, but he cut you off. Not with an insult this time. Instead he used his own lips.

The kisses weren’t rough or mean. He actually put in a little effort. His hands settled on your waist while your free one came up to tangle in his bleached locks.

Satoru looked on. The approval in his eyes was palpable. “Look at you two…” he cooed playfully. “Getting along so well for me.”

He ducked back in to attach his lips to your neck. Naoya could feel your body relax backwards against him. As you moaned into his mouth, he groaned at your fingers twisting and playing with the dark ends of his hair.

His lips fell from your own and pecked over your jaw to the opposite side of your neck. With each man laving over one side of your throat, the three of you stumbled over towards Satoru’s king sized bed. On the way there, you kicked your heels off, leaving them discarded on the plush gray rug covering the floor.

Both of them sat down first. You stood before them, chest puffing with heavy breaths and eyes lidded with your desire. Naoya still held your waist while Satoru finished removing your dress.

The thin lavender straps descended your arms before the entire garment pooled around your ankles. Naoya sucked in a quiet breath as his eyes drank in every detail of your figure. He tried to look ambivalent, as if he’d possibly seen better. But the one girl he had fumbled through sex with a few years ago didn’t make him feel anything like this. His cock swelled to full hardness in his trousers as his hands gripped your hips with a little extra firmness.

Satoru didn’t have such a reaction, obviously having seen your body more than a few times. He was more focused on the now-exposed lacy lingerie. His fingertips dragged over the frilled material lining your breasts. Your nipple pebbled beneath the fabric in response, practically calling out for his digit to venture further.

“You know these are my favorite,” he murmured, skimming his hands along the border of the bralette.

You nodded, shifting on the balls of your feet slightly. “Wanted to give you a little surprise.”

He chuckled at the coy nature with which you spoke and then leaned in to plant a kiss on your sternum.

“Lucky for you, I think Naoya likes it too. Don’t you?” he asked and glanced over at the other man.

Words of praise tangled into knots in his throat. Only a weird sound of agreement made it out before he managed a nod of his own and then a quiet “Yeah, it’s nice.”

“Nice?” Satoru repeated, scooting closer. “Is this what nice does to you?”

His palm slid into Naoya’s lap, cupping his bulge with a firm squeeze. An embarrassing whine burst from his lips, his pelvis bucking up into the sensation on instinct.

Satoru laughed softly as he leaned in. He pecked Naoya’s soft lips, planting a few gentle kisses on his pout. His mouth moved to the corner of those lips, then onto his sharp jawline.

“You know, maybe your problem isn’t getting girls… maybe the trouble starts once you already got ‘em hooked,” Satoru teased. “Is that why you’re so angry all the time? Did you cum too early with the first one? Blow your load before she could even get you outta your pants?”

A shaky breath left Naoya. That burning inside was making it hard to register or respond to anything. He pulled back, giving his best shot at a glare.

“No. I didn’t. My first time was fine. We-”

Satoru, not interested in the actual story, ground the heel of his palm down onto the rigid length. A symphony of needy whimpers from Naoya cut his own words short. His head fell onto Satoru’s shoulder while he thumbed at the tip of the shaft through the material of his pants.

“You sure about that? Maybe she made fun of you for all these cute noises then, huh?” he murmured.

Before Naoya could offer up another legitimate answer, he kissed him again. He swallowed up all logic and reason, replacing it with the pure passion blazing between them.

Meanwhile, you unhooked your bra and let it fall to the ground with your party dress. Your panties went next, kicked to the side as well. Both men could see in their peripheral vision that you were now fully nude.

Naoya reached out for your wrist, his greed becoming more pronounced amidst the fog of his lust. He tugged you forward and then gave another yank in the direction of the floor, clearly expecting you would drop to your knees. But Satoru put a stop to it by grabbing your other forearm.

Retreating from the other man’s mouth, he grinned. “You’re crazy if you think she’s getting on her knees for you,” he breathed.

“Wha-what?” he stuttered.

“You’re still making it up to her. You wouldn’t even say sorry, but you expect her to suck your dick? Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Satoru tutted.

He guided you to sit at his other side while placing a hand on Naoya’s shoulder.

“You’re gonna be the one on your knees for now,” he said with a solid pull.

Naoya toppled from the edge of the mattress onto the wooden planks at Satoru’s feet. They were hard against his knees, but the sight of Satoru above him softened the blow. You were already lifting his shirt, peeling it from his toned form. Once the garment was discarded, Naoya truly felt like the heavens had opened. Like he’d seen God himself gazing down at him.

Of course, Satoru’s physique was as expected - muscular, fit, sculpted. But knowing something and bearing witness to it are two separate things. Seeing Satoru’s smooth skin and ripped torso stole the breath from Naoya’s lungs. He had to remember to keep his mouth closed so he wouldn’t drool.

And to make matters worse, your nimble fingers went to his fly next. You tugged the zipper on his pants open, and he boosted his hips, giving the clearance for you to shove the fabric down his legs. His v-line came into view first. That sparse happy trail starting at his navel thickened up the farther South it went, leading to a swath of snowy white hair at the base of his thick cock.

Satoru’s long fingers came to wrap around the veiny shaft. The digits curled around his length and gave it a few good strokes, beckoning it to fill out completely. He relished the way Naoya’s pupils bounced in sync with each motion.

“I’ve been putting up with your shit all night too. Think you should suck my dick as a real apology while I get her warmed up for yours,” he said.

“You want me to-”

“Suck it,” Satoru finished with a smirk. “C’mon. You got a big mouth. I’m sure you can take it.”

He gawked at it for a few more seconds but then tentatively scooted in. There was really no point in resisting now. His lust overpowered his pride, and he wrapped his fingers around Satoru’s cock, feeling the pulsating warmth in his grasp. He stroked it a couple times, almost in an exploratory way, like he couldn’t believe it was real.

Without having to be told, he took the tip into his mouth. His tongue gently flicked at the silken head. Satoru sighed up above. His posture relaxed, and you leaned in closer. Your hand smoothed over Naoya’s hair as he took more into his mouth. This time he didn’t pull away. He let you pet him while he tasted the essence of Satoru’s skin.

His hand stayed wrapped around what wouldn’t fit in his mouth so far. He bobbed back and forth, letting his saliva coat the length.

“Fuck…” Satoru breathed, his white lashes fluttering. “You look so much better like this, with your mouth full instead of doing all that bitching and moaning.”

The words didn’t get to him this time, not while his brain was fully focused on the task of pleasuring the strongest sorcerer. He shut his eyes and kept sucking on him. His lips caressed over the ridge, across the veins towards the base. He wanted to take more, to go all the way, but the urge to gag was already tickling the back of his throat.

Maybe you could see that ambition on his face. Or maybe you still held a grudge from earlier. Either way, your hand slid to the back of his head and pushed. You didn’t shove, but you were firm with your move to get him to take more of Satoru’s cock down his throat.

Some words came garbled out around the length, totally incoherent to you or Satoru. But it didn’t matter because they were then replaced by a whine. You smiled at the little noises, tugging on his hair. His head slid nearly all the way till his nose nestled against those coarse white hairs. A gag rolled through his body. Strings of saliva seeped from his mouth.

You giggled at the sight, dragging him back and then sliding him down till he was bracing himself on Satoru’s thighs.

“Be nice,” he chastised affectionately, guiding your hand off Naoya’s hair.

The two of you kissed while the man between his legs came up for air again. He receded onto his haunches and sucked in a few breaths. His head had nearly begun to spin from the reduced amount of oxygen.

“He was the one being mean to me earlier,” you said softly against Satoru’s lips.

“Hmmm… I guess he was… Are you saying you deserve a little reward for putting up with that?” he asked.

“Maybe…” you said, brushing a lock of white hair out of his face.

He broke out into a smile at the affectionate touch. “I think I can manage that,” he said.

His hand reached out for Naoya’s hair and tugged his face against his cock again. “I didn’t tell you to stop,” he teased.

He laid back on the bed, patting your hip for you to climb up. You swung your leg over his abdomen to straddle his chest. But he didn’t wait for you to readjust yourself. Grabbing the backs of your thighs, he dragged you up so that your cunt hovered above his face.

“You know what to do, princess,” he said.

And you did. While Satoru taught you tons of tricks about Jujutsu, he’d also trained you in a few other arenas as well. You lowered yourself and let your head fall back in bliss as his tongue swiped over your pussy.

Naoya’s eyes widened as he suckled on the head of Satoru’s cock. He’d never seen anything like this spare some cheesy pornos, but those always looked fake. This was real. The way you rocked your hips on his mouth, the sounds of sucking and slurping from between your legs, the sight of your flesh dimpling under Satoru’s strong fingers - all of that was very much real.

He sucked at a much more leisurely pace now that the both of you weren’t watching his every move. It gave him the added awareness he needed to observe the action in front of him.

You yelped as Satoru sucked on your clit nice and hard. Your hips jerked, and your hands flew to his hair to grip the soft tresses. He groaned against your cunt at the sensation, his own hips bucking into Naoya’s mouth a bit.

With all of you connected like this, it was easy to get lost in the hazy atmosphere of euphoria. Nothing had to exist right now besides the three people in this room. There was nothing to worry about, nothing to do except make each other feel good.

In no time at all, you’re ready to cum. Satoru had seemingly inhuman stamina and discipline that meant he was faring ok, but you, on the other hand, were getting ready to burst. Both men could tell from how pitchy your moans were getting and how erratic your movements became.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. ‘Toru, ‘Toruuuu,” you whined. “I’m gonna- I’m gonna cum.”

“Mhm, that’s right, pretty girl. Let it all out for me. Be a good girl and cum,” he coaxed lazily between laps at your entrance. His tongue worked its way inside, fucking into you as you started to reach the high.

You squeaked and basically doubled over, your body spasming with the ecstasy his tongue brought you.

Naoya let his mouth slip off of Satoru’s length so he could just watch. He sat there in awe as your body shuddered atop the head below. It was like a flame dancing in a strong gust of wind. He couldn’t remember ever seeing something so raw. When he’d been with that girl a couple years ago, nothing like that happened. She moaned off and on until he came and then they laid there in silence.

She certainly didn’t squeal when overstimulation started to set in like you did. She didn’t leap off to the safety of the headboard with a big goofy smile on her face either. He didn��t follow, crawling over her and peppering her face with kisses like he saw Satoru do just now.

He could feel himself leaking inside his pants as he watched the two of you. He wanted that. If only to prove to himself that he was capable of it, he wanted to experience something like that.

Rising from the ground, he made quick work of his shirt and tossed it to the side with your discarded clothes. He then pulled his pants off, letting his cock spring free.

“Eager for your turn, huh?” Satoru asked, a knowing look on his face.

“I’m just tired of kneeling,” he said with a shrug.

Neither of you believed that, but you didn’t press. Instead, Satoru patted the open space next to him on the mattress.

“Come lie down,” he instructed.

His brows furrowed, yet he didn’t risk the path of resistance. Instead, he followed Satoru’s instructions and rolled over onto his back.

“Why does she get to be on top?” he grumbled.

Satoru laughed. “You’re about to get laid, and you’re still complaining?”

At the same time, you made your way to Naoya and straddled him just as you’d done to the other man before. Only this time, your pussy sat a few inches up from his flushed, leaky cock.

“I get to be on top cause I wanna be. You’ll do this my way or not at all,” you told him simply.

Normally, he would have objected to your attitude or tried to flip you over anyways, but right now he was laser focused on the tiny gap between you two. His chest shuddered with every rise and fall. All of his muscles tingled in anticipation. He swore he felt actual electricity when you planted your hands on the firm muscles in his chest.

He expected you to get to work. A quick slide inside and then some bouncing. But you didn’t do that. You brought your hips down and dragged your soaked folds over his length at an agonizingly slow pace.

A strangled groan fell from his lips as his head tilted back against the pillows. You worked your cunt back and forth on him, coating his cock with your slick. His eyes drooped while your velvety flesh brushed against him over and over and over.

He had to bite his lip to stay composed. The last thing he wanted to do was finish before you’d really started. He grabbed your hips hard, but despite his hold, you maintained control of the pace. Every time you’d boost yourself up, he thought you’d finally let him in. But every single time, you slid right back down and left him out in the cold.

“Fuck, stop teasing,” he pleaded.

“I’m not. I’m warming up,” you defended. But the expression on your face clued him in to the fact that your innocence was feigned.

“It’s not nice to rush a lady, Naoya,” Satoru added from where he laid propped on his elbow next to the both of you.

Naoya shot him a look, but it lost all malice when he saw how Satoru lazily jerked his cock to the show in front of him. Heat flared inside him. He had to shut his eyes to keep a handle on himself.

And it was then that you lifted yourself up and sunk down on him.

He moaned, his back arching off the bed. You giggled as your ass made contact with his thighs. Time stood still as you did. Both of you just got used to the feeling of him inside your pussy. You swiveled your hips slightly, bringing some whimpers out of him.

Leaning forward, you stroked his cheek. “You don’t seem to have a problem with me being above you anymore,” you cooed.

His eyes opened again before rolling back. You looked like a fucking angel above him. The dim light of Satoru’s room cast shadows over your body that contoured you like a work of art. Your eyes, nowhere near as bright as Satoru’s, struck him all the same. Even your voice sounded like that of a siren’s.

Naoya remembered the last and only time he had sex as mediocre. It felt good. Definitely not bad. Something he would do to pass the time for sure. But he never understood the pull it seemed to have over other men. The way they would let themselves be ruled by it.

Now he did. With every twitch of your tight, warm walls around his shaft, he became increasingly convinced that he would let you ruin his life to feel like this for only a few minutes more.

“Please-” he begged, his voice cracking, “Please move. Fuck, I can’t take it…”

“Awww, you said please all on your own. I think he’s learning, Satoru,” you crooned. But you did indulge him by beginning to ride, and that was all he could ask for.

“I knew he’d come around. You make a pretty convincing case,” Satoru agreed, still languidly stroking himself.

While you started off slow, you began picking up speed pretty fast. You moved like you were on a mission. With every bounce, you had a goal in mind.

It felt good to you, sure. You’d moan or let out a little mewl every so often. But for Naoya, if his noises were anything to go off of, he was in some version of paradise. His face looked almost dazed. He couldn’t get one syllable out without his voice breaking, and everything he did manage to say was some incoherent whine or an expletive. His fingers stayed locked onto your waist, holding on for dear life as you rode him with everything you had.

“I think you like being beneath me,” you purred, placing one of your hands on his throat. “You talk a big game, but that’s only cause you’re so desperate for someone to prove you wrong, huh?”

He nodded without even thinking about it. At the moment, he’d agree to damn near anything you said if it meant you would just keep going.

You had him.

Shifting around, you repositioned so that your feet were planted on the mattress next to each of his hips. You kept rising and falling, taking his cock to the hilt. But at this angle, you could get him so much deeper. You felt it right away, but so did he. His hips bucked up as he whimpered again.

His hands actually started to offer some help now. They kept you stable and balanced while making sure you maintained a steady pace. You continued to thrust yourself on him while accepting the assist.

“Fuck. Oh fuck. Fuck me, fuck me, keep fucking me,” he babbled.

“Yeah? Are you getting close, baby?” you asked.

From the side, Satoru couldn’t take just watching anymore. He swooped in to kiss at Naoya’s neck. “Look at you. So fucking pussydrunk. Are you gonna cum, pretty boy?” he asked lowly.

The added attention shot him so much closer to release. He nodded, teeth digging into his bottom lip so hard he thought he might draw blood.

“Gonna cum, gonna cum, gonna cum,” he whimpered like a broken record.

His cock kicked inside you. His balls drew up. His muscles tensed. Every part of him was ready for that sweet relief.

But then you pulled off.

You rose up just a little too high and popped his dick right out of you.

He cried out like he was in pain, his hips bucking and thrusting into the air fruitlessly. His eyes snapped open. The golden irises swirled like vicious tornadoes of anger and humiliation and raw need.

“You little fucking-”

“What’s that?” you asked, cocking your head to the side playfully.

He stopped himself short, his features contorting into a look of frustration before melting down to desperation instead. “Why?” he whimpered.

“Cause I want you to say sorry,” you said.

His eyes widened as if you were insane. Inside, his pride clawed at him, telling him to push you right off of him and storm out. But on his stomach, his cock wept for release. It glowed red and shimmered with a combination of your juices.

In the end, the tangible option won out.

“I’m sorry, ok? There,” he said.

“For what?” you prodded.

“For everything,” he answered, practically pouting.

“Not good enough. Say it like you mean it, say exactly what you’re sorry for,” you ordered.

“Fuck, ok. I’m sorry for calling you a whore. And a slut. And a bitch. And anything else. I’m sorry for saying you sucked Satoru’s dick. I’m sorry for grabbing you. I’m sorry for saying you should get me a drink or whatever. I’m just sorry, ok? Please, I’m so sorry. I… I was wrong,” he whimpered.

Reaching down, you grabbed his length and guided it back to your entrance. You slowly sank down as you had before.

“Keep going,” you said.

Instant relief flooded him as your cunt embraced him yet again. Release would have to build up again, but at least it wasn’t unattainable. And he’d do anything to keep it that way.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he whimpered as you bounced up and down on him.

You went hard and fast now. Relentless in your pursuit of pleasure. Satoru kept kissing his neck, bringing more noises out amongst the slew of apologies.

Your legs started to wobble as you hit the high yourself, but somehow you managed to keep yourself upright. You threw your head back and screwed your eyes shut, letting that intense pleasure wash over you for the second time.

Naoya was much in the same boat. His heels dug into the mattress as release finally overtook him. No longer did his hands just serve to balance you. They actively pulled you down, gave him the leverage he needed to slam up into your cunt.

You both rode out the waves together until melting down into a boneless heap. You slid off of him and rolled to the side, resting your head on his bicep. He laid there, completely still for a moment. His chest heaved as he caught his breath.

“You two did so good. I’m so proud,” Satoru crooned mockingly from the same spot.

Each of your heads lazily turned in that direction to find the strongest sorcerer smiling at the two of you with his cock, still fully-hard, in his hand.

“But don’t you think you’re forgetting about something?” he asked teasingly.

The two of you were absolutely spent by this point, but in both of you, the adoration for Satoru ran deeper than physical exhaustion. You dragged your body to lie between his thighs first, and then Naoya came behind you.

Your fingers curled around the shaft before you planted a lazy kiss on the head. You began tracing the veins with your tongue from base to tip.

Naoya watched you for a moment before bringing his lips to the top. He suckled on the head for a moment, letting the precum smear on his lips. His golden eyes gazed up at Satoru. He watched as he softly moaned.

Both of Satoru’s hands came to pet your heads. “See what happens when you behave, Naoya?” he teased. “You two make such a good team.”

Naoya rolled his eyes, but he didn’t disagree. He kept at work on the shiny tip of Satoru’s length. After a few more laps of your tongue, you drifted up there too. Your lips brushed his own. The soft skin grazed by as each of you lavished attention upon the cock between you.

It felt good.

So Naoya went for it again. He kissed you with Satoru at the site of your connection. And then he did it again and again.

The sight of you two making out around a piece of him was what drove him to the edge. He couldn’t hold on after seeing that. His fingers clutched the bedding beneath him while his head lolled back between his shoulders.

Pearly ropes of cum fired from Satoru. Some spurted onto your hand, more landed on Naoya’s cheek. Satoru let out a groan as he drained himself. He wasn’t as reactive as the two of you, but the look on his face made his enjoyment undisputed.

When he seemingly finished, you reached over to the bedside table to grab some kleenex. You wiped the mess from your hand and Satoru’s belly, and then with a fresh one, tended to Naoya’s face. For a second, you would have sworn his eyes looked a little softer, less harsh than they usually were.

After the three of you were taken care of, you curled up to Satoru’s side. Naoya observed the closeness between the two of you. The unspoken intimacy that he had no part in.

He made his way towards the end of the bed, planning on putting himself back together and then hightailing it out of here. But before he could, Satoru’s fingers wrapped around his wrist again.

“Where are you going? Now that you’re not acting like a total jackass, you wanna leave?” he asked.

Naoya paused. He still hadn’t returned to his normal self. He didn’t have a snappy reply or an insult to hurl at the two of you.

“Oh… I thought… I thought you would want me to leave,” he said.

“Please, what do you take me for? I’m not the hit it and quit it type,” Satoru teased.

It was a stupid joke, but it made things less tense between everyone. Hesitantly, Naoya eased back up towards the top of the bed, taking up the side of Satoru you didn’t occupy.

You watched him as he did. He half-expected you to protest him staying. He’d probably do that if he was in your place. Wouldn’t the ultimate satisfaction come from demeaning the person who’d tried to do exactly that to you?

But you didn’t. You didn’t utter a mean word as he let his body rest against Satoru’s. Instead, you reached over and tucked a piece of two-toned hair behind his ear.

And he let you.

#jjk x reader #jjk imagines #jjk smut #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo smut #satoru gojo imagine #naoya zenin x reader #naoya zenin smut #naoya zenin x you #jujustu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #ch: satoru gojo 💌#ch: naoya zenin 💌

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