#( mostly annoyance but there are other ones there too )
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breathing room (m ver.)
pairing: lee heeseung x f reader
genre: smut, enemies to lovers, rivals to lovers
word count: 5.9k
warnings: sexually explicit content (MDNI), swearing, arguing, non-explicit descriptions/depictions of violence, tension of both the general and sexual sort, heeseung is a Talker
note: this is an extended (and explicit) version of my sfw story breathing room, which can still be found on my main blog stllmnstr. but this one has, you know, smut. enjoy!
â.Ë⥠àŁȘ Ëâ.Ë⥠àŁȘ Ëâ.Ë⥠àŁȘ Ë
In your mind, Lee Heeseung is nothing but a thorn in your side and an obstacle in your path as you struggle to fight your way way up the ranks in combat training. But even with your knife against his neck and flames in your eyes, he finds a way to catch you off guard.
or,
heeseung doesn't need a knockout. he just needs an in.
â.Ë⥠àŁȘ Ëâ.Ë⥠àŁȘ Ëâ.Ë⥠àŁȘ Ë
Lee Heeseung is having a hard time breathing.Â
Partly because heâs pretty sure he just got the wind knocked out of him. A little bit because of the year-old rib injury he had neither the time nor patience to let heal completely.Â
And mostly because thereâs a blade being held to his throat.Â
Yours, to be exact.Â
Itâs a nice one, all things considered. Despite its lethality, itâs small, delicate almost. From this angle, he can just make out the detailing on the hilt. A series of vines wrap around each other intricately, forming kaleidoscopic patterns that extend all the way from the blade to where your fingers are wrapped around the hilt, knuckles white from the way your hand is straining.Â
Jesus, he thinks. If it takes that much concentrated effort for you to not let the knife press any harder against his skin, draw any blood, then maybe he should start taking the threats you throw his way like extra change a little more seriously.Â
Lazily, he lets his eyes trace a line from your fingers to your face. Skipping over the rather boring details of the plain black training shirt you wear, he directs his attention to the way your brow furrows in concentration instead.Â
Under usual circumstances, a knife to the throat would encourage all of his senses to narrow in on the sensation of metal against his pulse point. Would spur his brain to work a bit faster through all the biological fight or flight mechanisms in a last ditch attempt at survival.Â
But these are not usual circumstances. In fact, ever since the two of you were split into separate training cohorts a handful of months ago, this has become a rarity. And the only thing Heeseung wants to do is enjoy it a little more.Â
Without his self-preservation instincts kicking in, his brain has plenty of room for other things. The forgiving surface of a training mat beneath him, slightly soft where he lets his body relax into it. The unusually warm air of the training room, courtesy of a busted air conditioner that no one has gotten around to fixing just yet.Â
The way your hair falls around your face as you lean over him, chest still heaving from your recent bout of exertion. Your eyes are pure fire, embers and ashes and every stage in between as you sit atop his ribcage, knees on either side of his torso where you pin him to the mat.Â
But even as the lead trainer adds another tally underneath your name for another sparring match won, your gaze doesnât soften. Doesnât brighten in the afterglow of victory.Â
After all, victory only tastes sweet when itâs earned. Judging by the way your lips twist above him, Heeseung thinks the victory he just handed you on a silver platter must be horribly bitter.Â
Slowly, he raises his hands in mock surrender. Thereâs a half smile that looks a little too much like a smirk tugging at his lips when he says, âI concede.â
âNo fucking shit.â You flick a strand of hair out of your face. Your knife presses a little tighter against his throat. âDid you even try?â
Heeseung maintains eye contact. âI think Iâm doing us both a favor by not answering that one.â
Narrowing your eyes, annoyance makes itself the most prominent of your visible emotions. âInteresting choice of words from someone with a knife to his throat.â
Heeseung all but rolls his eyes. âWhat are you gonna do? Kill me in front of everyone?â The way he wraps sarcasm up in every syllable is almost as infuriating as the way he just let you win without putting up any semblance of a fight. âYouâve got a mean streak, princess, but thatâs a bit much, even for you.â
The pressure on your blade increases, and Heeseung fights a wince as he feels it break the barrier between his skin and blood. Itâs a miniscule cut, surface level at most, but he hears the threat all the same. âItâs like you want to die,â you marvel.Â
Heeseungâs eyes betray nothing, other than the fact that they canât quite seem to stray from your own. Does he? No matter how deep inside himself he searches, the answer is always a resounding no. Despite the effort he put into this particular spar, or rather lack thereof, his survival instincts are still kicking. His pursuit of life is still alive and well.Â
So no, he doesnât want to die. Quite the opposite in fact. But if he were to explain in plain terms that he never feels quite as alive as he does in the moments when youâve got a knife on his throat and hatred in your eyes, he has the distinct feeling you might well and truly make good on your frequent promise to send him to an early grave.Â
And itâs not like he means to do it, not really. Heeseung might be a glutton for punishment these days, but there was a time when he tried to get your attention in all the regular ways. As he quickly found out, sweet words did nothing but make you roll your eyes, and his skills on a sparring mat were only as impressive as they could be used to hone your own.Â
He was a tool in your eyes. A means to an end as you did your best to work your way up the ranks.Â
You never looked at him, the person behind all the hand-to-hand combat training and advanced levels of weapon artistry.Â
At least not until he started annoying the ever-living shit out of you.Â
Back then, it had been easy. As new recruits, you were in the same training cohort, which meant you had the same daily schedules. As long as Heeseung had the chance to beat you to the last piece of toast in the dining hall at breakfast or tie the laces of your training boots together the night before an early morning, he was guaranteed at least one of your signature glares and a few choice words that would make his grandmother blush.Â
Granted, he knows that one-sided hatred is not a very stable foundation to build anything solid on, but he thinks of it in the same way he thinks of sparring.Â
He doesnât need a knockout. He just needs an in.Â
A little bit of breathing room. Something that will have his partner lowering their guard, weakening their defenses just enough for him to strike. Once. Twice. Again. Over and over until the match is won and victory rests on his square shoulders.Â
Heeseungâs in this for the long haul, and heâs come to find that he doesnât really care how many bruises he picks up along the way.Â
Across the room, the lead trainer heaves a long sigh.Â
âAlright, ___, thatâs enough. Youâve earned your tally.â The most of anyone in todayâs group. But youâre still glaring at him, and he knows it isnât enough, not for you. âHeeseung, get it together. I expect better from you next time.â
You scoff. âDonât hold your breath.âÂ
Expectations are only met when people are held to them, and you doubt Lee Heeseung has even become acquainted with the concept of a consequence.Â
Releasing one final, sharp exhale, you pull your knife away from his throat, tucking it back into the sheath on your upper thigh in one fluid motion. Swinging your leg over his torso, you remove your body from his own, give your anger some space to breathe. Without looking back, you let your strides eat up the distance between you and the exit.Â
Someone â you think it must be Jay, or maybe Jungwon â tries to catch your attention on the way out, asking about a maneuver you pulled in the middle of the match. A tricky bit of knife work youâve been perfecting over the last few weeks.Â
Something that looked stupid as Heeseung did nothing but stand there, as if your blade was nothing but decorative. Made you look stupid as he stood and watched with nothing but a mildly amused expression on his face.Â
You hate him for it. Want to show him just how pretty your knife can be stained with the deep crimson he must bleed as surely as anyone else.Â
Lips pulled in a taut line, you unsheath the blade at your thigh once again, this time sending it spinning with deadly accuracy towards the line of trees that skirt the outside of the training facility.Â
You donât miss. You never do.Â
It still feels like defeat.Â
âŠ..
Heeseung notices when youâre not at dinner later that evening. Despite the fact that you no longer train together, the inter-cohort spars have shifted this week's schedule. You should be here, sitting next to Jay and Jungwon, probably, pointedly avoiding his gaze.Â
But youâre not. And he can only think of one other place to find you.Â
The training hall is dark when he arrives, but Heeseung is no fool. It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust, but he sees you soon enough. Silhouette dark against the empty expanse, he has half a mind to intervene before you shred yet another punching bag to irreparable pieces. Instead, he just watches for a moment longer.Â
He doesnât know what to do with the feelings that start to simmer, that always linger. Doesnât know if itâs admiration or longing or something far worse.Â
But he wants to. Wants to examine them until he knows them as intimately as the back of his own hand, until he can recite them by name and express them in ways that donât make you want to press a knife against his neck.Â
And he wants to keep watching, keep looking, keep noticing.Â
Even from a distance, even in the dark, he can read the frustration in the set of your shoulders, sense the exhaustion in the way your legs move just behind the rest of your body.Â
You need a break.Â
He needs an in.Â
Across the room from you, Heeseung clears his throat.Â
Startled, you nearly fall on your ass mid-kick before you turn to the source. Itâs dark, but you know itâs him. Who else would it be?Â
Chest rising and falling rapidly with exertion, you finally catch your breath well enough to tell him, âIf youâre not here for a rematch, then you have exactly ten seconds to get out of this building.â
A beat passes.Â
Another.Â
Heeseung exhales. âAnd if I am?â
Bathed in the dying glow of moonlight, you go still. âThen you better put in your best fucking effort.â
Heeseung is across the room before you can release another breath. Itâs ridiculous how quickly he disarms you. And youâre caught off guard, yes, but it doesnât matter, not really. Your knife in his hands, he throws it to the corner of the room. And then itâs just the two of you.Â
Heeseung spares neither time nor effort knocking your legs out from under you, sending you careening towards the mat. Screwing your eyes shut, you brace for the impact of a training mat that never comes, the back of your head cradled in a hand that serves as a barrier between you and the ground below.Â
Itâs a complete reversal of your earlier roles as he lets his legs fall to either side of you, face inches from your own. Thereâs no knife on your neck, and he was gracious enough to break your fall.Â
But suddenly, you find your breath a difficult thing to catch regardless.Â
Above you, his eyes are dark. Your noses nearly touch. âThis is what you wanted?â he breathes, and you feel his words as much as you hear them. They dance across your cheekbone, your lips. Have your bones feeling molten, all your hard edges malleable. âYou want me to fight you like I mean it? To really fucking spar with you?â
Youâve rehearsed your answer too long to deviate, even as your mind screams with sudden uncertainties. âYes.â
Heeseung doesnât spare it a second thought. âToo bad.â
âWhy? You have no problem fââ
âI was there, you know.â Unbidden, the hand that doesnât hold your head falls to the bottom edge of your black training shirt. Heeseung pauses there for a moment, lets his fingers trace the seam. Something in the air shifts, tightens, waits.Â
Despite the way he has you caged, your hands are unbound. You could stop this, if you wanted to. Stop him.Â
You donât.Â
Slowly, his hand begins to track an upward journey, taking your hem with it. The air of the room is warm, choked with summer heat and the odd sensations that simmer just beneath your skin, but you suppress a shiver anyway as a sliver of skin is revealed.Â
You know what heâs after, where his eyes fall to. Itâs his fingers that hesitate. Dangle with uncertainty a hair's breadth from the scar that sits just above your hip bone.Â
Heeseung inhales, eyes returning to your own for a moment. Theyâre searching for permission you wonât give and boundaries you wonât set. If he wants to walk this tightrope, heâll have to navigate on his own.Â
Itâs a challenge he rises to. On his breath out, Heeseung lets his fingers find a home on the bare skin of your stomach, trace the jagged line thatâs a shade paler than the surrounding area.Â
Itâs a scar you hardly think of, one you canât believe he remembers. Gifted to you in your early days of training, when a fellow recruit thought the best way to better his ranking was to discard the strict sparring rules set by your superiors and draw blood as a last ditch attempt at victory.
Youâd still won, even with a fresh stab wound on your lower abdomen. And heâd been shown the door, like all recruits that break protocol.Â
âSo what?â Your voice doesnât come out nearly as biting as you intend it to. You curse the waver in your words. âI get one scar and suddenly Iâm delicate?âÂ
Heeseung glances up, something sincere in his eyes when he matches your gaze. His hand is still on your skin. âWeâre all delicate. And we all have the scars to prove it. Iâve just developed a particular⊠aversion to seeing evidence of it when it comes to you.â
Youâre quick to school your features into neutrality. At least on the outside, you wonât give him the satisfaction of catching you off guard. âThat sounds like a you problem.â
âApparently not,â Heeseung counters. âSince Iâm not the one begging for a fight.â He holds your gaze when he adds, âAnd I have to say, princess, if you wanted me to put you on your back, there are much easier ways to ask.â
Itâs as if youâve been submerged in hot water, as if youâve been burned, when you push him off of you with a speed thatâs almost comical. And from the way heat rises in your cheeks, you just might have been.Â
Your voice is dangerously low when you tell him, âYou have three seconds.â
âUntil what?â Heeseung knows better than to be hopeful.Â
âUntil I find my knife and put it to good use.â
He knows better, yes. But what are limits for, if not to be pushed?Â
Heeseung looks up at you from where he still lies on the mat. Propping himself up on one hand, he lets his gaze trace you from head to toe. Lazily, like he has all the time in the world and none of his inhibitions. âIs that a promise?â
You do your best not to squirm underneath his wandering gaze. But evidence of your embarrassment still stains your flushed skin. And from the way his lips start to quirk upwards, you can tell that heâs enjoying this.Â
Youâre flustered, and he loves it. Loves that when you stutter a bit, start to trip over your words, itâs by his doing.Â
Standing above him, your scowl is unconvincing. A stark contrast to the heat that still lingers in your cheeks and the way you canât quite match his eye. âWhat is wrong with you?â
âSeveral things.â Below you, Heeseung bites back a smile. âWould you like an itemized list? Or would you prefer the details of my depravity in essay format? Or I couldââ
âStop it.â Your face is still flaming, but your voice has changed. Itâs not shy or breathy or even biting. Itâs just⊠frustrated. A little bit pathetic. Pleading in a way Heeseung wasnât prepared for.Â
âJust stop it.â On the training mat, Heeseung goes still. âGod, you do this every time. I come here and I work my fucking ass off every day, and all you do is sit there and mock me for it.â The fire is draining from your eyes. The fight is draining from your shoulders. Itâs wrong. Itâs not what he meant. But itâs spiraling and he doesnât know how to stop it. âIs thisâŠâ you trail off. Deciding your pride is already torn to shreds, you ask, âAm I some kind of joke to you?â
Heeseung is standing again before you can catch your breath. Crowding your space. Or at least, he tries to. The backwards step you take maintains a steady distance.Â
âNo.â Now heâs the one thatâs scrambling, lost for words. âNo,â he repeats. âFuck, ___â he cards a hand through his hard, pushing it away from his face. âYou have to know thatâs not what I think of you.â
You scoff in exasperation, but your eyes are starting to shine. Reflect the unshed tears of frustration that have begun to gather in your lash line. Heeseungâs fingertips twitch with the urge to wipe them away. âHow would I know that? You always do this.â Your words are coming out too fast, spilling from parted lips in the most painful river of honesty heâs ever gotten from you.Â
âYou donât take me seriously. You wonât fight me. You wonât do anything but lay there with that stupid fucking smile.â Youâre angry. Clearly. But youâre not getting in his face, not forcing your words down his throat by invading his space.Â
No, instead, youâre closing in on yourself. Eyes trained on the ground, you wonât even look at him. Arms wrapping around your torso, itâs as if you want as many barriers between the two of you as possible. âAll you do is tease me, because you know it makes meâŠâ Shaking your head, your words die on your lips.Â
Heeseung canât let it go so easily. âMakes you what?â
Slowly, you drag your gaze back to his. Thereâs no sound here, in the expanse of a barren training room. Just the mingling of your breath with his. The quiet remnants of your anger. You wonât answer his question. You canât.
Instead, you whisper âI hate you.â
Heeseung takes a step closer. This time, you donât retreat. He shakes his head. âYou donât.â
Feet planted, you have to tilt your chin to look up at him now. âI doââ
âYou donât,â he interrupts. âYou donât hate me, and you have no idea what to do about it.â
A spark flickers through your eyes again/ This is the kind of sparring match youâve become familiar with when it comes to him. âTypical,â you bite, voice low. âAnd so fucking presumptuous, to assume that you know me better than I do.â
Heeseung presses into your space further. You can feel the heat that radiates off of his skin, that threatens to consume you whole. âI tease you, yes,â he admits. âBut youâve never been a joke to me. I take you as seriously as death, princess.â
âDonât call me thatââ
âAnd donât act like youâre any better.â Features slackening, your eyes widen as he doubles down. âYou want to talk about taking people seriously? Fine.â There are flames in his eyes now, raging through his dark irises. âYou never looked at me twice. Never thought of me as anything but a stepping stone to make yourself better. You want me to fight you? You want to use me to test out all your fancy little tricks and improve until youâre the only one at the top?â
Heâs close. Heâs so fucking close.Â
âFine. Iâll give you what you want.â Fingers sliding beneath your jaw, he cups your chin with a light, but demanding grip. Forcing your gaze upwards, you have nowhere to look but his eyes when he demands, âBut look at me while I do it.â
In the span of seconds, youâre on your back again. Trapped beneath him as he pins your hands above your head, both of your wrists entrapped in the grasp of a single hand. Knees on either side of your torso, youâre effectively trapped.Â
Frantically, without any of your usual finesse, you begin to thrash, desperately trying to free yourself. His only response is to close his knees tighter, restricting your movement further.Â
Fuming, nearly immobile, you bring one knee up in a well-aimed jab. But Heeseung hasnât been fighting all these months. Not really.Â
He predicts your movement with a practiced ease and stops the blow in its tracks. Spare hand wrapping around the back of your thigh, he shakes his head at you.Â
âAh, ah,â he scolds, voice dangerously low. âI thought I told you to look at me.â
Beneath him, your chest heaves. âAs if Iâd ever listen to you.â But your eyes lock on his anyway. As if you can win this sparring match through sheer will alone.Â
Heeseung doesnât say anything. Hardly so much as blinks as his hand wraps around your thigh a little more firmly. And then, heâs adjusting it.Â
Dragging it upwards with a scalding touch until he guides it to wrap around the base of his hips. Again, his touch is light. Something you could break free from if you really wanted to. All of his command lies in his eyes, his gaze that still burns into yours.Â
The space just above your cheekbones is flaming again. But this time, for a different reason.Â
You feel it more pointedly than you ever have, a sharp, pulsing tug that snakes down your spine and settles just beneath your navel.Â
Youâre warm there, too. Too warm.
The clothed expanse of your inner thigh, just above your knee, rests against the outside of his hip. But itâs not enough. Does nothing to soothe the building ache, nothing to ease your mounting desperation for friction, for something. Â
Itâs too much. Itâs almost involuntary, the way you start to squirm again,. But this time, itâs not freedom you seek.Â
Overwhelmed with sensations you have no idea what to do with, you screw your eyes shut.Â
Your body feels like one big muscle, drawn taut, fraught with tension. And itâs so warm, so unbearably hot.Â
Shrouded in darkness of your own making, itâs almost worse. You can feel everything. Every desperate pulse that throbs in time with your heartbeat. Every shallow breath that scatters across your overly warm skin.Â
The gentle, light pair of lips that ghost over the space between your brows. That brush against the side of your tightly shut eyelid. That comes to rest along the shell of your ear, inspiring a fresh round of shivers down the length of your spine.Â
He feels it too. You can tell by the way his breath shudders against you.Â
His lips part against your earlobe, touch as light as a butterflyâs wing. âPlease,â he begs, and you think you might actually die. If this is what defeat feels like, youâll hand him his rightful victory. âLook at me.â
Youâre still sparring. Youâre sure of it. Giving into his demands would feel like defeat. But so does hiding, lying immobile and shying away from sensation as if youâre afraid.Â
You are. Afraid, that is. But youâll die before you let him see that.Â
So you obey his command. Eyelids fluttering open slowly, youâre met with the sight of him. Hair falling over his forehead, his nose nearly touches yours. Thereâs heat in his cheeks and his gaze and his skin.Â
Something in him sings with desperation, too.Â
Still, thereâs a hint of something else. Something softer. Something that almost sounds like fondness when he matches your eye and whispers, âThere she is.â
You feel molten, pliant beneath his touch. Again, your hips shift of their own volition as you swallow down the whimper that threatens to escape.Â
Heeseung is so intricately attuned to it. Every miniscule movement. Every shallow breath. He notices, feels it too.Â
And heâs always held a certain love for this. For the chase. For the build up.Â
But his patience can only stretch so far, and he wonât leave you hanging for long.Â
You expect it to be bruising, desperate, angry. Everything thatâs itâs always been between the two of you when he finally brings his lips to yours.Â
Itâs not.Â
Heeseungâs lips drip with desperation, but theyâre slow where they begin to move against your own. Slow and deep and searching, like heâs looking for something he never thought heâd find.Â
Late summer heat washes over your skin, and this time, you canât hide the whimper that drips from your tongue. That he swallows with a renewed vigor.Â
Itâs as if a light has been ignited. The hand, the one that still cradles your thigh, doubles down in its grip. Drags your leg up further.Â
Until heâs just as trapped within it as you are beneath his body. The action brings him closer to you, touching in places that send a fresh wave of shudders radiating from the cradle of your hips.Â
âGod,â he pants, the syllable sliding past your open lips. âFuck, ___.âÂ
He moves his hips again, this time in a more deliberate way. A repeated motion that has you seeing stars. That quells the rising ache in your core just as much as it expands it.Â
âYou feel that?â he breathes. âFeel what you do to me?â
You shudder beneath him, body slack to sensation. A live wire under his touch. âPlease.â
But patience, restraint, are old friends of Heeseungâs. He wants to hear you say it. âPlease, what? Use your words, princess.â
Youâll give it to him, whatever he wants. But words are difficult to come by. You canât form them with your tongue, canât push them past your lips. You canât think. âI donât⊠It hurtsââ
Heeseung might have patience, but the sound of you begging erases whatâs left of his self-control in one fell swoop. Heâll finish the words you canât quite work out. âYeah? Need me to make it better? Need me to make you feel good?â
But he does want at least one thing from you. With his hand on your jaw, he forces your gaze to his again. âIâll do it. Iâll give you whatever you want.â Itâs a promise. One that bleeds with sincerity. One thatâs just as evident in his eyes as it is in his words. âJust need you to tell me.â
In the scant inches that separate your lips, you whisper, âI want it.â
Heeseung is hanging on by a thread. âWant what?â
You unwind it just as quickly. With starlight dancing over your features, half shadowed by his body over yours, you tell him, âWant you.â
And you can feel it, the way his facade of composure starts to slip. The way desperation starts to become his only driving force.Â
Even still, youâve always been something he chooses to treat with care, and this will be no different.Â
Slowly, he releases his grip on your hands above your head.Â
With movements that soothe as much as they ache, and gestures that feel a little too much like love, he pushes a stray strand of hair away from your heated forehead.Â
And then, once again, his hand falls to the hem of your shirt. Thereâs less hesitation, even if his fingers still shake slightly, as he begins to drag it upwards. Inch by agonizing inch, the expanse of your stomach is laid bare to night air and the wandering intensity of his gaze.Â
Your ribcage follows. Itâs not cold, but you shudder all the same.Â
He stops, fingers suddenly immobile as they trace the top of your ribs. Uncharted territory. A final barrier between the two of you.Â
But youâre getting better at this, too. With a firm grip, you bring one hand to grasp his wrist. Looking him right in the eye, you tell him in a heated whisper, âTouch me.â
Itâs all he needs.Â
Hesitation sizzles against the open air everywhere it bleeds from his fervent touch.Â
His hands are on your skin, and his mouth is back on yours. It burns in a way thatâs distinct from hatred. Thereâs no bitter aftertaste, no sharp sting, even as his teeth catch on your bottom lip.Â
Thereâs little grace here, even as he takes his time with you.Â
Here on the training mat, itâs a far cry from romance, even if your head swims with dangerous thoughts all the same.Â
His breath, his body, his touch are all tangled in yours. As his hips find a home in the space against yours, it feels less like sparring and more like a dance. Careful choreography that your bodies already know.Â
Again, he moves against you. The sounds that crawl from your throat and drip through his open lips are obscene. Would be hopelessly embarrassing in any other context, but his touch soothes your anxieties as much as it stokes them.Â
Lying beneath him, skin bare to his gaze and his touch and his intentions, you suddenly feel like a novice. An easy opponent. The nervous holder of the lower hand.
But Heeseung never wanted to best you, and this is no exception. Gentle fingers dance across the band of your training trousers. Plain. Utilitarian. Designed for function.Â
Your sudden insecurities aside, he doesnât want to best you. He doesnât want to win.Â
He tells you as much. âRelax,â he coos against your feverish temple. âJust gonna make you feel good.â Itâs an iteration of an already established claim. A promise heâs already made.Â
But here, trapped beneath his body, consumed by a touch that soothes as much as it burns, you decide that would feel like losing, too.Â
âYou, too,â you insist, finding the fragmented remnants of your voice. Itâs a whisper that lands on his collarbone. He shudders with the insinuation. âI want you to feel good, too.â
Pulling back slightly, he pauses his ministrations. Looks you right in the eye and asks, âAre you sure?â
He might have spurred this, might have brought you here, but youâre burning with it now, too. The desire to see him come undone. Fall apart by your doing.Â
You bring one hand to his temple, and he relaxes into your touch like heâs familiar with it. His head cradled in your palm, you say for the third time, âI want to make you feel good.â
He shudders, and for a moment, everything is still. The room around you holds its breath, his gaze locked on yours.Â
And then, without breaking eye contact, he rolls his hips again. Slowly. Surely.Â
Watches as you struggle to keep your eyes open against the sudden onslaught of sensations. Marvels at the small, desperate sounds heâs dying to swallow.Â
Itâs still, until itâs not. Until his fingers find their mobility again and the rest of you is laid just as bare as your torso. Until long moments later, your hands are the one to make him follow suit.Â
Sweat sticks to your skin, makes every movement, every motion, feel all the more sordid.Â
But when he guides your other leg around him and whispers against the shell of your ear, âYou feel so good,â something between the two of you feels sacred, too.Â
Thereâs little finesse to the way he finally guides himself inside of you. Little grace to be found in the way your bodies connect, breath and body and soul combining and colliding into one.Â
Thereâs too much sensation, too many months and weeks and hidden dreams for it to be perfect. Too much care and pleasure and feelings for it to be anything but.Â
And HeeseungâŠ
Heeseung is seeing fucking stars.Â
Heâs always found you beautiful, but this is new. This is different. This is just for him.Â
Every desperate sound he drags from your throat, every involuntary movement of your hips as you beg for relief only he can give you. It all belongs to him.Â
His own pleasure is lost somewhere behind clouded eyes as he watches you struggle to keep your eyes open under the intensity of his touch. He chases something bigger, something far more dangerous than the pathways of his own baser desires.Â
He needs it. Burns with the urge to watch you drowning in pleasure for him. Because of him.Â
The only thing youâve ever shown interest in him for is his prowess on a training mat, and heâs desperate to show you that heâs worth more than that. That he can serve you what you need on a silver platter and predict what you want without you having to say a word.Â
Heâs a quick study. He watches, observes the way your skin flushes with every filthy, adoring, sweet nothing he whispers against your ear. With every inch of pleasure he forces you to swallow.Â
Youâre shaking beneath him, practically vibrating with the intensity of it all, and Heeseung wants nothing more than for it all to last just a little longer. Stretch into a slighter bigger pocket of infinity that only the two of you are privy to.Â
But even slivers of forever have their inevitable ends, and Heeseung senses this one in the way your whimper drags out, in the way the last remaining bits of tension drain from your shoulders while you clench around him.Â
Heâs no better. In the moments that follow, he crowds himself impossibly further into the heat of your body while he follows suit. Makes good on your wish that he finds his pleasure, too.Â
And when itâs done, and the only thing left in the afterglow is exhaustion, he hears you whisper, âHeeseung?âÂ
It takes him a moment to find his voice. Heâs never heard you say his name like that before. All hesitation, no trace of venom. His throat feels scraped raw when he hums against your collarbone, âMm?â
Your hands are in his hair, a gentle repeated motion that soothes. That has hope surging in his chest.Â
âI donâtâŠâ you sigh, fighting against the urge to swallow your less combative words, even now. âI donât hate you,â you finally admit. Like itâs still a secret. Like he canât read the truth in the way you wrap strands of his hair around your fingers, in the way you let him rest against your skin.Â
But itâs not easy for you to admit, even if itâs obvious, evident in everything thatâs passed between the two of you. It still takes no small amount of bravery for you to whisper it to him in the dead of night in an abandoned training room.Â
Bathed in the fading remnants of deep seated pleasure and the dying glow of distant moonlight, it almost makes him want to smile.Â
âI know,â he whispers. Leaning a little further into your touch, he repeats, âI know.â
â.Ë⥠àŁȘ Ëâ.Ë⥠àŁȘ Ëâ.Ë⥠àŁȘ Ë
note: this was for YOU heeseung girlies âĄâĄâĄ it's been a hot minute since I wrote anything with actual smut, so I hope this reads alright! let me know what you thought, and as always, I hope you enjoyed âĄ
#heeseung smut#heeseung fanfic#heeseung fanfiction#heeseung x you#heeseung x reader#enhypen smut#enhypen fanfic#enhypen fanfiction#enhypen x you#enhypen x reader
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You've always been my favorite
Yandere!Jonathan Levy x f!reader
Cw/triggers: Stalking, possessive behavior, darkfic, Jonathan masturbates to porn, twisted thoughts, some dub-con/non-con thoughts on Jonathan's side, yandere themes.
A/n: I'm sorry for potentially traumatizing you.
Summary: Jonathan is your new professor. But he had his eyes on you for a long time.
After your professor has quit, a new one, Jonathan Levy was quick in replacement.
You knew Jonathan Levy. He was the one jumping in if some of your other professors were sick. Though you didn't think much of him, he on the other hand quickly began to like you a little too much, even for his own good. He became a bit attached to you to say the least.
Jonathan was the professor teaching most things, so he was the one you did see mostly during class.
"I hope you all are prepared for out big exam coming up in one hour." Jonathan said shortly after entering the room, not bothering to look if anyone is missing, placing his bag down beside his desk.
After he sat comfortable in his seat, adjusting his glasses, Jonathan looked around the class.
Two people were missing, but one of them called in sick, the other one still missing were you.
Just as Jonathan thought about the possibilities of what could be, the door opened and you stumbled in with a thermos in hand.
"You're late..." he said with a hint of annoyance in his tone.
"Sorry," you replied bluntly, "I've overslept a bit."
After you were back in your seat, Jonathan cleared his throat and leaned forward with his elbows on the desk.
"Alright everybody, get comfy, get your books out if you haven't already and get prepared. I'll give you one hour."
Jonathan watched the class, his eyes however were fixed on you as he nonchalantly opened his book then started reading himself.
Throughout the hour, Jonathan threw occasional glances towards you, he liked seeing you concentrate, but even more when you pay attention to him.
When the time finally came to hand out his exams, he made sure you were the last one to receive it only so he could say good luck while being close to you without making himself look suspicious, especially not towards you.
Jonathan wondered how you were doing but had no doubt in your knowledge. He knew you could do well, and if not, he was there to help you.
After the exam was done and everyone handed them back to Jonathan, he overheard you and a friend talking about staying late for study in the library after class, his ears perked up and he had to stop himself from smiling.
When the class ended, Jonathan packed his things. He knew the library would ultimately close in 3 hours, and you would likely stay until the end. So he made his way into his office, open his laptop and just browse around. He even stalked your social media accounts.
Jonathan took his time to start correcting some of the exams, until he finally got everything together to make a leave but not before passing the library just as you and that one friend walked out.
Lucky for him, you two parted ways. Jonathan usually isn't one for stalking, but you were an exception for him. Though he already had an excuse made up in his mind if you did actually catch him.
While you walked, you were completely oblivious on Jonathan walking behind you at a good distance. He kept his head low and his hands in his pockets. Sure he knew where you lived but he wanted to make sure you'd arrive there safely. It would be a shame if something would happen to you.
By the time you arrived home, Jonathan thought about how he could rig your exam, just so he could see you more whether it would be some actual private tutoring or maybe after class, preferably alone. Oh how he would love that.
But he was a fair man, and wouldn't normally want to... abuse his job for... personal needs. But Jonathan was ready for a few exceptions.
Jonathan was ready to leave and call it a day, but not before looking back at your house, examining it from afar.
He didn't know much about break ins, but he could watch some tutorials online on how to do it professional. With a quick go to the darknet, he would surely find something...
As Jonathan arrived back home, he decided to correct those exams first so the boring part would be out of the way. He wasn't tired, if anything, he felt kind of energized.
Jonathan reviewed your exam at last, only so he could write down where you need most help and where you'd be okay. After the correcting was done, Jonathan went to his computer, firstly visiting his go-to porn site after a long and mostly boring day. But you weren't part of the boring part, you were always the highlight.
After browsing though cheap scripted and bad acting ones, he finally found a good looking one for a quick stress relief.
Unzipping his pants, he pulled his semi-hard cock out, working himself up with slow strokes while watching the video.
As the pleasure built up, he couldn't help but let his mind wander off to you, how you're always pay attention to him, not questioning his authority as your professor while also being his good student.
He stroked faster, spreading the leaking precum around the tip and shaft while tightening his fist. Jonathan knew he could just easily bend you over his desk and have his way with you however he pleased.
His thoughts even went as far as bending you over his knees and spanking you then fucking you stupid on his desk as punishment.
Regardless of what his mind came up with, it always ended up fucking you. Imagining things such as having you suck him off while he's in the middle of class, or eating you out while you're reading a goddamn book.
Closing his eyes and leaning back, listening to the moans of that girl in the video, imagining how this would be you moaning when he's having you. And he will have you one day.
As badly as Jonathan wanted to hold his impending orgasm back, thinking about all the nasty things he wanted to do to you he couldn't resist chasing his peak.
"Fuck, how good it would feel to have you wrapped around me," he squeezed his cock again "whether you like it or not."
Jonathan's breathing hitched before becoming heavier.
"Mmm, but I'm certain you would love getting fucked by me, even if you wouldn't admit it, baby."
With one last stroke he came hard, spilling his cum on the ground. He threw his head back against the chair, his cock softening in the grip of his fist.
After he was done, he shut down his computer, grabbed a wet rag and cleaned his cum off the ground before he went to bed.
The next day, his day passed quickly, mainly because most of his attention was drawn to you. You looked so happy with the results of your exam. You deserved it, being the good student that you are and the cherry on top, even unknown to you, being his favorite.
Jonathan had approached you, asking if you could stay for a couple minutes after class for a quick discussion about the results of your recent exam.
After everyone was out of the room, Jonathan leaned against the desk and crossed his arms while you were still sitting at your place.
"So," he started, uncrossing his arms to walk over to you, leaning down with his hands on the edges of your desk. "You did good mostly. But in order to pass this good, you have to be good in any of these, not just one. They all count."
You nodded. "I understand."
"And I'm not doing this to torture you, I hope you know that. I just want what's best for you." Jonathan said in a lower and slightly huskier tone, looking into your eyes with a serious expression.
He pushed himself off of your table, moving back to lean against his with his arms crossed again. "What I'm trying to say here is that I'm willing to help you."
"I know. But I hate asking people to throw their time away because of me. I will study more from now on, I promise." you replied.
Jonathan smiled. "That's good to hear." he knew you would try giving your best, but what kind of professor would he be if he wouldn't offer his help to his student?
"Well, you can go now, I'd hate to take your precious freetime away."
You gave a gentle smile, grabbing your bag and stood up. "Thanks Mr. Levy, have a good day." you said before making your leave.
After you've left, Jonathan let out a breath he didn't even realize he was holding.
Back at his home, Jonathan had atleast half his mind being busy on you. He couldn't help it, why was he even acting like that? He didn't know either, but does he want to stop? Absolutely not.
Jonathan was even at the point where he didn't care about good senses anymore, that's how far he'd go for you.
What he did next was wait for nighttime to come, then he went out going to your house. Breaking into your home was relatively easy, but he still hoped you would be in deep slumber already.
It didn't take him long to find your bedroom, he sneaked into your room like a cat, already loving how he could just sneak in without you noticing anything.
He had to stop himself from wanting to search through some of your belongings, feeling way more bold now that he was in your house.
Of course his eyes were trained on you, he didn't want you to wake up and alert the whole neighborhood with your screaming.
Jonathan crouched down at your bedside, simply admiring your peaceful, unaware and beautiful sleeping face.
He reached out, pulling your covers off just a tiny bit, revealing more of you. Leaning in, he closed his eyes, enjoying the smell of everything you had on you. His fingertips glid carefully along the curve of your neck.
Jonathan felt so at peace with finally being so close to you, albeit if you're sleeping.
"It won't take long until you're mine, sweetheart."
-----------------------------
Tags:
@nekoyin @steven-grants-world @iolaussharpe-24 @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction
@krakenkitty @mooksmouse @klillaah @faretheeoscar @alexxavicry
Wanna get tagged?
#jonathan levy#scenes from a marriage#oscar isaac#oscar isaac characters#jonathan levy imagine#jonathan levy x reader#jonathan levy x fem!reader#yandere jonathan levy
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Mama's Potatoes
Sebastian can't cook. Good thing the Niffler can. (Written for the OHL Discord server November prompt; "Comfort Food".) Sebastian Sallow x F!MC (Siobhan Sloane) Tags: Fluff, domestic married life, pregnancy, Sebastian can't cook and you can fight me, Peter the Niffler. 1.7k words [Ao3] | [Wattpad] | [Tumblr Masterlist]
Sebastian doesnât know what heâs doing.
Itâs a rare feeling. Heâs not stupidâhe wouldnât be the youngest curse-breaker at the Ministry if he wereâand usually knows how to handle a daunting situation. Crazed Inferi, dangerous artifacts, unusual hexes, you name it. But thisâŠthis is a new level of difficulty.
Heâs been standing in the kitchen since sunrise, flipping through old cookbooks and Sloaneâs recipe journals, looking for somethingâanythingâwithin his skillset. Despite his wifeâs numerous demonstrations and seemingly limitless patience, he has never quite gotten the hang of cooking. If his father-in-law were there, heâd scold Sebastian. What self-respecting man canât cook for his pregnant, bedridden wife?
He hates this, hates that he isnât good at something so simple.
It should, in theory, be akin to potions, which he excels at. But alchemy isnât the same as cuisineâyou canât just throw everything in a pot and hope for the bestânot if you want it to taste good. Cooking is science, not magic, regardless of how easy Sloane makes it look. Maybe thatâs why sheâs so good at it, because she insists on doing it without spells. Sheâs a natural, and SebastianâŠ
Well, itâs a good thing he provides in other ways.
With the birth of their child imminent, however, sheâs resigned to the bed, on strict orders from the nurses at St. Mungos to keep off her feet. This leaves Sebastian in charge of the meals, which he knows are lackluster, even if Sloane never complains. If they were still in London, heâd pop out and grab something from the local shops, or hire one of the house elves in their old building as a cook. But they moved to the countryside in preparation for Little Sallowâs arrival, settling down where heâll need to be self-sufficient.
What he wants is to prepare something hearty and healthy, something warm to lift her spirits before the baby comes. Sebastian allows himself five more minutes of wallowing in self-pity before opening another worn journal, hoping heâll see something heâs helped Sloane make before. These recipes arenât in her familiar script, but he quickly finds something promisingâBeef Stew.  Â
ExceptâŠhalf the instructions are in Irish.
Sebastian grumbles to himselfâjust another thing he hasnât mastered. Heâs learned a few languages in his lifetime, largely due to the thirst for knowledge and travel associated with his work, but Irish isnât one of them. And while his wife is of Irish descent, she speaks it so infrequently that he never caught on.
âThis must be her mumâs,â he says aloud, discouraged. He continues to read over the old parchment and the idea of surprising Sloane with one of her motherâs recipes is too enticing to shake.
Sebastian is nothing if not ambitious.
The best-case scenario is that he manages to cook a delicious meal. Worst case, he blows up their kitchen. It wouldnât be the first time.
Emboldened, he gets to work, rolling up his sleeves and clearing off the counter so he has space to prep. Instructions in hand, he grabs everything he needsâor thinks he needsâpots and pans and cutlery, and lights the stove with the flick of his wand. Before he can do anything else, it is yanked out of his hand and he whirls around to find Peter, Sloaneâs beloved Niffler, already stashing the wand away in his pouch.
âMerp!â
âHey!â Sebastian shouts before clenching his jaw, glancing toward the hallway that leads to where Sloane is still sleeping. He looks back at Peter in annoyance. The two tolerate each other, but mostly bicker about who Sloane loves more. âGive that back, Peter. I need itââ
âMerp!â he interrupts, batting Sebastianâs hand away when he tries to touch his fur.
Sebastian sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. âI donât have time for this.â
Peter makes a series of noises that sound very much like the Niffler is mocking him as he stares at the tattered journal in Sebastianâs hands.
âWhat?â he sarcastically laughs. âAre you going to help me?â
For a Niffler, Peter is incredibly expressive, furrowing his brow and blinking his beady little eyes. âMerp.â
Sebastian canât believe heâs about to have a Niffler be his sous-chef. âFine.â
âItâs beef stew, at least I hope it is,â he continues, reading over the recipe again. âSloane must have it memorized because Iâve never seen her use this.â
Peter chitters.
âRight,â he mumbles, moving to the cold box where they keep their perishables. âAt least this is in English. Two pounds of roast, cut into small cubes.â
Sebastian places the parchment-wrapped meat on the counter before scratching at his chin. âOne point ofâŠwhat isâŠprĂĄtaĂ?â He frowns, reluctantly looking at Peter for guidance. Â
The Niffler huffs and carefully scales down the side of the counter before scurrying toward the garden door. He pushed through the little flap Sloane installed, poking his head back in a moment later to glare.
âMERP!â
Sebastian follows after the little beast until they are in the middle of Sloaneâs vegetable garden. Thereâs a little bit of everything, and even though they have the space (and magic) to grow whatever her heart desires, sheâs kept a modest size. Peter digs at the soft soil, right beneath a small plot marker that reads Mamaâs Potatoes.
âOh,â Sebastian hums, feeling dumber than before. He grabs a nearby basket before crouching down to take the unearthed potatoes from Peter. âSince when do you know Irish?â
âMerp,â Peter answers, as if to say âIâm smarter than you, Sallowâ.
The Niffler continues to roam the garden, bringing Sebastian the vegetables and herbs he needs for the meal. When the basket is full, the two head back inside where Peter monitors the prep work with an intimidating aura that rivals Papa Sloane.
Sebastian follows the instructions the best he can, relying on memory and Peterâs so-called translations. He tenses every time routinely grabs his wrist to correct his movements, wondering if he should hand over the knife to let Peter cut the vegetables but figures. Then again, the last thing he needs right now is a knife-wielding Niffler.Â
He cooks the meat in a hot skillet until the cut pieces are lightly browned, before moving on to the vegetablesâsauteing the diced onion, garlic, rosemary, and bay leaves until they are soft. Peter pushes over the bottle of red wine, and Sebastian carefully pours the liquid into the pan, stirring until Peter gestures to add the beef broth. Once everything is combined, he adds back in the meat and secures the lid before placing it into the hot oven.
âShould be ready inâŠâ he reads over Mama Sloaneâs instructions.
âMerp,â Peter chirps, tapping the counter three times.
âThree hours,â Sebastian nods.
He takes some time to tidy up and quietly sneaks down the hall to see his wife still fast asleep. Too nervous to leave the food unattended again, he makes himself comfortable on the floor in front of the oven and starts counting the minutes as they pass by. Peter joins him for a little while but eventually disappears, only returning when itâs time to add in the rest of the vegetables. Â
An hour later, Sebastian holds his breath, protective mitts trembling as he pulls the steaming pot from the oven. He prays to Merlin, and maybe a few other deities, before slowly lifting the lid to inspect the final product. Peter climbs back onto the counter to peer inside, his bill opening slightly as he sniffs the air.
âWant some?â Sebastian quips, scooping a hefty portion into a bowl.
Peter shakes his tiny head. âMerp.â
âThanks for the vote of confidence,â Sebastian mutters, taking a bite for himself. Itâs not bad, though he isnât sure if that means itâs good, either. It certainly tastes just about the same as when Sloane makes it, but doubt swirls in his mind. âI hope she likes it.â
If he hoped for some semblance of encouragement from Peter, he doesnât receive it. Instead, the Niffler huffs and leaps from the counter before scampering away. Sebastian reminds himself to find the little troublemaker later so he can get his wand back. Good thing Peter canât perform magicâright?
Sebastian places the bowl onto a tray, along with a spoon and a cloth napkin. He tears off some bread from the loaf he (barely managed) to bake the day before and runs back out to the garden to pluck a few flowers for good measure. After steadying his nerves the best he can, he ventures back down the hall to the bedroom.
Sloane is awake now, reclining in their bed, eyes closed as she smooths her hands across her rounded belly. She glances up as Sebastian crosses the threshold, surprise lighting up her expression when she spots the tray in his hands.
âYou cooked?â she asks, struggling to sit up. Sebastian quickly sets the food down on the nightstand so he can help her, softly laughing at the way sheâs too focused on the steam rising from the bowl to cooperate. She sniffs the air. âIs thatâŠmy motherâs stew?â
He falters when he notices the shine of tears in her eyes, making sure sheâs comfortably leaning against the pile of pillows. Her emotions have been heightened, to put it mildly, throughout the pregnancy, but he still didnât anticipate tears.
âHey, hey,â he coos, brushing back her hair and swiping his thumbs across her cheeks. âItâs alright, sweetheart. I just wanted to make sure you donât starve.â
âWell I am starving,â she whines and he holds back his amusement, kissing away her pout.
âHere,â he says, making sure Sloane has a good handle on the bowl before leaning back. âI uhhâŠhope it turned out right.â
Sloane takes a moment to take in the aromas, smiling at him with glossy eyes as she stirs the bowl. âThank you.â
Sebastian canât respond, not when heâs still terrified that heâs done something wrong. He watches her, unblinking, as she finally takes a taste. As soon as the spoon is in her mouth, her eyes go wide and she goes still. He panics, leaning forward to grasp her shoulders and tug the spoon from her hand and mouth.
âSloane? What is itâoh fuckââ he curses, heart racing, clumsily placing the food back on the tray before fussing over her again. âDid I poison you? Are you dying?â
Sloane snaps out of the trance to shake her head, her mouth twitching into a shaky smile. She grabs one of Sebastianâs hands and presses it to her enlarged abdomen. His chest tightens for a completely different reason when she finally speaks.
âI think the babyâs coming.â
#hogwarts legacy#sebastian sallow#sebastian sallow x f!mc#hogwarts legacy fanfic#siobhan sloane#sebastian sallow x mc#hufflepuff oc#fanfic
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The Great War is largely over, the majority of Autobots and Decepticons have come to a truce following the deaths of their leaders, Optimus Prime and Megatron. But tensions and errant groups still remain after centuries of civil war, and Autobot City may get caught in the crossfire as Earth's prime Cybertronian Outpost...
Meet Autobot City's main defense team in Transformers: Reconstruction!
Individual character profiles under the cut or under the tag "tf reconstruction"!
#my art#transformers#tf reconstruction#maccadam#transformers fanart#transformers the movie 1986#perceptor and blaster are in the city too like in the movie but they're research and communications respectively#so they're not Specifically defense team#plus the dinobots and wheelie show up also but they occupy ''sixth ranger'' roles lmao#wreck-gar and the junkions also appearing at some point - basically if theyre in the movie theyre here in one way or another#i gotta figure out who the ''bad guys'' are though i dont fully know#all i know is that starscream's probably a Main Annoyance to match his immediate takeover of the decepticons in the movie#but i do think it'd be fun if the various antagonists were this universe' versions of villains from other tf movies#like scourge/battletrap/nightbird as one faction and shatter/dropkick as (at least part of) another#idk this is mostly for fun and an excuse to draw robots
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[ID in alt text] my magnum opus
#the owl house#toh#hunter toh#lilith clawthorne#i have hcs about their dynamic but they're mostly comedic tbh#like yeah it's fucked up that Lilith had beef with a child but it's also pathetic and i think that takes the edge off it tbh#hunter kinda knows this. he doesn't like her and i appreciate it when ppl read it as ''hes walking on eggshells around her''#based on that one dana art#i think it's a fair read#but i personally like to read it as equal parts nervousness and annoyance at having to be placed with Mean Un-Fun Lilith#hunter thinks she's a loser and has no idea why she hates him so much. he's just trying to do his job man#(my personal elaborate hc as to how this dynamic formed is that hunter as a child used to think Lilith was cool! he wanted to be like her!)#(unfortunately his braggadocios persona as the golden guard gave Lilith the impression that he was Out For Her Job and also Life)#(and bc she's Lilith these threats from a child are taken seriously. she will play nice when Belos is around but she DOES NOT TRUST HIM)#(and she's just not going to interrogate her own insecurities regarding yet another bubbly teen prodigy coming in and stealing her thunder)#(she is definitely not getting reminded of her own insecurities related to eda being better than her growing up. no sir)#(she totally doesn't see the emperor as her mom whaaat that's crazy)#(ANYWAY post canon i think they could be good friends. bitchy friends but good friends)#(someone the other comes to when they need a brutally honest opinion! steve hangs out with them too. ex emperor's coven buddies!)
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finally got a comment about why i primarily gif only jungkook and i'm like, did it escape your notice that he's my bias or...
#i have giffed all of the members in fact#but mostly for my other mutuals because they have different biases/bias lines from me#as i've mentioned before i am a one woman man#quite literally too#so i don't get the confusion/annoyance#it's just funny okay#goodness me#steph.text
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WAS IT 'CASUAL' WHEN...? â TWST 1ST YEARS
Headcanons on the 'casual' things you do with him that made him wish that there was something more between you.
CW đ sfw, gn!reader, reader is implied to fit in Deuce's clothes in his part, pining
CHARAS đ Ace Trappola, Deuce Spade, Jack Howl, Epel Felmier, and Sebek Zigvolt
AN đ mostly* edited now đđ
ACE TRAPPOLA â you slept in the same bed?
Ramshackle isn't exactly known for having the best facilities or furniture, and that is a fact Ace has to make peace with whenever he gets kicked out by Riddle. It's always a little too chilly at night and the floors still creak beneath his feet. Even with a makeover, half of the beds are broken and that stiff couch downstairs is your next best bet at getting some semblance of sleep.
You insisted you really didn't mind sharing a bed at all and Ace took you up on your offer. In his words, "if you say so then!" Just create an invisible partition down the middle and the two of you should be fine. Sure, yeah, that'll be infinitely more comfortable than the couch, and Ace absolutely agrees. He repeats the thought to himself over and over againâ this is supposedly the better alternative, isn't it?
Yeah, totally. He tries to convince himself that it's really not a big deal for him to be inches away from you at night and feel your warmth spreading through the sheets. God, you'd think he's a weirdo if you woke up and caught him staring right now, but he could always twist it into a dumb joke about your sleeping face looking like an ogre. Consequently, he would have to watch your face twist in annoyance and pretend he wasn't watching every rise and fall of your chest. He would rather lose his magic entirely than admit the ugly truth and make himself vulnerable to you.
Ace does realize he's being embarrassingly sappy and romantic, and he's disgusted at himself for these thoughts, but he can't help it. He can't change the fact your lips look so soft and your eyelashes are so pretty. This is freaking him out so much more than it should. Does this really mean nothing to you? Do really only see him as a friend? Fine, then the two of you are just friends sharing a bed then!
It's really nothing! Ace was the one who joked about it months ago, after all. But things (and his feelings) have changed and he cannot ignore that. Back then it wouldn't have been such a big deal, but now it is and he cannot calm his heart down no matter how hard he tries.
You're right there. It's not the first time he had to share a bed with someone but it's different now because it's you. He did the math and the two of you are only 10 inches apart. Ace almost reaches for you in his weakest moment until he remembers that the two of you are supposedly just two friends sharing a bed. You're doing him a favor by sheltering him for the night, that's all.
Ace retracts his hand right away at the very last second. He might have as well taken the goddamn couch (lest either of you wake up in each other's arms).
DEUCE SPADE â he lent his clothes?
You came here with next to nothing. You had exactly one change of clothes and pocket lint for change, so Deuce, being the righteous and honorable student that he is, decided to lend you some of his clothes for the meantime. It's what a good friend would do! It's a temporary arrangement that would last only until Crowley spares enough change for you to buy another set of uniforms.
But this arrangement drags on for so long even when you have a functional closet and multiple sets of better-fitting clothes. Deuce never really noticed until recently that a third of your (albeit very limited) wardrobe actually belongs to him. But whenever you tug on his sleeves for his latest sweater, he doesn't have the heart to tell you no.
When he went home during break, his mom even noticed that certain sweaters and shirts had gone missing. "I left them at the college," he tells her as to not worry her. It's technically the truthâ it's back with you in the college (and you're probably wearing them right now; the mental image is enough to fluster him all of the sudden when it never did before). He has to get them back eventually since those clothes are his. He's sure you wouldn't mind? Right?
Simply asking for them back is the difficult part for Deuce. You're there in front of him wearing one of his older shirts that fit snugly around your figure and he's at a loss for words. It's worn down and outright hideous as hell but the very first thought that comes to mind is that you look good in it.
Ah, yeah. You walk around campus on non-school days wearing his clothes 1/3rd of the time and nobody else knows that those jackets and shirts and sweaters and button-ups are all his. You make even the ugliest ones look good, or maybe it's because you're the wearer and you always looked good to him? Do his eyes need to be checked...? Deuce is tortured by these thoughts while merrily go about your day. You're laughing at something stupid that Grim said and he can't hear anything else. There's a fight in the courtyard but he can't see anything else. There's a midterm tomorrow but he can't think of anything else. You're too distracting.
When you finally do remember to return a shirt or two, Deuce tells you there's really no need to return them. He insists that they're better off with you, but you laugh and remind him that you're no longer the same pathetic charity case you were at the start of the year.
The truth is, your scent still lingers on recently returned shirts. It's the closest he'll get to being skin-to-skin with you, and Deuce is supposed to ignore that but he cannot. Or maybe he's the only one making this weird for the two of you because it doesn't seem to bother you in the slightest (and he's bothered by that).
But when Deuce looks at the recently returned shirts in his hands, he hopes he has a chance. He hopes you think of him as much as he thinks of you. He hopes the odds of him not actually liking you after all make your guts churn and set butterflies in your chest at the same time. He hopes he isn't the only one yearning for used shirts, lingering scents, and ghost touches. But at the same time, you've only ever asked these kinds of favors from him... Deuce doesn't want to assume anything, but a blush creeps upon his cheeks all the same and he continues to hope for more.
JACK HOWL â you played with his ears and tail?
Beastmen weren't a thing back in your world, so seeing them regularly made you morbidly curious about their animalistic features. Jack was easily the best candidate to satisfy your intrusive thoughts because just who else could you ask about this? Leona wasn't exactly an option and Ruggie might rope you into some scheme of his. And Jack owed you a favor, after all, so this is what you decided to ask of him.
Jack's ears twitchedâ did he hear you correctly? His face scrunches up in confusion because you barely knew each other for you to be asking something like this. How could you ask something so personal from him? It's in your innocently eager expression that he realizes what's going on... you just didn't know. Fine, it should mean nothing to you and thus he agrees to let you pet his tail and ears for five seconds. Maximum.
It's supposed to be a one time thing but he finds him involuntarily offering up his tail whenever you look him like that. He's not even sure how it got to this point. After all, there are romantic connotations of having your tail petted by someone else and... nevermind. Ruggie and Leona have started simultaneously teasing him over it the very moment they caught wind of this peculiar arrangement. It doesn't help that Jack's tail is particularly sensitive and reactive, but he keeps a straight face no matter how much it embarrasses him.
Jack doesn't understand why you're so fascinated by his tail and ears because there are so many others just like him. However, he supposes it's not an entirely terrible feeling, though, to have your fingers absentmindedly rake across his tail and hair as the two of you study. It's relaxing, even, but he won't tell you that. Jack will never tell you that it gives him goosebumps all over and makes him shiver whenever you play with his tail. Or that he's begun wondering what it would be like to have your hands elsewhere, or for him to touch you in similar ways in return.
He doesn't understand why he craves your company but doesn't question it either. All he knows is that your hands are so soft and gentle and that he likes the way the corner of your eyes crinkle when you smile in satisfaction. And when you hum a soft tune as the gap between the two of you closes, he wonders if he's the only one feeling this tension.
"Again?" Jack huffs. The pretext of this being a silly favor has been long forgotten. He should probably tell you soon that you shouldn't be doing this, but you just look so pleased with yourself when the two of settle down in a lesser-known corner of the library. The routine persists, the cycle continues. Hours later, the both of you have gone through multiple bags of chips, two movies on his laptop, and his tail is now comfortably curled around your abdomen as you read a book and he tends to his beloved cactus.
Again? Jack silently asks himself whenever he sees your face in a crowd. Could the two of you spend hours in a comfortable silence while the unsaid implications haunt him? He's started to ask himselfâ were you just playing dumb at this point or just plain stupid? Or what if you had known all along and the two of you were just dancing around it?
EPEL FELMIER â you kissed him?
Epel eventually learns to use the way others perceive him to his advantage; there's strength in appearing to be weak and striking when the iron is hot. Still, he couldn't help but wish to be seen for his talents and strength instead of his beauty at the first glance. The first assumption everyone makes of him, for god's sake, is that he's a fragile little thing from a rich family, and, quite frankly, he's sick of it.
So he's secretly delighted when none of his charms worked on you and you yank him by the ear for even attempting. A few curse words and rough shoves later, both of you are on the floor, grappling and wrestling against each other. The two of you are laughing so hard and swearing so loudly that you'll probably wake up the rest of Pomefiore at this rate, but neither of you care. It's just the two of you right now grasping at each other like your life depended on it.
It's a nice change of pace to be openly exchanging insults instead of restraining himself. He enjoys the comfortable rhythm the two of you shareâ from all the brawls and the bantering and the hugs and to the kisses on the cheek. Yes, kisses. They started as simple thank you's after a few favors here and there, and just one of them is enough to make a mess out of Epel for weeks. Better yet, you only seem to be showering him with more and more of your attention and he relishes in it.
Ah, things are finally working out for him! He found someone he could confide in and he's sure that there's a spark between the two of you. By the end of the year, he might have someone to bring home and brag about to his relativesâ
All the momentum halts when he sees you across the hall granting the rest of your friends the same levels of affection. From all the brawls to the bantering to the hugs and the kisses, none of those were ever solely his to take delight upon. It doesn't matter that he opened up to you about all his fears and insecurities because he was never special. You were just the kind of person who got along and felt comfortable with everyone around you, but Epel hates that he has no one to blame but himself. He willingly walked your warmth but it was never his to take.
It finally dawns upon him that you have never seen him in a romantic light and that was why you were so comfortable around him. In retrospect, the bond you two shared was more sibling-like than anythingâ and believe him when he says he's incredibly grateful that the two of you were that close âbut it doesn't make it hurt any less to know that your affections never carried any romantic intentions after he had pinned for you for so long.
Even when he takes a step back, you're cruel in a roundabout way by continuing to be so kind and loving towards him. How was Epel supposed to make sense of your relationship after realizing he misunderstood you...?
And he also hates to admit this, but his self-confidence takes a huge blow from this. Epel genuinely thought he could be loved for who he was based on the time you spent together. It gnaws at him and eats him alive to finally know the truth, and sometimes he wishes he never found out at all.
SEBEK ZIGVOLT â you wrote him love letters?
So, Sebek asked (demanded) to be penpals...
It's all because Lilia told him it would be a good exercise of diplomacy, he insisted. As the young master's bodyguard, he will have to be as courteous as possible even in unpleasant company. He also rationalized, admittedly partly because of you, that forging bonds with magicless humans may be a worthwhile endeavor after all! It's all rather suspicious (and you suspect his real intentions have something to do with your friendship with Malleus), but Sebek has never been one to lie about his intentions. If anything, the popular opinion was that he's a little too honest and should learn a thing or two about holding back.
There's something very unconventional in sending handwritten letters in this day and age of modern technology, but also something very romantic and fantasticalâ much like the many fictional knights he had read about. It helps a lot that he's not directly confronted by the fact you are very much a magicless human who shouldn't be in NRC whenever he spills out his heart's contents unto multiple pages. It was a way for him to release his frustrations, celebrate his achievements, and talk about the dull, little things thats happened in his day-to-day life to someone who listened.
And listen you did. Turns out, when you're not subjected to his 1000 decibel shouting, Sebek is a rather earnest guy who worked hard and acknowledged others who also worked equally as hard no matter their disposition. To say the least, you understand why Lilia found it so entertaining to tease him.
It completely flies over his head that you had been flirting with him for months through these letters. Your everyday interactions with each other had been completely normal, so how was he supposed to notice?! It takes multiple rereads and many late-night discussions with the other Diasomnia dormers to decode and understand all the double entendres and hidden 'i love you's' in each and every letter. It was so needlessly difficult, but Lilia laughs in his face and pats him at the back for a job well-done.
"There's no way," he thinks to himself late at night and finds himself doubting Lilia's claims for once. But when Sebek steals a glance in your direction and you smile back in return, he's never felt weaker in his knees. You're absolutely and undeniably magic-less... but somehow you had casted a spell that made his chest tighten and shut him up. He hadn't even realized how much time he was spending with you and thinking about you when he wasn't.
Except nothing has changed in-person. You're acting like you hadn't meticulously hidden your affections for him in those letters, and he was starting to seriously doubt all of it. Yeah, were you event smart enough to pull off all that? As some magic-less human?
Actually... Sebek realizes that you are capable of outsmarting him after getting to know you much better through those letters. He's never been one to deny where credit it was due. Now, Sebek's just deeply ashamed that he failed to accurately assess your character before making judgements based on superficial traits. He knows better than anyone that you're witty, charming, brave, kind, beautiful, ambitiousâ
Oh no.
Oh no.
Sebek simply explodes on the spot once he realizes that he had been oblivious to his own feelings for you too. He had thoroughly examined every aspect of this conundrum except from within. Quite embarrassing from an esteemed knight of the prince of nocturnal fae to be this slow, really.
#twisted wonderland#twst#twisted wonderland x reader#twst x reader#ace trappola x reader#deuce spade x reader#jack howl x reader#epel felmier x reader#sebek zigvolt x reader#ace trapola#deuce spade#jack howl#epel felmier#sebek zigvolt#i hope my favorite isn't too obvious el oh el
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didnât know if youâd care if i came back
pairing: bucky barnes x curvy!reader
warnings: sweetness. tiny bit of angst but mostly fluff fluff fluff. grumpy x grumpy sweethearts who havenât defined the relationship lol. cuddling. blink and youâll miss it mention of body insecurities. uhhh if iâm missing something that should be tagged pls let me know!
words: 1.7k
notes: idk where this came from but if youâre noticing repeating themes in my writings - no youâre not.
anyway! thank you in advance for reading, i hope you enjoy. as always, reblogs and comments are welcome and so appreciated! let me know your thoughts đ©”
âGet out,â you speak, your ever present annoyance clear in your voice while your stone face is completely unaffected as you type on your phone, not bothering to so much as glance at the door. Youâre comfy in your bed while your space heater hums and you keep typing away as you hear the door click shut once again.
Your blanket is pulled and your bed shifts beneath you as you type faster, working to finish your thought before it slips away completely. Still not looking at anything but your screen,
âGet off my bed,â you demand to no avail.
âShut up,â he grumbles, his own constant annoyance audible as he easily wraps you up in his strong arms. Your soft body presses against his as you maintain focus on your phone, rolling into his hold while maneuvering your device from hitting him. One last sentence and youâre done. You hit save and then let your phone drop after locking it.
âWhat happened to hello?â he asks harshly as he holds you close.
âYou were busy,â you shrug matter of factly, face in his chest as you get comfortable.
âLook at me,â he demands, forcing you to angle your face to meet his eye as you sigh with a roll of your eyes.
âWhat?â you humph. âIâve been gone three days, you havenât even had time to miss me.â
âI donât care if youâve only been gone three minutes,â he squeezes your jaw a bit, eliciting a sharp breath from you as your gaze softens up at him. âIf youâre not right next to me, doll, Iâm missing you.â
The sincerity and warmth in his normally icy blue eyes has your heart melting just a little more. He missed you⊠he really missed you?
Itâs atypical for you, but you donât have anything to say in refute as you stare back at him - a part of you waiting to see something that will give him away and confirm your suspicions that heâs lying. The other just wanting to commit that look in his eyes and the gorgeous color to memory.
He missed you.
No oneâs ever missed you beforeâŠnot really.
He came to your room of his own free will, just to see you? Heâs holding you so close and you donât think youâve ever felt so warm or welcome.
Or wanted.
And heâs not even trying to get you out of your clothes. Heâs just here. To be here. To see you. Because he missed you.
He missed you.
âAnd for the record,â he continues speaking, interrupting your thoughts, âI wonât ever be too busy for you.â His eyes soften even more as he notices the growing emotion welling in them as you work to maintain your facade of careless, feel nothing, grump. He knows the feeling. He knows you.
He brushes his lips softly on your forehead and he feels your fingers tighten ever so slightly in his shirt as you let yourself relax a bit more into him, âNot for you,â he mumbles his promise.
You fight a shudder as you blink your eyes, batting your lashes in an attempt to fight the sting of welling tears before they have a chance to fall. Damn this man and his uncanny ability to have your walls crumbling around him within mere minutes.
Youâre still not even sure how this all started. It was one night together on a mission.
And then another night together back home.
And then another.
And another.
And then an afternoon together. And then a morning.
And then a full day.
Into the next.
And then it was sharing beds every now and again.
And dinners.
And then more and more frequent sleepovers. And now itâs? You arenât sure.
It went from just desperate late night sex toâŠto whatever this is.
But, whatever it is, you think it might be for the better. Bucky helps you feelâŠbetter.
Safe.
Cared for.
Loved.
You push that thought away. Thatâs justâŠtoo much.
Isnât it?
You cuddle into him despite yourself, nuzzling into his chest for comfort.
âSorry.â
Itâs nearly a whisper, but he hears you. His big hand rubbing soothingly up and down your back as he keeps you to him.
âI wan-,â you bite your tongue, swallowing the lump growing in your throat.
I wanted to, you were going to say, to see you first. Just didnât want to bug you.
You hear his response in your mind as you thoughtlessly press your lips. âYouâre not a bug. Youâre not a burden.â You know what heâll say, and you want to believe him. But you donât think you can hear him say it right now without the damn breaking.
You try to clear your throat as you let your hands wander him and speak a little louder now,
âI missed you.â
Heâs smiling softly, not that you can see it, as he grabs your hand gently caressing his side and brings it to his lips. Your gaze follows the movement curiously before you watch him kiss your hand. Your stomach flutters at the small act of affection.
Bucky tugs you closer and you lift your leg to hook over his, just wanting to be closer, to feel him more.
âAnd how dare you try to kick me out of my own room,â he scolds.
You laugh, real and true as you shove him a bit. âThis is not your room,â you deny.
His toothy grin is infectious as he eyes you. âOh yeah?â he says, reaching behind you to grab something, âthen whatâs my pillow doing in here?â
You freeze for half a second, he notices but doesnât mention it, as your eyes widen ever so slightly. No, you think, you definitely put that back before you left.
You quirk a brow as you turn to see his pillow in his hand before he drops it back on the bed. You know you put his pillow back, and waitâŠthat wasnât even the pillow you had.
Why would his pillow be in here, unlessâŠ
âYou slept in here?â you ask, your voice much softer than you intended as you look in his eyes.
His smirk has lightened drastically, but still gently tugs on the corner of his lips as he tries to read your thoughts. He nods a little, breaking eye contact for a quick moment as he wets his lips out of habit,
âI missed you.â
Your own lips quirk at the corner as you feel your heart swell.
âAnd you were due back here at four this morning,â he adds.
He was waiting for you.
You knew someone at the tower was monitoring the flight itinerary but youâd assumed it was Stark or Fury. Now you know it was him. And your heart somehow feels like itâs gonna burst out of your chest as your tummy tingles with something you donât think you can actually name.
But itâs good.
Better than good.
Oh god.
Maybe it is loveâŠ
He turns to lay on his back and takes you with him as he does.
You groan a bit and try to shuffle off him, not wanting to crush him despite his super soldier status. He doesnât let you, not that youâre surprised. He keeps his hands on you, one on your bent thigh and the other around your back, resting protectively on the curve of your waist meeting your hip.
He loves the feeling of your body on his, revels in your weight resting on top of him - in every circumstance. Your curves, your softness, your warmth.
You.
âDonât even think about it,â he grumbles, letting his eyes close as he relaxes into the mattress. You sigh, staring at his contented face while his hands gently squeeze you comfortingly.
You watch him for a while, enraptured by his peaceful rest until you really feel his breaths even out. Heâs sleeping like a baby as you lay on top of him and you canât help your disbelieving titter. How this is comfortable for him, youâll never know.
You let a hand touch his cheek gently, your fingers brushing his five oâclock shadow. You angle yourself to put a delicate kiss on his stubbly jaw. You donât notice his nose twitch a bit or the tiniest furrow of his brow as you pull away.
Your fingers card through his hair as you admire him. You take a deep breath. If you can feel it, you can say itâŠ
Another stuttered breath. âI,â you start, âI love you,â you murmur softly, sure he canât hear you. You lean just a touch closer, lips just brushing his cheek. âI really love you.â
You feel a little proud of yourself as you pull away. You said it. You donât know the last time you told someone you loved them. Canât remember the last time you really felt it, or felt safe enough to say it. Sure, heâs sleeping, but still. You said it. And if you said it now, you know you can say it again. One day. When heâs awake. When youâre ready. You smile to yourself before you let your head rest on his chest, content now to sleep for a bit too in the comfort of his presence.
Buckyâs heart is beating so damn loudly heâs a little terrified youâll hear it as you make yourself more comfortable atop him. He wants to squeeze you and tell you how much he loves you too, to kiss you til youâre dizzy and make sure you really understand just how deeply in love with you he is.
But he knows he wasnât really meant to hear that just now. And despite that, heâs really glad that he did.
Because you love him.
You really love him.
He knows this is new to you, and youâre still trying to get used to it, to figure it all out, despite the fact that thereâs no mystery here for you to solve. But he doesnât mind moving at whatever pace you want or need. After so long, he never thought heâd find this. Never thought heâd feel this again.
And then came you.
Youâre his perfect match. And his best friend.
And you love him.
Buckyâs never really felt lucky in his life. But here and now, with you starting to mumble softly as you lay on his chest, trusting him, loving him, well heâd consider himself the luckiest man in the world.
#i like to think reader is the only one who doesnât know sheâs explicitly dating bucky đ#bucky barnes x curvy!reader#bucky barnes x plus size!reader#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes drabble#bucky barnes oneshot#bucky barnes fluff#bucky barnes x grumpy!reader#bucky x curvy!reader#bucky x reader#bucky barnes fanfic
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A bird what now? part 9
birdritch masterpost
"It will make him easy to keep an eye on,â Tim said.
Bruce sighed but gave a little nod. That was true. Even if this was nothing nefarious, they would have to keep an eye on Danny just to make sure that it wasnât a reoccurring event. After all, with those running around like Clay Face, Man Bat, and Killer Croc there are plenty of people who had gotten turned into creatures and inhuman beings through: both their own fault and not. Bruce certainly hoped whatever was going on wasnât the result of something being worked on at WE, but he would certainly have to meet with Lucius soon and double check that. It could always be something that Danny was working on in his own time or could have nothing to do with the company at all.
Gotham wasnât exactly the safest place as far as chemicals in the water and air went. Though Bruce had been doing what he could through his own funds, initiatives at WE, and through his connections with the mayor. At least this mayor seemed like a good one (or as good as Gotham could hope for at the moment).
Progress could be slow, which was sometimes hard to accept.
âPut the bag on the table, Red Robin,â Bruce said with a little bit of a sigh in his words. Enter
âBut B come onââ Tim started with a little furrow of his brow.
Bruce crouched down a little to meet Timâs eyes. âI understand your inclination, Red Robin, you know I do. But we have enough information to look into this without invading what little privacy he has after waking up in the situation that he just did.â
âOh,â Tim looked down at the bag and closed the flap over. âI guess I just⊠hadnât thought about it like that.â
âI know, chum,â Bruce said. He squeezed Timâs shoulder gently. âGo put the bag on the table for him and get yourself some coffee.â
âCoffee, coffee sounds amazing,â Tim said, mostly to himself, as he went to follow orders.
Bruce stuck his hands in the sweat pants he was wearing and trailed after Tim. Heâd let his kids who needed the coffee go first, but he could really use some himself to deal with this morning. He stopped by Jason where the other was leaning against the meeting table and rubbing at the edges of his domino.
âWho thought Bat paranoia would pay off with us all putting these stupid things back on after showering,â Jason grumbled.
Bruce gave a soft âhmâ.
âYou got that good cream in stock? Cause this shit is going to itch wearing these all night.â
Bruce gave a little nod. âIâll make sure you have a tub to take with you. Thank you for staying last night to watch over the family.â
ââŠyeah, sure old man.â
With a brief clasp to Jasonâs shoulder, Bruce stepped up for his turn to get some coffee. Contrary to the easy jokes, Bruce didnât enjoy his coffee dark and brooding like his soul and added a decent amount of cream to his cup.
âI donât suppose that thereâs enough in the pot for me?â
To his credit, Danny Fenton didnât flinch as multiple white lensed gazes turned towards him. There was some water dripping off his hair, landing at his bare feet next to the too long sweatpants legs. Nightwingâs pants, Bruceâs mind supplied, just based on Fentonâs build. Though oddly the sweatshirt was definitely Bruceâs and absolutely swallowed Fenton.
Fenton reached up up and pulled the collar of the sweatshirt up over his freckled and scarred shoulder.
Scarred?
âCertainly,â Bruce said and reached for a mug. âCream? Sugar?â
âA little of both, thank you,â Fenton said. He looked to his side as Cass came up to him and let her herd him to the table with a soft huff.
The rest of the Bats made their way there. Bruce set the mug down in front of Fenton and took the open seat to his left.
âWhat do you remember from last night.
Fenton took a long sip of his coffee before he spoke. âI left work about eight twenty.â
âThatâs pretty late,â Tim interjected.
Fenton shrug and a gave half smile. âI have a habit of losing time, much to the annoyance of my boss. Heâs who sent me home. I stopped and grabbed some food before I headed through Robinson park towards the station on the other side. Normally thereâs no issue, but suddenly the vines were active and there was some sort of commotion off to my left.â
Bruce glanced towards Dick who gave a slight incline of his head. The commotion must have been them.
âMy phone was deadâ sâwhy I didnât get my alarm to leave work, so I couldnât check out if it was anything major,â Fenton continued. âI tried to back up and get out of the park but I was pretty surrounded. I wouldnât have been too worried, but there was this flower, big and bold red. It popped and thatâs the last clear thing I remember. After that itâs just⊠panic? I remember the flower was bad, my lungs felt like they were burning. I had to protect someone? Someones? And then there was a level of comfort. Then I woke up here.â Fentonâs hands hand tightened around his mug as he talked until he had a white knuckled clutch on it. âIâm hoping you all can fill in a few pieces.â
âSome,â Dick said. He leaned forward, elbows resting on the table. âRed Hood, Red Robin, and myself, Nightwing, were dealing with some criminals who were trying to bury a body in the park.â
âReally?â Fenton said incredulously. âWhy did they think Posion Ivy would be okay with anyone digging in her park? Like sure, technically fertilizer, but really?â
âRight?â Dick agreed with a smile. âShe was pretty unhappy. Iâm assuming thatâs what made the vines agitated. Sorry about that.â
Fenton gave a little shrug. âNot like you all were trying to bury a body. At least not this time?â
Jason barked out a laugh at that that Bruceâs look didnât quell at all. He just flicked Bruce off.
âNope,â Dick continued, undeterred, âwe just stopped then and then were trying to calm Pamelaâ Ivy down. Thatâs when you showed up, except you werenât exactly⊠you.â
With excellent timing as always, Tim pulled up a still from his camera onto the monitor of the bird entity. Fenton paled to an alarming degree.
âWhat?â he croaked.
âThis bird creatureâ youâ crashed onto the scene,â Dick said as Tim let the video play. âDonât worry, you were nonviolent. Well, at least not to anything other than Ivyâs plants.â
On screen Fentonâs bird form was wailing on a carnivorous flower as he pulled Nightwing to safety.
âOh Ancients,â Fenton said and buried his face in his shaking hands.
âMostly you just collected us. Cuddle pollen causes people to need living warmth and it was obvious that you were dosed as your feathers were covered in it, which then affected all of us also.â
âMost of us. Iâm smart enough to wear a fucking mask,â Jason said.
âI always thought that was smart,â Fenton said weakly as he pulled his gaze back up to the screen. âI really didnât hurt anyone?â
âOnly Robinâs pride,â Tim chirped.
Damian growled back.
âOkay. Okay thatâs⊠thatâs good. I, um⊠yeah, thatâs new. The bird thing. Thatâs new,â Fenton said as he watched the video play out until Red Robinâs camera was obscured by feathers.
Bruce reached out to rest his hand across Fentonâs shoulder blades, tapping out a rhythm for him to breathe to.
Fenton sent him a shaky smile.
âUnsure about what you were, but knowing you had been affected by cuddle pollen and were⊠collecting my children, bringing you back to the cave seemed the best action,â Bruce explained. âAs most of us were affected, it was easiest to stay close. It was unexpected to wake up to you being human.â
âYeah, yeah I bet,â Fenton agreed. His gazed was glued to the screen again, the new now from Black Batâs camera. âI wouldnât have expected it either. Thatâs⊠yeah. Thatâs new.â
Bruce caught Cassâs attention and got a subtle assurance back. Fenton didnât know why he had become a bird either. At least that decreased the chance of the man having been experimenting on himself.
âDo you work with chemicals at work?â Bruce asked. He would of course find this out from Lucius, but Fenton shouldnât suspect that.
Fenton blinked at him. âWhat? Oh, no. Basic things, solder and acetone and the such. Nothing that should have any wild effects.â He hesitated then, chewing on his lips as his eyes flicked from Bruce to the screen where he was currently snagging Black Bat with one of the many legs. âBut I was exposed to a lot of weird stuff as a kid. My parents had⊠poor lab safety and I really didnât know any better. I guess that something in the flowers⊠reacted really badly? If there was some other triggers or something around in the air. Thatâs all I can think, but it had to be one hell of an environmental cocktail and not one I want to repeat.â
Bruce could believe Fentonâs aversion with the way he trembled under Bruceâs hand.
-
âYouâll be alright.â Danny wasnât sure if that was a question or a statement, so he nodded and put on the best smile he could at the moment. âWell, Iâm currently not a giant bird entity so I think so.â
They were tucked away in an alley close enough to home that Danny could walk it. The attempt at privacy didnât make it any less weird to be standing there in borrowed clothing and talking to Batman who sat atop an intimidating looking motorcycle. Danny hoped it was still hellishly early enough to avoid most of the scrutiny of his neighbors.
Batman went still for a moment in a way that had Danny tilting his head before the man reached into his utility belt and handed over a black keyfob of some sort.
âItâs an emergency beacon. Twist it one-eighty and press the button for three seconds and we will have your location. If youâre exposed to something odd or fear you might shift, use it.â
âIn case Iâm a danger?â
âIn case you need help, including if youâre irrational and need a safe space to calm down.â
Danny chewed on his lip for a moment before he held out his hand. He tried to ignore the tremor in it, even if the shaking was blatantly obvious. Batman set the fob in his hand with surprising gentleness.
âUse it if you need it.â
âOkay.â Danny took a step back. âThanks for the ride back, even if I had to be blindfolded for it.â
âPrecautions.â
Danny just shrugged. âYou have a family to protect, I get it. Keep them safe.â
Batman gave a little nod and Danny took that as his chance to head out of the alleyway and quickly down the street to his apartment. He needed food and to call Sam.
No, he needed to push up that visit to see Frostbite.
---
AN: Can't believe there's 3 chapters of this silliness now. Didn't expect to get this far, but really needed something with no stress to write after the morning I had. Doing my best to hang in there. Stay delightful, darlings.
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ââ±âTHINKING ABOUT...
Content Warnings: Yandere Behaviors, Stalking, Fluff, Smut, Masturbation (M), Oral (F receiving), Perv! Sanemi. Reader is the same age as Sanemi, Filth. Mdni.
Pairings: Yandere! Sanemi Shinazugawa x Fem! Tsuguko Reader.
đđđđđđ đđđ loves admiring you from afar, and never confessed his feelings for you. Heâs always making sure that youâre safe whenever youâre on a solo mission while justifying and convincing himself that heâs just being a responsible hashira and totally not a creepy stalker. After all, a responsible hashira needs to protect his tsuguko, right?
đđđđđđ đđđ would always mask his obsession attraction and love by being all grumpy and pushing you to your limits during training, only to spoil you and be gentle to you afterwards. He just really likes giving you mixed signals.
đđđđđđ đđđ doesnât allow you to go on missions with other people â especially not with those lower ranking demon slayers, he only lets you go on solo missions, or missions with the hashiras and him. He doesnât let you go on missions with Giyuu and Tengen though.
đđđđđđ đđđ intimidates people who tries to approach you. Why bother talking to them? You have him after all. He is stronger and more capable than them after all.
đđđđđđ đđđ can read but canât write since he never really got proper education and he spent his life slaying demons, so he mostly asks you to teach him how to write, but heâd end up getting flustered when you would grasp at his hand and help him how to properly write the letters.
đđđđđđ đđđ cooks food for you and acting like your husband instead of your predecessor. He loves cooking foods for you, loving the way your eyes would lit up and lovinâ the way that you would smile and thank him.
đđđđđđ đđđ would always insist on giving you a massage, after a strenuous training session, his hands kneading away the tension in your muscles. Heâd murmur apologies for pushing you so hard, but heâd end up saying that the only reason why youâre so sore because youâre too weak.
đđđđđđ đđđ would always allow you to join him soak in the hotspring in his estate. However, whenever you would bathe with him, his cheeks would flush crimson, and he would avoid meeting your gaze, because his fuckinâ mind would start to conjure inappropriate things.
đđđđđđ đđđ has zero tolerance for anyone disrespecting you. Catch him overhearing even a whisper of slander about you? Heâll make sure to make the person shut up and makes sure to make their life miserable.
đđđđđđ đđđ absolutely hates it whenever he hears that youâve been injured and ends up scolding the shit outta you and making you not go on missions for some weeks and not letting you out of his sight.
đđđđđđ đđđ started having weird dreams of you â however, this time it wasnât all rainbows and unicorns, and innocent like the last one.
đđđđđđ đđđ found himself getting a wet dream about you, where he was on his knees before you, his mouth eagerly devouring your dripping cunt, tongue swirling skillfully over your needy clit, and eliciting sweet, desperate moans from your lips.
đđđđđđ đđđ ended up waking up with a feverish body and flushed face and a cock thatâs stiff and aching from the steamy dreams that had him moaning in the dead of night like a bitch in heat.
đđđđđđ đđđ let out a frustrated groan as he saw the bulge in his pants, because damn, he despised jerking off and he rarely did it because he thought that itâs just a âwaste of timeâ, but he couldn't resist giving himself a little pleasure, his dick was just begging for it after all.
Sanemi shot a frustrated glare at the prominent bulge straining against his pants, his annoyance growing at the sight of the small, glistening wet spot that adorned the fabric.
Did he cum in his pants while sleeping or was it because his dick is licking pre? Either way, he didnât liked it.
âFuck...â
he grunted in exasperation, a slight shift in his stance prompting him to swiftly unbuckle his belt.
With a smooth motion, he let his pants drop down to his mid-thigh, a wince crossing his face as his cock sprung free, slapping against his abdomen with a lewd sound.
âOh, youâve got to be kidding me,â His eyes widened slightly at the sight of how hard he is.
Sanemi sighed as he hocked a thick wad of saliva into his palm, and winced slightly as he grabbed the base of his cock, feeling it pulsate in his hand and ooze precum.
âWhat the fuck am I even doing?â
He muttered, his hand trembling as he slid it along his length, his teeth sinking into his lower lip as he dragged his thumb over the sensitive tip, feeling the slickness there.
âThis is such a waste of time,â
he grumbled underneath his breath.
âYou better behave after I take care of you, you hear me?â He chastised his dick as if it has a mind of its own as he started to moved his hand up and down his cock.
âStupid fucking hormones,â
he cursed, his grip tightening around his cock. He adjusted his hand for better leverage, and he made sure to press his fingertips against the sensitive underside with each stroke, relishing the way the veins pulsed beneath his touch.
He sat on the futon, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath, the sounds of lewd squelching and his hand moving vigorously over his dick echoing in the room.
It was a relief that today was his day off, free from any missions or distractions.
But the memory of the wet dream that had left him throbbing and aching still pissed him off, because what the fuck, he was supposed to relax and get the sleep he rarely get instead of waking up in the middle of the night and jerking off just because a dream had him all wet and bothered!
Thoughts of you suddenly invaded his mind as he stroked himself, his heavy breathing mixing with the dirty sounds of his fists moving against his slick cock.
Gripping tighter, he recalled the taste of your cunt in his tongue, and it was a phantom sensation that felt too real to be a mere dream.
He started to stroke himself faster, breathing heavily as he started to fantasize about the things that he wants you to do to him.
He wanted you to sit on his face, suffocate him with your thighs, and smother him.
He wants you to use him.
He couldnât help but close his eyes and let his fantasy take over. The image of your hands moving on his cock flashed through his mind.
âFuck, [Name]...â he groaned. Imagining that it was your fingers expertly coaxing pleasure from him instead.
The mere thought of you whispering filthy words in his ear sent a shiver down his spine, and a low whine escaped his lips, the muscles in his abdomen tensing and contracting with pleasure as he nears his release.
âfuckk, just a little bit more...â
He said as a whine escaped his lips.
He was about to cum until he suddenly heard a knock on his door.
âShinazugawa-Sama? Are you alright? Iâve heard some weird sounds coming from here...â
He heard your voice say, and he froze.
Fuck... He forgot that you also lived with him.
©đđČđđđšđđđ«đđĄ || đđđđđđđđđđ
đĄđđđ«đđŹ, đ«đđđ„đšđ đŹ, đđ§đ đđšđŠđŠđđ§đđŹ đđ«đ đ đ«đđđđ„đČ đđ©đ©đ«đđđąđđđđ.âĄ
đđđȘđźđđŹđđđ đđČ: â€ïžâđ„đđ§đšđ§ đđ§đ đŠđČ đ©đšđšđ€đąđ đđđ«đ«đšđ«đđ„đđđđ°đĄđš.<đ
#âđČ àčàŁÂ àŁȘ Ë ć€đđđ«đđĄ đ°đ«đąđđđŹđ â#sanemi#demon slayer sanemi#sanemi x reader#sanemi shinazugawa#sanemi smut#demon slayer smut#demon slayer#kny smut#kny x reader#demon slayer x reader#kimetsu no yaiba x reader#kny x you#kimetsu no yaiba#sanemi shinaguzawa#yandere kny#yandere sanemi
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The Throne Was Meant For Us, My Dear
Aemond x Targaryen!Reader, mostly canon compliant (yes, people are still dying/getting maimed), heavy on the smut, incest (they are targaryens, obv), a little angst
9.5k words (buckle up)
You were born at the end of a long summerâs day, just as the last sliver of sun was sinking below the waves of the bay. Your sister was born on the same day, just after the sun had completely disappeared below the horizon. Twin Targaryen girls, Helaena and Jaenara, the second and third of Alicent Hightowerâs children.Â
The summer has always held a special place in your heart - not only because of your nameday, but because of the way the heat of the day lingers in the air long after the sun has set. The sound of a warm breeze as it rustles through the courtyard flowers, spreading the lovely floral scent. The feeling of the sun on your skin - the taste of fresh fruit grown outside the city. Youâve always loved the summer. You love it especially now, the only thing making this godforsaken funeral bearable.Â
Next to you, Aegon snags two more glasses of wine from a passing serving girl, handing one to you with a limp wrist and a sigh. He downs half his glass in one long draught. âI donât understand why Helaena.â He grumbles, gesturing to where she sits on the ground with his glass, the wine sloshing inside. âIf I must marry at all, why not you?â
You take a long sip from your own glass, leaning back against the store railing overlooking the sea. Driftmark, while much more drab than the Red Keep, has one thing going for it - the pleasant smell of salt in the air, and the sound of the waves against the shore. âOur mother thinks that if we were to be wed, I would enable you.â You say.Â
Aegon snorts, finishing off his drink. âAs if Helaena will do anything to stop me from my hedonistic desires.â He jokes, quoting Alicent. âIf itâs not to do with grasshoppers, itâs not to do with her.â
You neglect to snicker along with him, simply pressing your lips to the rim of your glass as you watch your dear sister pass a spider back and forth between her hands, muttering under her breath. Sheâs always been something of a dreamer, your Helaena, something the rest of your family doesnât seem to notice. But you, always in tune to your sister from the moment you were born, know. Threads of omniscience run through her mutterings, though deciphering them sometimes is beyond you.Â
âSome could say the same about you, with wine and whores.â You say, glancing knowingly at Aegon. âWe all have our compulsions - some worse than others.â
âI only jest.â Aegon says, defensive. You can tell heâs getting drunker, his movements becoming more loose, his words louder.Â
âHm.â You finish your glass, setting the empty cup on the railing beside you. âIs it truly in jest if you are the only one laughing?â
âPerhaps it is better that I marry Helaena instead of you.â Aegon says, leaning close enough that you can smell the wine on his breath. âYou do have a way of inciting my annoyance, Jaenara. No, I do not think you would make a good wife.â
You lean even closer, all too ready to play Aegonâs game. Your teeth scrape over his ear as you retort, âNo, youâve always liked the ones who wonât fight back, havenât you?â
The tension breaks as Aegon laughs, tossing his head back as he steps away, putting a respectable amount of distance between you again. You chuckle as well, until another voice - softer, younger - cuts through your chortling. Aemond.
âWhatâs funny?â
Aegon, not subtle at all, rolls his eyes. âNothing.â
âWe were just discussing Aegonâs betrothal.â You say, shifting so that Aemond can lean against the railing beside you. Youâve never understood Aegonâs disdain for your baby brother - something your nephews seem to share. âOr rather,â You cast a joking look to Aegon. âAegon was complaining about it.â
ââTis your duty.â Aemond says, ever so serious.Â
Aegon rolls his eyes again, gesturing widely at Helaena. âLook at her.â
âAegon-â You start.
âI would do my duty, if only mother had betrothed us.â Aemond retorts.Â
Aegon flaps a hand. âThe both of you.â He dismisses, eyes scanning through the thin crowd. âIâm going to get more wine.â And with that, heâs gone, sliding between chatting relatives in the wake of a serving girl, chasing after the wine she carries.Â
You place a hand atop Aemondâs head with a sigh, gently carding it through the silky silver hair there. âHe can be such an ass, our brother.â
Aemond looks up at you with a thin smile. âMm.â
The blood on your hands is not yours, but your brothers, smeared across your forearms from when youâd clutched his face in your hands, holding closed the gash across his eye with your thumbs as the maester stitched the wound back together. Now, he smears tears and snot across the bodice of your gown, the good side of his face pressed against the thin fabric of your nightclothes as he clutches you with shaking hands.Â
Your mother is screaming. Aegon is huddled against the wall of the room, no doubt already suffering a hangover from how much he drank. Helaena stands to your left, her eyes fixed on the wall behind the scene before her, gaze absent. You watch in horror as your mother wields a knife against Rhaenyra, spitting insults like venom. Ser Cole is pressed almost chest to chest with Daemon. Your little nephew, Lucerysâ face is bloodied.Â
You have no idea what happened. But Aemond is missing an eye. And Vhagar is now his dragon, instead of Laenaâs daughters. You knew - known, now - that his lack of a dragon had always been a sore spot for Aemond, but you never would have guessed that he would go to such drastic measures to claim a beast of his own. And Vhagar, no less.Â
You expect him to cry, to whimper in pain, to react, but he just holds onto the gauzy fabric of your nightdress and keeps the unmarred side of his face pressed close to your chest. Hiding, almost.Â
You soothe a hand down his back, pressing him closer. âItâll be alright.â You say, your voice lost amongst the carrying on. It wonât be. Heâll be scarred forever, heâll have to re-learn how to walk, how to write, how to do anything that requires vision. Itâll take him years to recover fully.Â
âI know.â He says, voice soft. Level. Even.Â
And itâs his calm reassurance that makes you believe your own words. It will be alright, one way or another.Â
Hand in hand, you walk your brother through the halls of the Red Keep, towards the training yards, for his swordsmanship lessons. Servants and nobles alike avert their eyes as you pass, some out of respect, some out of disgust. Itâs true - the scar across Aemondâs face is nothing delightful to look at, a motley of yellow and purple swollen skin, the scabs leaking pus. But you do not look away. He is your brother, and he receives enough torment from Aegon already.Â
He clutches your hand tightly, holding it like a bannister as he puts one foot in front of the other, his good eye steadfastly looking ahead. Sometimes his balance sways (especially around turns or on the steps) but heâs getting better. âYouâll be able to come and go as you please again soon.â You say, not bothering to hide the pride in your tone.Â
He scoffs. âI canât stay a cripple forever.â
Aemond was never sweet. But the loss of his eye has only soured him more. You roll your eyes, teasing, âYouâd do well to save your bitterness for someone whoâs not capable of causing you to fall down the stairs at a moment's notice.â
Itâs supposed to be a joke, but he doesnât laugh. âApologies, sister.â He mumbles.
You sigh. âI only joke, Aemond.â Aegon has ruined him, picking at all of his insecurities without remorse until he bristles at the slightest hint of humor, thinking an insult is coming.Â
His good eye shifts away from the hall in front of him for a moment to cast you a sidelong glance.Â
âNot all of us are Aegon.â You insist, rounding the corner with him to step outside into the afternoon sunlight. Ser Cole is already waiting, whirling his sword from hand to hand idly as Aegon straps himself into his practice armor. Aemond lets go of your hand as soon as he sees Aegon, taking shaky steps onto the field proper, alone.Â
Aegon pays him no mind, his gaze falling on you. âJaenara. Come help me.â
âYour lack of manners is appalling.â You say, walking over to him anyway, taking the leather straps of his breastplate from him and tightening them over his shoulders. âWhat would mother say?â
Aegon just grins. âMeet me tonight.â He says, his voice dropping into a more conspiratorial register. He doesnât have to say where - youâve snuck out with him before. You know the route. âA traveling troupe has arrived in Flea Bottom, supposedly.â
âSunset?â You ask, dropping your hands from the straps on his shoulders to the ones near his waist.Â
âMm.â He watches you work, still grinning.Â
âAlright.â You say, stepping back.Â
His grin widens into a smile as he twirls his sword. âWhat fun weâll have.â
The sun has begun to light the sky when you stumble back into the Red Keep with Aegon, giggling under your hoods as you sneak past the white cloaks back to your chambers. Really, it can barely be called sneaking anymore - you know they see you return, you know they saw you leave. The only reason they donât trail you through the streets of the city is because Alicent doesnât know, and hasnât ordered them to, so why do the extra work?Â
You sway into Aegonâs shoulder as you walk, all the wine that you drank making your head spin. Taking you by the arm, he only makes it worse as he begins to waltz you down the hall, jauntily humming the same tune youâd been dancing to in a tavern earlier. Laughing like a fool, you tip your head back and let him dance you about, until he deposits you against the wall by your bedroom door, caging you in against the stone.Â
You know heâs going to kiss you - he always does, at the end of the night. Gently, he presses his lips to yours, and you smile into it. He doesnât kiss you like he kisses his whores - nor do you kiss him as you do yours. Itâs a chaste thing, only a moment before youâre both pulling back to look at each other.Â
âAs sweet as wine.â He whispers.
âMm.â You bite your lip in a grin. âGoodnight, Aegon.â
âGood morning.â He giggles, pushing away from the wall to stumble back to his own bed.Â
You slip into your own room, dropping your cloak and dress from your shoulders, one after the other, as soon as you are inside. Just in your shift, you turn to flop into the soft comfort of your bed, only to see a lump under the covers that wasnât there when you left. Slowly, you peel back the sheets to reveal Aemond, face pressed into your pillow, soundly asleep.Â
You canât help the smile that spreads across your lips as you climb into bed beside him, doing your best not to disturb his slumber. He stirs anyway though, good eye cracking open with a jolt, softening when he realizes itâs you. Extending an arm, you make space for him to curl up against your chest, and he does, tucking his face under your chin.
âYou were with Aegon.â Itâs mildly accusatory, but mostly sleepy.
âMm.â You donât deny it, stroking a hand through Aemondâs hair. âAnd you were here. In my bed.â You press your nose to the top of his head. âWhat troubles you, Aemond?â
âMy eye.â He says. âThe pain. Itâs more than just the skin, it⊠it stabs me through the skull, sometimes. Makes it hard to fall asleep.â
âWe will see the maesters in the morning.â You say, still gently stroking. âPerhaps they will be able to come up with some tincture to soothe you.â
He lets out a sleepy little hum, and settles more against you. Your own eyes flutter shut, and your stroking hand moves to wrap around his shoulders instead. Itâs quiet, for a while, and for a moment you think heâs drifted off, but then,
âWill you take me with you, once?â
âTo Flea Bottom?â
âMm.â
You pause for a moment. âIf you wish. Perhaps when youâre a bit older.â
âHow old?â
âAt least as old as I was when Aegon first took me with him.â
âAnd how old was that?â
You smile into his hair. âGive it a year.â
âMm. Alright.â
The quality of Aemondâs eye improves drastically over the course of a year, so that by the time he dons his own cloak and takes to the streets of Kingâs Landing with you and Aegon, it almost blends into his face. The scar is a long pale thing that trails down his cheek, and the only part of the injury that escapes the eyepatch. Under the shadow of his hood, itâs barely noticeable.Â
He trails a half-step after you and Aegon, clearly unsure. You donât blame him, itâs quite a change from within the walls of the Red Keep, but an exhilarating one at that. Arm in arm, you and Aegon lead the way, moving smoothly through the crowds to one of your favorite haunts, a little brothel tucked away near the edge of the city.Â
You can hear the sounds of pleasure emanating from within before you even step foot in the building, and the area around the door is crowded with hangers-on, men who canât pay their whores dues. Aegon pushes through them all easily, and you glance back to make sure Aemond isnât lost before following him inside.Â
The place reeks of incense, barely covering the smells of sweat and sex, but itâs familiar to you. On instinct, your eyes scan the crowd of the main chamber, searching for your favorite whore, a beauty named Falyse with long lashes and plump lips. You can feel Aemond pull closer to you in the presence of such debauchery, and you glance down at him again, to find him already looking at you.Â
âThis is a brothel.â He says.
âAye.â You grin, glancing at Aegon.Â
Aegon smiles wide, clapping Aemond on the shoulder. âTonight is the night that you become a man, brother! Your first taste of the best pleasure the world can offer.â
Catching sight of a familiar shock of black hair, you turn, meeting Falyseâs eyes through the throngs of men. âI must take my leave.â You say, petting Aemondâs head. âBut you are in good hands with Aegon. And I won't be far.â
âAlright.â Aemond says. Heâs still unsure, clearly, but thereâs no time for hesitation once Aegonâs swept Aemond up in his frenzy. You slip away, weaving through the writhing bodies until you reach the other side of the room, where Falyse is pouring a glass of wine for another patron. Sheâs barely clothed, so you can feel the goosebumps that rise when you snake an arm around her middle and rest your chin on her shoulder.Â
âPrincess.â She greets you with a sultry purr.Â
âMy lady.â You return, laying your lips in the junction of her neck. âIâve missed you so.âÂ
Sheâs quick to pull you away from the main room, behind a thick curtain to an empty bed. Itâs a familiar dance that you do - she makes a show of ridding you of your clothes, running her soft hands up and down your body until youâre dripping. Then she lays her mouth on you - her wonderful mouth that could pull honey from even the most stalwart of noble women. She never lets you rest with only one peak, no she delights in working as many from you as she can, until youâre pushing her away. Then itâs your turn to return the favor, licking at her until her sweet moans fill the air and you can feel her clenching around your tongue. Youâve earned her devotion in that way - on more than one occasion, sheâs confessed that no man has ever thought of her pleasure, on their own.Â
âWell, I am no man.â Youâd responded.Â
Itâs an exhausting affair, this dance, so it often ends with you curled around her on the bed, listening to her share the latest gossip of the smallfolk whilst you twist her hair into intricate braids, the kind only Targaryens wear, a sign sheâs been with royalty. Youâve just finished your handiwork, laughing along to a story about the smallest cock sheâs ever seen, when the curtains part, and Aemond slips into the room, clearly close to tears.Â
Immediately you sit up, paying no mind to the fact that youâre completely bare. âWhatâs wrong?â
Holding back tears, he hesitates for a moment before climbing into your lap, pressing his face between your breasts with a shaky sigh. You clutch him to you, guilt and regret sinking into your heart. Too young. Heâs always been more sensitive than you, or Aegon, you should have waited to include him in your revelry. Too young, too young.Â
Falyse sits up as well, raising a questioning brow. You shake your head, and run your fingers down your brotherâs back. For a while, the room is silent as Aemondâs breathing calms, and then he pulls his face away, sliding out of your lap to sit next to you instead. Looking down, he hides behind long curtains of hair, but not before you catch a glimpse of his expression. Shame.
Gently, you break the silence. âAemond, this is my friend, Falyse. Falyse, my dear brother.â
Falyse smiles warmly, peering underneath Aemondâs hair. âA pleasure to meet you, my prince.â
âYou must tell him what you were telling me.â You say. âOh, itâs hilarious, Aemond, you must listen.â
He perks up slightly, as Falyse starts her story again - and she does get him to laugh, but the hurt doesnât leave his eyes, and the guilt begins to pool in your stomach.Â
The sapphire is weighty in the pocket of your gown, and bounces heavy against your leg as you rise from the dinner table, dipping your head towards your father before you take your leave, following your siblings out of the hall. Aemondâs nameday feast was a small affair, per request of the prince, and he only received books from both of your parents - leatherbound histories of Valyria that look entirely too large in his little arms as he carries them back to his bedroom.Â
âAemond.â
He turns at the sound of your voice, and you pluck one of the books from his hold, tucking it under your arm. With your other hand, you pull the sapphire from your pocket, and hold your closed fist out to him. âHere.â
Looking at you curiously, he holds out a hand, and you drop the sapphire into it. âA sapphire.â He says.Â
âFor your eye.â You explain. âI had the masons fashion it so that you can slide it into the socket. I thought it might suit you.â Jokingly, you add, âAnd perhaps improve your standing with the court ladies.â
He huffs out a little laugh, examining the gemstone with a careful eye. âThank you Jaenara.â
You smile, reveling in the first laugh youâve won from him in a very long time.
Ser Cole and Aemond behind you, you lead them through the streets of Flea Bottom in the early morning light. It feels like a bit of a betrayal, showing them all of Aegonâs usual haunts, but the situation is dire, and your brother needs to be found. Your father is dead, and it was his dying wish, your mother said, for Aegon to be king.Â
The brothel looks different in the daylight, drab and empty. Gathering your skirts in one hand, you bound up the steps to the door and bang the heavy knocker twice on the wood. With any luck, you can get a hold of Falyse - if Aegon was here last night, she will let you know, free of charge.Â
It is not Falyse that answers the door, but the brothel Madame, Sylvi. A familiar face to you, albeit one that you have not had the pleasure of knowing under more intimate circumstances. Her eyes scan over your face, and then Aemond and Cole behind you. Stooping into a short curtsy, she asks. âAnd what can I do for you, my lady?â
âI am looking for my brother.â You say.Â
âHe seems to be behind you-â
âMy other brother. Aegon.â You clarify. âWas he here last night?â
âIâm afraid not.â She says.Â
You turn back to face your companions. Cole sighs, glancing around the streets like he might spot Aegon passed out in the mud. Aemondâs eye is on the Madame, a mixture of contempt and something else stirring in his gaze.Â
âWhere else, then?â Cole asks.Â
âI donât know.â You wrack your mind, tracing through all of the taverns and brothels you frequent with your brother, all places that youâve stopped before arriving here, all with the same result. âThis was the last place I could think of.â
Cole swears under his breath.Â
Aemond breezes back down the steps, his mouth set in a determined line. âHe must be somewhere. Come, we will try the fighting pits next.â
You murmur your thanks to the Madame before following after Aemond and Cole, worry sinking into your gut. Leave it to Aegon to get swallowed up by the city when the realm needs him most.Â
Meleysâ breath washes over you as you stare down the dragonâs maw, expecting to see the glow of fire any moment, signaling your end. There is no time for action - in the few seconds you would have before flame reached you, there is no way you could reach your own dragon, Vermithor, to have any hope of combatting Rhaenys. Instead, you grasp Helaenaâs arm and try to ignore how your hands shake.Â
Aemond steps in front of the both of you, obscuring your view of Rhaenys atop her dragon with one hand on his sword. As if something as feeble as that will do anything against a dragon.Â
You wait, feeling your sister with whom you shared your motherâs womb tremble underneath your grasp.Â
You wait, watching Aemondâs shoulders rise and fall with each breath in front of you.
You wait, watching as your mother steps in front of Aegon, one hand wrapped around his wrist like a vice.Â
A tidal wave of relief floods through you as Rhaenys pulls at the reins, and Meleys backs off, slipping through the doors of the dragonpit just before they swing closed, casting the room into semi-darkness. Alive. Youâre alive - as is Helaena, and Aemond and Aegon. All of you, alive. You watch your mother almost fall to her knees as the relief washes through her, and then you are wrapped up in Helaenaâs arms as she crushes herself to your chest. You return the hug with vigor, your eyes finding Aemondâs over her shoulder.Â
Alive. Alive. Alive.
Something is happening. Theyâve been locked in the small council chamber even since Aemond returned from Stormâs End. Itâs been hours since your brother dismounted Vhagar, soaked to the bone and looking more shaken than youâve ever seen him. You have no idea what happened, or whatâs being discussed. Now, more than ever, you curse not being born a man.Â
Still, there is nothing to do but wait.Â
So you do, steeping in the burning hot waters of Aemondâs bathtub, idly flipping with damp fingers through a series of poems youâd found in your great-grandfather Jaehaerysâs saddlebag when youâd claimed his dragon. Some of them you recognize as things heâd copied from other poets, some are his own musings about his wife, Alysanne. He wasnât half bad, in your opinion.Â
You snap the booklet closed as the door to the bathroom opens, and Aemond slips inside, still dressed in his soaked riding leathers. He stills when he lays eyes on you, obviously not expecting anyone to have been waiting for him. But you just smile, and set your book aside.Â
âI had them draw a bath.â You say. âI figured you would want a soak, after flying in the rain. Scalding, of course.â
He smiles, and starts on the buttons of his overcoats, the fabric falling to the floor with a wet slap. His trousers are next, and then his eyepatch, set on top of your book before he slides into the bath behind you with a sigh, his head falling back against the edge of the tub.Â
âVery thoughtful of you, sister.â He says, eye fluttering shut.Â
âMm.â You turn around in the tub, collecting a rag that youâd draped over the side and dipping it into the hot water, beginning to run it over his skin that isnât submerged. For a moment, the only sounds are the echoes of droplets falling back into the tub as you wash him, until you speak again. âWhat business kept you in council so long?â
A tension settles in his jaw. âLucerys Velaryon was also at Stormâs End.â
âYou failed to win their allegiance?â You ask, surprised.Â
âNo. Lord Borros was easily won when I promised myself to one of his daughters.â You brother opens his eye. âBut Lucerys is dead, at my hand.â
You set the rag aside, your mind spinning. Lucerys, dead. As if things werenât already pointing towards all out war after your father changed his mind about the succession. âHow?â
Something in his expression shifts and for a moment, he looks like heâs about to burst into tears. âVhagar.â He says, his voice cracking slightly. âI only meant to scare him, but she knows my anger⊠I cannot pretend that I did not fantasize about killing him. I did not think that she wouldâŠâ He swallows, collecting himself. âOur mother is less than pleased with me.â
âOur mother could never understand the bond between dragon and rider.â You say, consoling. You lay a hand gently on his face, over his scar, and run your thumb under the sapphire that sits in his eye. âYou cannot be blamed for your anger at the boy who maimed you. Vhagar cannot be blamed for sharing that sentiment.â You pause. âIt is a regrettable accident. And I am sorry for Rhaenyra and her children.â
He takes a shaky breath before wrapping his arms around your middle, and pressing his face into your shoulder, holding you to him as tightly as possible. Already wet from the bath, the few tears he sheds onto your skin make no difference. You say nothing, but pick up a comb from the short table beside the tub and begin to work it through his hair.Â
You wake up to a sharp pain in the side of your neck, like the skin has been sliced open. One hand flies to the wound, and the other slips under your mattress, pulling the long dagger you keep there free of its sheath in a smooth motion. You sit up, the knife brandished before you, only to find your bedroom empty, the only motion being that of the curtains fluttering from the breeze of your open window.Â
You pull your other hand away from your neck, expecting to see blood. Your palm is blank, the skin unmarred. In the reflection of your blade, you inspect your neck, only to find nothing. A phantom wound, perhaps from a dream. Anyone else would have simply gone back to sleep. But this is not the first time you and your sister have shared each otherâs injuries.Â
You rise quickly, knife still in hand as you dart from your chambers, heading down the hall at a quick clip. Itâs eerily empty - not a white cloak in sight. Something is wrong, youâre sure of it, the echo of your footsteps on the stone only serving to further put you on edge as you approach the nursery. The door stands ajar, flickering candlelight seeping out into the hall from within.Â
Slowly, carefully, you peer around the door. The room is empty - silent. The door creaks as you edge your way inside, turning to glance at the childrenâs beds. It is then that you see it - the headless body of your nephew, blood still seeping out of the stump of his neck into his bedsheets. Your blood runs ice cold, and then burning hot as rage fills you. Your gaze drops to the blood spatters on the floor, little droplets lead out into the hall.Â
Readjusting your grip on your dagger, you break into a sprint, following the trail.Â
Your bare feet slap in harsh rhythm against the stone, your eyes flicking back and forth from the floor to the hall in front of you as you follow the blood splatters. It is too late now. Jaehaerys is dead already, but you have to do something, you must. You can see candles being lit as you whip past door after door, the Keep slowly waking as the horror sets in, but you do not stop.Â
You do not stop even when you turn an ankle as you round a corner, because there he is, a tall man in a hooded cloak, a burlap sack tightly clutched in his hand, blood dripping through the fibers. Stumbling, you push yourself back up with your hands, and with a mighty scream, leap at the mans back, knocking him forward.Â
The bag tumbles to the ground, and Jaehaerysâ head rolls out, jaw slack and eyes wide.Â
âThe fuck-â The man growls, knocking you from his back. You fall to the ground, but force yourself to your feet again, diving forward, your dagger poised to strike. Bigger and stronger than you, he grabs your wrist, bending the bone until it snaps. Tears flood your vision as the pain washes over you, but you do not stop. Gritting your teeth, you drive your dagger into the soft skin of his side, between where his ribs end and his hips begin.Â
He groans, releasing your wrist, and you leap at him again, clawing at his face as you sink your teeth into the side of his neck, biting as hard as you can. You can feel the blows heâs raining on you, but you hold on, savoring the taste of his blood as it floods your mouth, coppery and strong. His hands wrap around your broken wrist, and you wail again, your voice muffled by his skin in your mouth.Â
But then there are hands around your waist, and the clank of armor fills your ears. Two white cloaks tackle the man to the ground as Aemond pulls you from his grasp, pressing your back to his chest.Â
âKill him!â You shout, eyes locked on the man as the guards beat him into submission before hauling him up to his feet. âKill him!â
âJaenara.â Aemondâs voice is low in your ear. âThe maestersâŠâ
You try to shake him off, but your brother doesnât relent, gently steering you away from the guards and little Jaehaerysâ head on the floor, back into the relative calm of the halls. As the adrenaline fades, pain begins to wrack your body in waves, and you find yourself leaning against Aemond as tears fill your vision.Â
âHelaena,â You gasp, chest heaving as sobs build up in your throat.
âWith Cole, and our mother. Jaehaera, as well.â Aemond assures you.Â
âThey,â You say, working around the lump in your throat. âPut a knife. To her throat.â You bring your fingers up to the side of your neck, where the pain had awoken you. âHere.â
âIâm sure sheâs being tended to.â He says. Gently, he pulls your arm up, inspecting your wrist, bent at an odd angle and already starting to swell. âWe must tend to you too.â
Too exhausted to insist that there are more important things to be dealt with, you let him steer you along.Â
You watch little Jaehaerysâ body bounce with the movement of the carriage in front of you, slightly obscured by the mourning veil you wear. Helaena sits beside you, pressed between you and your mother, eyes firmly pointed up at the sky. Sheâs empty, you can feel the echo of it in your own body, as youâre sure she can feel a hint of the festering anger you yourself are harboring.Â
It will only be a matter of time now, before you don your armor and mount Vermithor for battle. You pity the fool who will fly to meet you.Â
The wails of the smallfolk fill the city streets as you pass, petals filling the air as they toss handfuls at the carriages, shouting their grief in harmony. The news of Jaehaerys death had swept through the city like fire, just as your grandsire had suggested it would. Now, more than ever, the smallfolk hated Rhaenyra - there would be no public protest of the war that was brewing.Â
But you cannot help but feel angered by the whole thing as your little nephewâs body shakes with the movement of the carriage in front of you. To be reduced to a martyr, at such a young age. And knowingly, by his own kin. It is an ugly, ugly thing.Â
Helaenaâs eyes finally drop from the sky, and your mother shifts, extending a hand to touch her arm. Helaena shrinks away instinctually, leaning further into you, and you shift, allowing her to press herself against your side, her head falling into the crook of your neck.
You do not need to speak to know what she is thinking. You rest a hand on the back of her head, and let her curl into you, feeling her heartbeat against your own.Â
âCole and I will cut them off entirely.â Aemond says, laying another marker on the map, over Rookâs Rest. âAnd with Rhaenyra confined to Dragonstone, it should be simple enough to take Harrenhal without interruption.â
You let your gaze sweep over the map, stopping at each marker Aemond had put down. âA clever plan.â You agree. âAnd Aegon also approves?â
Aemond scoffs at that, leaning back in his chair, the light from the fireplace dancing over his face. âWhat does it matter?â
âHe is the king.â You say simply, lifting your gaze to look at your brother. âIt is his war that we fight.â
âHe is a figurehead.â Aemond says, rising from his seat to circle around the table, coming to stand behind you. âAt the hands of our mother and grandsire. His only purpose is to lend them free reign.â
âHe is our brother, and liege lord.â You say, standing from your own seat and turning to face him. âYou speak treason, Aemond.â
âMm.â Aemond hums, eye drifting over your face. âI forget, sometimes, that you are partial to him.â
âHe is my brother.â You repeat. âAnd my Helaena is his wife.â
Silence permeates the room, and for a moment, the only sound is that of the crackling fire. But Aemondâs soft voice breaks through again. âDid you ever let him fuck you?â
The question takes you aback, and you laugh. âWhat?â
âIn all your whoring together, did you ever let him fuck you?â He asks again, unwavering.Â
âNo.â You say. âI have no taste for his particular flavor of depravity.â Not that Aegon ever tried, either. That wasnât - isnât - the nature of your friendship.Â
âHm.â Aemond hums, turning back to the map sprawled across the table. âVermithor will be needed to secure the Riverlands.â He continues, like the discussion never strayed from battle in the first place. He leans over the map, tracing a long finger over the stretch of the reach.Â
âOf course.â You agree, confused.Â
Itâs been too long since you last did this.Â
Wine flowing through your veins, you walk arm in arm with Aegon, leading the way to the old brothel, his friends and squire - the reason for the night - behind you. The crowd parts as you step through the brothel doors, a hush falling over the gathered patrons. The quiet only lasts for a moment before whispers take its place, hushed words about the king himself being a patron tonight.Â
Aegon, of course, pays these whispers no mind, dropping your arm in favor of grasping his squire by the shoulders, speaking grandly about the pleasures of manhood. It makes you think of a similar night many years ago, when youâd brought Aemond to this very brothel. Guilt floods you for a moment, but is quickly quelled when soft hands wind over your shoulders, and a sultry voice whispers in your ears.Â
âPrincess.â
You turn, delighted to see Falyse - delighted enough, that with the wine already in you, you plant a wet kiss to her lips before resting your forehead against hers. âMy sweet lady, my own heart.â You croon. âIt has been far too long.â
She laughs, raspy and seductive, her eyes crinkling at the edges with her smile. âI did not know that all three of you would be joining us tonight.â She says, winding her arms about your shoulders. âJust like when you were younger.â
âMm.â You find yourself agreeing before her words really register. âWait, three? Is Aemond-?â
But itâs too late, you know it is as soon as Aegonâs raucous laughter booms through the room. You turn away from Falyse, finding your brother amidst the crowd, having abandoned his squire in favor of sinking next to Aemond on a bed, a wide grin crawling over his face.Â
You canât make out what heâs saying, but you can see Aemond shrinking in on himself, curling away from the Madame, who heâd been laying with. Winding Falyseâs hands away from your shoulders, you bring her knuckles to your lips, pressing a kiss there. âAnother time, my lady.â
âOf course.â She says, understanding flashing across her gaze.Â
You push through the gathered patrons towards your brothers, but Aemond meets you halfway, stalking through the crowd naked as the day he was born, clearly fuming. He pauses when his eye falls on you, clearly not having expected you to be here as well, and you watch his lip tremble ever so slightly. But he does not cry.Â
âAemond.â You say, unsure how to broach the subject.Â
âJaenara.â He returns, icy.
A pause stretches between you, and Aemond turns to leave, but you grab his arm, stopping him. âCome back home with me.â You say.Â
You think heâll spurn you, hiss some insult thatâs more for Aegon than for you, but he sighs, âFine.â
He does not speak to you until you stand at his bedroom door. You feel as though you should say something, apologize on Aegonâs behalf in some way, but you donât get the chance before Aemond is beckoning you into his chambers with a quiet, âCome.â
You do, not realizing what he wants until the door is shut behind you and youâre pressed against it, your brother's lips pressing insistently into yours. You only hesitate for a moment before kissing him back, giving him what he wants. He melts into it, softening as he realizes that you wonât reject him, cradling you into his arms.Â
When he pulls back, his voice is breathy. âIâm going to kill him.â
It sends a spike of fear through you, thinking of one brother killing the other, but the look in Aemondâs eye leaves no room for doubt. âIâm sure you will.â
Apparently the correct answer, Aemond resumes kissing you with a fervor, steering you away from the door and towards his bed. âIâll kill him,â He says, rushed between kisses. âAnd without an heir, Iâll take his place.â His hair tickles the side of your face as he presses his nose into your neck. âMake you my queen, as he had Helaena.â He nips at the thin skin, making you hiss in pain, pulling at his hair.Â
He lifts his head as he pushes you down onto his bed, crawling over you. âYouâre betrothed to another.â You say as he begins to pull at the laces of your dress.Â
âAs are you.â He responds. You bat his hands away from the laces as soon as you hear fabric rip, and begin undoing them yourself. âBoth empty promises made by our grandsire for armies.â
You shimmy out of your overdress, and kick it off the edge of the bed, left in your shift. Aemond strips himself of his shirt before tugging at the hem of your slip, urging you to take it off as well. Before long, youâre both naked, and heâs hovering over you again, trailing his nose along the swell of your breast. You take the opportunity to free him of his eyepatch, enjoying the glitter of the sapphire you gave him.Â
His eye finds yours as he quietly asks, âWill you let me?â
As if you really even have a choice in the matter. âYes.â
Thatâs all the permission he needs to lift your hips with one hand and slide his cock into you with the other. You wrinkle your nose as the sting of the stretch as he works himself into you, his eye fluttering shut. With a deep groan, he begins rocking himself in and out, grinding into you slowly. Itâs not the most pleasure youâve ever felt (no, he would be hard-pressed to compete with Falyse), but it isnât unpleasant.Â
You relax into the bed as he begins to fuck into you in earnest, whimpering to himself as he takes a breast in his mouth, lost in your body. You suppose you should have expected something like this, eventually. It was odd, that heâd asked if Aegon had ever fucked you, but you hadnât thought that he himself wanted to. Now, his intentions in asking seem obvious.
He releases your breast with a pop before tucking his face against your neck, words trickling directly from his lips to your ear. âMy JaenaraâŠâ He moans. âAlways so good to me. So kind, so sweet, so fierce. Hm.â He pants heavy, his hips knocking against yours frantically. âSeeing you covered in that mans blood, the chunk you ripped out of his neck with your teeth⊠my dragon.â He croons.Â
You wind a hand into his hair, wincing as your wrist twinges in pain. Itâs gotten better under the maesterâs care, but it still complains when you move it in certain ways. The pain vanishes quickly though, and you begin to stroke Aemondâs hair just how he likes, pressing your lips to his temple.Â
He whimpers again, almost like heâs in pain. âI will put us on the Iron Throne.â He swears, voice breathy. âOur dragons will burn Rhaenyra and her armies alive, and it will be our line that continues the tradition of our ancestors.â He all but growls it, snapping his hips with such force that you have to stop yourself from slamming into the headboard. âI swear it to you.â
âAemond.â You gasp, overwhelmed with the vigor of his thrusts. The last thing you would have expected was for Aemond to get you to peak, but you can feel yourself getting closer, the combination of his rough fucking and devoted words stirring your insides.Â
âTell me that you are mine.â He says, demanding and begging at the same time. You can feel him losing his rhythm, pleasure no doubt creeping up on him the same as it is for you.Â
âIâm yours.â You swear. âIâm yours, Aemond.â
He whimpers, and itâs the whining sound that sends you over the edge, your body tensing in his hold as you clench around him. With a loud gasp, you come, and Aemondâs thrusts reach breakneck speed.Â
âYouâre mine.â He whispers in your ear. âMine, mine-â He comes with a rough groan, pressing his hips to yours and holding them there. He sinks into you immediately, collapsing onto your chest, his breath coming in pants against your skin.Â
You bask in the quiet of his room as his cock softens within you, mind spinning as you take in what just happened. âDid you mean it? All that you said?â You ask softly, stroking his hair again.Â
âMm.â He affirms, sleep heavy in his voice.Â
You say no more as he drifts off to sleep on your chest, cock still inside you. He intends to make you his queen. To kill Aegon and take his place.Â
You love Aegon, you do. He is your brother, and one of your closest friends. But you would be lying if you said he was a good king. Perhaps it would not be so bad, if Aemond were to take his place, especially with you at his side.Â
But does Aegon really deserve to die?
Aemond is insatiable now that he knows you wonât spurn his advances. You canât say that you mind too much.Â
Your elbows resting on the table before you, he takes you from behind as you both pore over a map of Westeros, markers indicating where your forces lay. A letter from Ser Cole sits open on the table beside you, informing Aemond of his most recent conquest as he nears Rookâs Rest. You run your fingers against the wood of the table, moving pieces along the map like chess, the sounds of Aemondâs breathy groans and the rustle of your skirts shifting as he takes you the only sounds in the room.Â
âYou will have to - ah - take flight on Vhagar soon then, if you are to meet Cole at Rookâs Rest.â You say.Â
âHm.â Aemondâs hips smack into yours as he leans over your back, moving the piece that symbolizes Vhagar to the edge of the crownlands. âThe conquest should not take more than a day. Any longer and I would send Aegon in my stead - I would be loathe to leave you.â He jokes, pressing his nose against your neck.Â
âMm.â You hum, letting him stretch you further across the table and angle your hips to better receive his thrusts. Planting his hands on your hips, he pulls you back to meet each snap of his hips, the map forgotten as he pleasures himself with your body. Thereâs something intoxicating about his unwavering devotion, something rewarding. It feels like all the time you spent comforting him as a child is paying off; after all, he intends to put you on the throne. You wind a hand behind you to caress his cheek.Â
He melts into the touch, extending his body over your back, pressing himself to you completely. Itâs intoxicating, the power you have over him. The simplest of touches, the softest of words, and the most fearsome dragon rider in the world bends completely to your will.Â
âYou must tell Aegon of your plans.â You say, laying your head down on the table to peer at the man behind you.Â
âHe will no doubt find out on his own.â Aemond says. âEither way, they donât involve him. Rookâs Rest is nothing Cole and I cannot take on our own.â
âAnd if someone were to show you the same insolence if you were the king?â You retort, biting back a gasp as his thrusts increase pace.Â
âWhen.â He corrects, almost growling. âWhen I am the king. And I would exile them for such an insult.â
âYet- mm, Aemond, ah - you do not fear such retribution from Aegon.â You say. You know heâs getting close, his soft pants turning into longer whines, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips. You clench as tightly as you can, reveling in the breathy moan you pull from him as he stills, hips still pressed against yours, spent.Â
You feel him make himself comfortable against your back, not bothering to pull away just yet. âOur brother is a fool, not fit for the duties of the crown. How can one be expected to respect such an undeserving monarch? No,â He says, pressing open-mouthed kisses onto any patch of your skin he can reach. âWe will be much greater.â
Itâs treason, even just entertaining thoughts of taking the throne from the rightful king, but the more Aemond speaks of it, the more you find yourself indulging in the fantasy. Never before did you truly consider what it would be to be queen, but after truly thinking about it, you find yourself enchanted with the idea. With anyone else, you have no doubt that you would have been subjected to the life your mother lived, but as Aemondâs queen, you would have more power than any woman before you.Â
âYou sound so sure already.â You tease, pushing yourself up on your elbows as he slips away, tucking himself back into his trousers and pulls your skirts back down over your legs.Â
âThat is because I am.â
Aegon presses his face into his hands, groaning. While heâs not looking, you slide the wine decanter away from him. Full when you sat down, itâs almost empty now, most of the contents having been poured down the kings throat. Heâs been drinking more, in the aftermath of little Jaehaerysâ death. You canât blame him, of course, but that doesnât mean it isnât concerning.Â
âThey plot behind my back.â He says, his face still hidden in his hands, his elbows resting on the table. âAemond. My own hand - and our mother, sheâŠâ He trails off. âThey mock me. Think me an idiot. I cannotâŠâ He reaches for the decanter, only to find it missing, and lifts his head out of his hands. âMy wine.â
âPerhaps youâve had enough.â You say, doing your best to be firm.Â
He looks at you blankly before gesturing for the decanter again. With a sigh, you fold, sliding the container across the table to him. Let him drink himself to death if he wishes - it would be a better end than whatever Aemond is planning.Â
Itâs hard to look at Aegon, knowing that your other brother is plotting his demise. He doesnât deserve to die, not after all heâs been through. Sometimes, you think you know Aegon better than yourself. Youâve seen him at his drunkest, in the streets of Flea Bottom, at his most desperate before his coronation, at his lowest, after the death of his son. He never asked for any of this. He never asked to be king. He doesnât deserve to die because of a crown he never desired.Â
But one cannot simply resign from the throne.Â
You watch as Aegon empties the rest of the decanter into his glass, and then misses the table as he sets the pitcher down, shards shattering across the tiled floor. He stares down at the floor, eyes blank. âAh.â
âAegon.â You groan.Â
He flaps his hand. âSomeone will clean it up. Someone always does.â
âPerhaps it is behavior such as this that deters Cole and Aemond from sharing their plans with you.â You say, utterly annoyed at your brotherâs actions.Â
Aegon scoffs. âAs if you werenât also kept in the dark.â His eyes lazily slide to yours, and you donât look away quickly enough, it seems, because he catches it in your gaze. âThey told you? And not me, their king?â
âI cannot help that our brother seeks my opinion on such matters.â You say.Â
âThen why didnât you tell me?â Aegon demands, angrily rising from his seat to level an accusatory finger at you. âYou are supposed to be my closest confidant, I expect you to be on my side-!â He cuts himself off. âBut no. Of course not. As soon as Aemond gets his claws into you youâre just like the rest of them.â
âAegon,â You try, placating. âI meant no offense. In fact, I urged Aemond to tell you himself-â
âNo, no, you cannot fool me again! I am not as stupid as you think me to be, I am not.â He shouts, harshly backing away from the table as you rise from your seat. Thereâs an anger in his eyes that youâve never seen directed at you before, and it gives you pause, guilt and shame sinking into the pit of your stomach. What were you thinking, going behind his back like this? He is your brother, one of your closest friends, your king. Curse Aemond and all his sickly sweet words.Â
âAegon-â
A loose hand thrown up in the air, he silences you with a harsh glance before stalking out of the room, leaving you alone with the shattered pieces of the decanter for company.Â
Aegon returns to you on a litter, melted into his armor by dragonfire, barely conscious. The smell of charred flesh and dragon blood fills the hall as the kingsguard rush him to the maesters, and you press yourself as far into the wall as you can to let them pass. There is no rage in you, only shock and despair. You had not thought it would be so soon, that Aemond had his revenge.Â
âJaenara.â
You turn at the sound of his voice, and he stops in front of you, pulling off his riding gloves and tucking them into the pocket of his leathers. Thereâs an energy about him that you havenât seen before. Leftover adrenaline crackles over his skin, the pupil of his good eye blown wide, almost lustful.Â
âWhat have you done?â You demand, cringing at the frightened quality of your voice.Â
âWhat I planned to do.â He says, taking you by the arm. âAre you not delighted? Aegon is indisposed, he will be crippled for the rest of his life - however many short years he has left, in this state. None will stand in our way.â
âIâŠâ You arenât sure how you feel. Aegon isnât dead, but he will be in incredible pain for the rest of his life. Likely, he wonât be able to walk on his own, or ever ride his dragon again. It is an awful fate for someone you love. But you cannot pretend a part of you - the same part seduced by Aemondâs ambition - isnât elated at the downfall of the king.Â
âCome.â Aemond says, tugging you away from your palace pressed against the rough hewn stone of the Keep walls. You fall into pace beside him, stumbling over your own feet as you process how reality is shifting around you at this very moment. Aemond and the council will have to speak on Aegonâs behalf, puppeteering him even more so than before. You are one step closer to ascending the throne. Your brother is half-alive, melted into the armor of his namesake.Â
You donât realize where you are until Aemond is pushing you down onto his bed with one hand and rucking your skirts up around your waist with the other. He does not wait for you to react before he scoops your hips up to insert himself into you, groaning in relief as he slides home. âMy queen.â He gasps throatily, pillowing his face in the crook of your neck. âHave I pleased you?â
âMm.â You hum, unable to say the words âyes, of courseâ. It proves to be enough though, for Aemond sighs again, slowly beginning to grind his hips against yours. Itâs more fervent than his usual fucking, spurred on by the bloody battle heâs just come from. You can smell the smoke in his hair from where it lays across your face.Â
âIt will not be long now,â He says, breathy and rough. âSoon, you and I will sit the throne. Have our own heirs - will you give me an heir?â He asks. âWill you give me more than one?â
âAs many as youâd like.â You choke out. There isnât another option for you now, not with Aemond so intent on having you by his side when he takes his place as king. As youâre sure he will.Â
âWe will put Jaehaerys and Alysanne to shame.â He declares, placing his hands under the small of your back, causing you to arch against him. Holding the tops of your hips, he fucks you against him feverishly. It does not take long for him to finish, already keyed up on the high of his plans coming to fruition.Â
He collapses against your chest with a heavy sigh, and instinctually, you wrap your arms around his shoulders, carding your fingers through his hair.Â
âI love you.â He whispers against your skin.Â
Itâs the first time heâs said the words aloud, though youâve known it for a very long time. Of course Aemond loves you.Â
âAs I, you.â You return.Â
What you canât decide, is if you feel the same.
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ïčđČssueïčă
€:ă
€âis your girlfriend single?âă
€...ă
€( ìíìŽí )
ă
€ă
€ïč1214ïč ă
€ì„ë„Ž fluff, humour est. relă
€ă
€warnings light kissing, slight jealousyă
€ă
€áąááą didn't turn out how i wanted these to be but hope you like them nonetheless >< happy reading and pls rb & leave feedback iNDEX
HEESEUNG
you were out with him and his friend group when the question suddenly pops up, asked by one of his friends who definitely meant it in a fun and joking way, however the frown on your boyfriend's face proves he didn't like it.
it takes him a good few seconds to comprehend the question before he hears you stifle a laugh. he looks at his friend, scoffing bitterly, raising his brows mockingly. âis my girl single?â
âdude it's a joââ
he huffs before his hands cup your cheeks and make him look at you, pressing his lips against yours for a few seconds to get the point across. âno, she's not.â he speaks with a slight nod, trying to look modest even though there's a smug smile on his lips. âand don't ask stupid questions.â
JONGSEONG
he's confused, for the most part. his eyes refuse to leave the phone screen, going over and over the caption of your postâ anniversary post, clearly written down below the pictures where you are sitting on his lap with a cake and he's kissing your cheeks.
âhappy three years to us. i love you, my loveâ
âare they stupid?â he asks bluntly, looking at you with his mouth agape. everything in that post makes it obvious that you are definitely not single.
âit's most likely a joke, baby,â you say, leaning against his arms with a pout, wishing he would just let it go and pay attention to you. âdon't mind them,â
he nods at your words absentmindedly, brows still furrowed at the screen. you roll your eyes, pulling his arms to lay him back on the bed. he quickly sends a âno.â for a reply before putting his phone aside and getting back to you, hovering over you while he has you pinned down, planting a soft kiss on your neck. âyou're all mine, yeah?â
JAEYUN
brows furrows, head tilted slightly to the left, eyes wide open in half confusion half surprise. he doesn't understand why anyone would ask that question, because it sounds stupid as hell. âhuh?â
âi asked if your girlfriend is single,â the person asks again and you laugh under your breath, knowing that they're probably just pulling their leg.
âshe's my soulmate, the love of my life, my other half, anythingâ but single,â and he knows he's being a bit too much he jake wants to show you off and also make it clear that you're most definitely off the markets.
âjake, that's enoughââ
âno? why are they asking if you're single when we're literally walking hand in hand?â continues to explain it to you why that was such a rhetorical question even after that person leaves, doesn't let go your hands until you get home. âshould we take a few couple pics to post them, hm?â
SUNGHOON
mad as hell, gives them the most deadpan face ever. well, he introduced you as his dear girlfriend the minute you two walked in through the doors of the restaurant for the highschool reunion.
âshe wouldn't date you even if she was,â says with his eyes looking at them up and down with displeasure written on his face clearly. he's not having any of it.
he has his hand on your thigh the whole time you two are at the reunion, giving it soft caresses and light squeezes, never missing a chance to compliment you or even flirt with you when you two have been dating for over a year now.
and when you try to remove his hand or something, he pulls you even closer, mostly because he's enjoying your flustered face. âit's so hard having a beautiful girlfriend,â
SUNOO
it's so serious for him, he's shooting daggers with his eyes, annoyance clearly written on his face. it doesn't escape his gaze how the guy in front of him is checking you out, even though while being subtle about it.
âof course, not. she's with me, can't you see?â it's a sharp reply that clearly shuts them off, and sunoo rolls his eyes, turning his attention back onto you.
you chuckle under your breath, but also composing yourself as you link your arms with him as you two walk away from them. âhey, don't you think that was too much?â
and he laughs softly, leaning his face down to plant a feathery kiss on your cheeks, looking at you with a slight grin. âwell, they shouldn't have asked such a stupid question then,â
JUNGWON
he immediately goes silent when he sees that question in the comments of his vlog with you, shooting question marks to the screen with his stares, the embodiment of âdoes anyone else find this weird :/â
âah, if yn is single?â words actually trail off as soon as they dance out of his mouth while tries to process the question. is it a joke? are they being serious? he doesn't know. âuh, i don't think she is since we're dating. . .?â
he's stuttering and you're next to him, hiding your face while suppressing your laughter because he's so adorable. âwonnie, i'm pretty sure they were just teasing you,â
âah, okay,â he nods in realisation, chuckling awkwardly while looking at the screen in silence for a few seconds before adding. âwe're not entertaining any more questions about yn,â
NI-KI
he shrugs and stuffs his hands in the pockets of his pants, giving them a blank look as if he doesn't know a thing. he cocks his head in your direction, asking cluelessly. âare you single?â
and you shoot him a confused look, blinking blankly as you point your index finger at yourself. âme?â
âwho else?â
you continue to look at him in confusion, turning your gaze to your classmate before it lands back on your boyfriend. âi'm dating you, how would i be single?â
riki immediately turns his head to your poor classmate, the smug smile never leaving his face as he shakes his head. âshe's not,â and then he simply puts his arms over your shoulders, pulling you flush against him and walks past them, without sparing another glance.
taglist
#âapproved.#enchive#k-labels#enhypen#enhypen reactions#enhypen drabbles#enhypen headcanons#enhypen scenarios#enhypen imagines#enhypen fic#enhypen x reader#heeseung#heeseung x reader#jay#jay x reader#jake#jake x reader#sunghoon#sunghoon x reader#sunoo#sunoo x reader#jungwon#jungwon x reader#niki#niki x reader#heeseung reactions#jay reactions#jake reactions#sunghoon reactions#sunoo reactions
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*cracks knuckles*
"This." | Alastor x Reader, First Kiss
Summary: You convince your new(ish) partner, Alastor, to give kissing a try.
Warnings: None apart from the tiniest mention of a bloody lip. Just fluff that gets a little steamy at the end.
Word Count: 3.8k
A/N: Dedicated to @6esiree, her follower celebration challenge, and all the scrumptious stories she's crafted for us. x
It had taken a little convincing on your part. After all, the idea of kissing wasn't romantic or enticing to everyone. In fact, when you broke down the actual mechanics of the thing, you had to agree that it was a bit bizarre.
In the end though, he'd agreed to humor you. At least that's what he'd said. But you could see it in your partner's eyesâhe was curious.
And now you were sitting cross-legged on the Radio Demon's bedâa bed he'd only procured after you'd started seeing each other and his lone option to (politely) cohabitate with you came in the form of your suite, which had several tenants in the form of void-staring Squishmallows. Especially considering he often preferred to stay up and read while you slept, it was the one scenario in which he preferred not to have an audience.
The Radio Demon, himself, sat across from you, subconsciously mirroring your body language and awaiting your next move.
You couldn't help but think, as you studied him both recreationally and to look for any indications of discomfort, that your journey to this point had been almost comical in its unlikelihood.
At the base level, it made very little sense. After all, you were more like Vox in a lot of ways than you were like Alastorâtech-savvy, excited about new gadgets and caught up on the latest memes, and absolutely rife with Gen. Z slang. Angel had been certain after you'd arrived at the hotel and stuck around long enough to make a few friends that the second Alastor realized he not only wouldn't get your soul from you, but he'd also have to deal with your shenanigans on top of everyone else's, he might decide you'd look better flambĂ©d with a side of rice.
He hadn't thought that though, apparently. And you'd absolutely annoyed each other at first, mostly for a misfire in communication due to your highly conflicting eras and expectations, but he'd admitted to you much laterâafter a courting proposal he'd had planned to the letter had still gone sideways anyway, again because of you (allegedly)âthat this wasn't completely true. He found you annoying, yesâwhich was fine because he annoyed you sometimes, tooâbut part of that annoyance came from how utterly fascinating he found you, too.
Alastor, at his core, didn't subscribe to the idea that vulnerability was worth a damn in the grand scheme of things. He liked it in othersâsubservience from the masses and warm pink blushes from youâbut he expected more from himself. Vulnerability equated to weakness and that was something no overlord could afford in his mind. So his immediate response to feeling anything on the softer side for you had at first been met with utmost resistance.
He'd tried ignoring you. Not only was he miserable for the duration of that due to missing youâa realization the Doomsday District had subsequently suffered forâbut you drove him up the walls when your initial hurt at being shunned turned to unbridled annoyance and an ever-increasing demand for an explanation.
He'd tried "friendzoning" you. That had initially worked and then royally pissed you off when he used the actual term he'd apparently learned from Rosie a long time ago. You'd informed him with bared fangs and gusto that your friendship was not and never would be a consolation prize and stormed off to your suite. Then you'd ignored himâfor four days precisely. When you'd finally given him the time of day, he'd shown up with an armful of apology gifts and a wobbly smile he'd never admitted to wearing since.
And then he'd just spent the next leg of knowing you very confused about why nothing he'd tried had worked and why you being upset with him upended his world so completely. You'd caught him lurking at the edge of gatherings, fully honed in on you with an intensity that felt like he might be dissecting you with his eyes. You'd thought he'd found another reason to be angry at you until he'd approached you a week later and admitted the complete opposite.
That, loath as he was to admit it, he was drawn to you and it was doing neither of you any favors for him to keep lying to himself.
And you'd realized in that moment, too, that part of why his "rejections" had made you so angry were becauseâŠwell, you liked him, too.
Because, for as haughty and selfish as he was, he also took great pains to go out of his way for you. He looked at you like you were the only person in the room regardless of whether it was actually true. He was timeless in his strange, enigmatic way that was so very much, innately him. A way you'd come to like quite a lot. The bigger L-word was on the horizon, but you'd shelved that thought whenever it had arisen. Not only were you worried you'd scare him away, but you worried about spooking yourself, too.
Your focus pivoted as one of Alastor's ears flicked back, a silent subconscious display of his nerves. He was still watching you, measuring you with a look that managed to show his age and still look boyish simultaneously. His crimson eyes were open, flickering over your face with unease hidden behind a thin smile. When your pensive expression faltered into something affectionate, he huffed a little breath out that made his shoulders relax just the slightest bit.
"Well, dear?" Alastor wondered. His tone was just shy of a purr and you had a feeling he was trying to put up a bit more bravado than he currently felt in the face of something he wasn't as versed in. "You seemed quite intent earlier on getting me alone. Where's your moxie gone?"
"It's still around," you laughed. "Just a little nervous."
He blinked owlishlyâthese more vulnerable expressions were possibly the ones on him that you adored the most. The youth it smoothed over his sharp features almost made it possible to see what he'd looked like while alive. You would've never met him in lifeâdecades on decades had ensured your separationâbut it was a nice thought.
It would've had to have been in your time though. Even though he would've been miserable amidst all the swanky new tech (at least until you talked him into trying a podcast probably), you would've been more miserable trying to acclimate to the mold women were expected to fit in his era. You'd asked him once why he liked you, given just how different you were from what he'd likely grown up with, and after he'd finished laughing at your question, he'd just dropped a chaste kiss to your cheek and said he'd never been partial to dolls and found your spark far more entertaining.
"You are nervous?" Alastor asked, his smile wavering just slightly as he tilted his head. "What ever for?"
"Well, sweetheart, it's been a minute for me, too," you said with a helpless little shrug that made his features soften even as his frame seemed to tense again. "And, well, after asking you to humor me, I'd hate to mess it up."
Alastor scoffed a little and wordlessly turned one of his large, spidery hands palm-up to offer to you. Without hesitation, you took it in both of yours, running the pads of your fingertips over the ashen grooves and sharp points of his knuckles. You both watched your hands traverse his for a moment before he spoke again.
"âŠI must admit I wouldn't know if you did, cher."
It was your turn to look surprised. "If I did, what?" you asked, wondering if you'd been that distracted just by the opportunity to touch his hand or if there was something you'd yet to learn about him.
"If youâŠ'messed up'," he said, borrowing your slang. The stiff, experimental way he said it made a bloom of warmth expand in your chest. How was such a feral, sadistic sort of demon so unbearably cute sometimes? You'd hardly wondered the question before his ears slowly swiveled to flatten against his hair, his smile wobbling again as he rolled his eyes away and sighed. "I expect, given our newfound partnership, I can anticipate a layer of confidentiality here tonight?"
You frowned. "If you're asking if you can trust me, the answer's yes," you murmured, mirroring his head's tilt with yours. "Is everything okay?"
Alastor smiled genuinely and gave your hand a light pat. "Just fine, darling," he said and you noticed his face looked a little flushed.
Had you ever seen him blush? God help you, now that you knew it was possible, you wanted to create that crimson hue on his cheeks as often as possible, he was precious!
"This is a first for me," Alastor finally said, sounding like he'd half-blurted it out just to get past his own pride or anxiety.
"Can you, uh, be a little more specific?" you asked, not wanting to embarrass him, but wanting to know what exactly he meant in case it changed your approach. You gently stroked his hand, hoping it came across as a soothing gesture. He could get grumpy in moments like this, taking comfort as coddling and acting all the more irritable for it after. "I'm just worried about overstepping, I'm not trying to wring anything out of you."
Alastor chuckled and shook his head. "No need to overexplain, dearest. I appreciate the attention to detail," he admitted, still choosing to stare down at your hands or the baseboard off to the side rather than meet your eyes. His ears hadn't yet lifted from their station against his head. "âŠKissing. At least lips-to-lips. I never cared for the ideaâI'm still not entirely sure I do nowâand so I never entertained the practice."
You felt both blessed and terrified at once as you asked, "âŠYou've never kissed anyone?"
Alastor's lip curled a little at your shock. "Please do refrain from making a scene over this," he requested with an exasperated huff.
"We don't have to try this, Al," you hastened to tell him, your fingers tightening around his hand but still leaving him room to pull away if he wanted to. He seemed to notice and the snarl in his smile smoothed away with a silent bit of gratitude. "If you're not interested, it's totally fine."
He gave you a skeptical look. "And you would simply abide by never kissing your beloved?" he asked, not sounding like he believed it a bit. "By feeling as though your partner does not want you?"
You pursed your lipsâwell, it stung a little when he put it like that, but that wasn't where your mind had gone. "Quit putting someone else's words in my mouth," you mumbled and that put a dash of chagrin on the Radio Demon's pinched expression. "I come from a much more flexible time than you do when it comes to this stuff. I knew you were ace before any of this, even before we became friendsâ"
"What now?"
You couldn't help a fond, breathy laugh. "Ace. Asexual," you elaborated. "Generally uninterested in sexual stuff, or at least not interested in the way most people are. It's normal. There's nothing wrong with that."
Alastor's ears flicked uncertainly. "I'm afraid I've garnered a much different perspective all these years," he said. "Which was perfectly fine untilâŠwell."
"It's still fine as long as we're happy," you said. "That's all there is to it."
"It sounds much easier than society made it seem in my lifetime," Alastor sighed, giving your hand another couple of pats. A silent thanks. His eyes narrowed an increment as he, at last, met your eyes again. There was no mistaking the warmth their vermillion glow sent through you. He studied you, that curiosity lingering, as he murmured, "I would still like to try. For you, dear."
You smiled. "Thanks," you said softly. "JustâŠno pressure, okay? We never have to do it again if you hate it or for any longer than you want to. I promise, now that I know to prepare myself, I won't be offended or hurt if you decide you don't like it."
That seemed to be the root of his unease and it made your heart give a squeeze. Evil as he liked to think he was and, in fairness, was to most, he had a soft spot for you. One you relished curling up in. One that already felt like home.
"ThisâŠstays between us regardless, yes?" Alastor murmured. "Not that it particularly matters in the grand scheme of things, but I have a grave feeling that this is something that idiotic picture box would never let go if he caught wind of it. I loathe the idea of simply offering ammunition on a platter."
"It stays right here," you promised. "Just with us."
Alastor hummed his approval and adjusted his sitting position on the mattress. "Lovely. NowâŠhow do we go about this?" he asked, businesslike in a way that was almost comical. It was all you could do not to laugh lest he take it the wrong way in this moment where he didn't have the upper hand.
And, to be honest, his question was valid even if it did seem a bit silly. You'd never done this with someone before. Teaching someone how to kiss felt like such a momentous occasion. What if you were a bad kisser and you'd just never known because what was the gold standard for kissing?! Of course there were do's and don't's and cardinal sins, butâŠwhat made a kiss good?
You weren't sure, but you wanted his first one to be good. Perfect even, if you could manage it.
"Well," you said thoughtfully, giving your lips a nervous lick. You blushed when you saw his eyes drop down and follow the pink tip of your tongue along the seam of your mouth. You had his attention at least. "You've kissed my cheek. You can kiss someone's lips that way too. So let's just start with that."
Alastor's ears finally perked back up. "Simple enough!" he declared, seeming pleased that he wasn't being offered the deep end before being sure he could swim. "Well thenâŠshall we?"
You smirked and shuffled a little closer, giving his hand a squeeze before letting it go to cautiously cup his cheeks. "RememberâŠat any point, if you want to stopâ"
"I will say something, my dear," Alastor said, his ears flicking back again as his confidence faltered anew. "Or tap your arm a few times perhaps if you've got me in too tight a chokehold."
You laughed. "I'm not going to stick my tongue down your throat, for fuck's sake," you griped through a series of giggles.
"Language," Alastor scolded you despite chuckling a bit, himself.
In part to shut him up now, you closed the gap between your lipsâmindful and slow, you kept to your original suggestion and simply pressed a polite, succinct peck against his still-smiling mouth. Afterward, you drew back just a little to get a read on your partner, finding his cheeks a little redder than before. And his eyes, uh, a bit wide.
"You okay?" you asked.
"I am," Alastor said, seeming a little surprised at the fact. "Why, that was hardly unpleasant at all!"
You snorted. "Hardly unpleasant⊠I can work with that, I guess," you mused.
He tsked at you and rested his hands against yours, which were still cradling his face. "You know very well that isn't how I meant it," he chided you. "It was pleasant. Unexpectedly so."
"Well, good!" you said, pleased he'd found it nice. "I'm glad. Did you want to keep it just at that?"
Alastor contemplated you for a moment or so and then contemplated your lips specificallyâyour face heated as he subconsciously wet his own.
"I could perhaps be a bit adventurous⊠If you're up for the task," he suggested, that curiosity lingering and shifting into something a little darker, it appeared. Wishful thinking maybe, on your part.
"I could be," you flirted back, pondering your options before suggesting, "I'llâŠwell, I guess I'll just go until we stopâeither because you tell me to orâŠwhatever. Okay?"
Alastor shifted a little as he said, "Very well. On this particular dancefloor, darling, I follow your lead."
You couldn't help but tease him a little.
"You're a very cute old man, you know," you informed him. And, right as he was about to fire back, you slotted your lips against his, effectively finding the one way you'd encountered thus far to silence the Radio Demon.
You couldn't help a slight giggle when you heard the vinyl screech of a stalled record erupt from the air around you or possibly from his microphone propped up against the bedpost. Keeping to your word, you went slow, starting with a gentle brushing motion before offering a touch more guidance as you increased the pressure and friction by a hair.
Alastor was following, clumsily, but seemed to get his bearings little by little as you took the two of you through this ritual the way he'd once guided you both through your first waltz. You demonstrated the little nuances you'd learned in life as you wentâthe interval opportunities for breathing, the different sensations of brushing vs. sliding through a liplock, and where hands could rest unobtrusively when kissing was the sole activity in the cards for the evening.
Yours had remained cupping Alastor's cheeks and his had slid down from covering your fingers to loosely encircling your wrists. You'd assumed he'd left them there to free himself once he'd had enoughâthe way his quiet, ambient static had climbed to white noise around you had made you think he was nearing his limitâbut he had yet to pull away or signal that he was done.
In fact, unless you were mistaking his body language through the hazy, dopamine-riddled fog you existed in now, he seemed ever more interested in continuing rather than stopping.
Alastor, more confident with the cadence of the kisses you shared and the way he could best move his mouth to match yours, nosed in closer when you started to lean back, thinking you were doing him a favor by allowing him some room. A disgruntled sound rumbled in the base of his throat when his nose bumped into yours, something you thought was cute but he was currently viewing as either a failure or an obstacle to what he wanted.
You smiled against his lips and used the cradle of your fingers against his cheekbones to gently angle his headâyou tilted yours in kind to afford him the closeness he was after. Alastor gave a soft hum of approval as he nuzzled in again, successfully this time, and ran his hands down your forearms as the pads of his thumbsâwith claws carefully angled awayâskimmed the soft, delicate skin of your wrists all the way down.
Experimentally, you chanced a gentle suck against his lower lip and the cross between a low groan and a bleat that he allowed you to swallow between kisses made you shiver with delight.
It caused a reaction in him, too, apparently. In seconds, your world had tilted a full 90 degrees and you were on your back, soft scarlet quilts beneath you and enamored, lovedrunk Radio Demon on top of you.
There was no slow-and-steady now, not now that he had the idea of what he was meant to do and found himself comfortably, securely lost in your mouth, your softness, your scent. For Alastor, kissing someone on the lips had always been an alien, strange, unwelcome sort of actâno longer. Now he could only wonder how else he could get even closer to you, how completely he could be engulfed in the feelings you stirred in him when you were alone together and the Hells outside his doorâyour door now, tooâceased to exist until morning.
He couldn't even find it in himself to be embarrassed about the little cervine sound that had bubbled up from his throat when you'd so innocently yet salaciously tugged at his lower lip. That was filed away for another time, for now all that mattered was you.
You'd since lost your composure under the heat of his full attention. Your fingertips had traversed past the sharp lines of his cheeks toward his hair, gently tangling in the crimson and black-tipped locks that hung in short curtains around his face as he bowed over you, consuming you more surely and more thoroughly all the time.
Overzealous, he briefly and only once caught your lip with the edge of one of his lethal teethâhe'd lapped the bead of blood away, mumbled an apology, and proceeded to kiss you through the clotting, enjoying his taste of your essence without causing you any extra, undue discomfort.
When finally you had to break for air, you filled your lungs and looked up at Alastor, admiring the sparkle in his eyes and the disheveled state of his usually pristine appearance. Again you thought you were glimpsing not just the buck you'd fallen for, but the man he'd been long before you'd ever existed. You smiledâwho would've thought you could feel lucky to be dead?
"Safe to say it's not so bad?" you asked, smirking a little when you heard how breathless your own voice sounded.
Alastor chuckled and straightened, plucking you up from the bed and bringing you with him. "Yes, indeedy, darling," he admitted, kissing your cheek as he admired your plush, kiss-bruised lips. He tutted a little at the tiny split he'd caused but seemed to take it in stride. "Was it⊠Was I alright for you as well?"
Your expression softened. "You always are," you murmured, tilting your head back to kiss the tip of his nose. "But yes. You're a very quick study."
You felt his chest puff with pride. "Why, of course!" he boasted with a haughty chuckle, back to the Radio Demon you knew (and loved). "Certainly couldn't be too hard a thing to learn, after allâthe rabble and then some have seemed to figure it out just fine."
Expecting him to humble-brag you into oblivion, you simply let him marinate in his successâat least until he surprised you yet again. It seemed to be something he was inclined to do often and you couldn't complain. Especially when his surprises tended to, for you, border on a saccharine sort of sweet. Not that he'd ever admit to it.
Alastor smiled warmly down at you and bravely leaned in to press another, shorter kiss to your lips. "Thank you, ma cher."
You blinked. "What for?"
He hummed in consideration before murmuring simply, "This."
A look into his eyes told you that "this," wasn't simply a kiss or a conversation or any particular moment in isolation. It was all of those things though, all at once. The smile you shared was part of it, too.
And the countless tender moments that hadn't happened yet would be part of it as well.
#alastor x reader#alastor x you#hazbin hotel x reader#asexual alastor#hazbin hotel alastor#cw kissing#hazbin hotel fluff#hazbin hotel fanfiction#alastor fluff#soft alastor#i hope i understood the assignment :')
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Reader who got hit w a bunny quirk during a mission w izu please smuttt I love yewđ
I love you too bbgđ
This is actually like a great idea and I had the EXACT same one except izuku was the bunny. Yeah this one is way fucking better.
"don't be amused, it's just the news! This just in; we have more details about pro heros deku and y/n's fight with the new and upcoming villain; sphinx. A local has given us amateur footage of y/n getting blasted with sphinx's quirk! They have the ability to turn others and themselves into animals! Y/n has been out of the hero scene for a while, as far as we know with the information her close friend and partner deku has given us, she's going to be out of hero work for a while, they haven't found a cure or much of a loophole with sphinx's quirk. Next in a cat stuck in a tre---"
You shut the TV off with a groan of annoyance. Why hadn't this gone away yet? You've been like this for a week. A long, miserable, insufferable, week. You weren't alone, even if you wanted to be, izuku wouldn't let you. He felt guilty, he felt as if you were like this because of him. During your fight together he pushed you out of the way when a flying car had come your way, you'd known nothing about the villain upon fighting them. Izuku however, knew everything about the villain, he pulled his mask up before the fight even began.
Izuku always got in a certain head space when fighting whether it be a measly robber, or a very experienced and high tech villain. He always made sure he was ready and that morning could take him out of this state. He just wishes he had warned you beforehand of what the villain was capable of.
You look at your reflection in the black TV screen with a frown. You hated the way you looked. Two fluffy bunny ears standing tall before falling to either side of your face. Izuku walks into your room going completely unnoticed, he spoke and sat down your cup of water but his words falling into deaf ears.
"y/n...?"
His voice nothing above a whisper, sitting beside you while patting your head lightly. People always shipped you two due to the way he treated you, don't get me wrong hes nice to everyone regardless of who they are or where they come from. People just liked to do stupid shit in their free time so you never really took it to heart, mostly because izuku always avoided and shut down all questions that surfaced about you two during interviews. Saying he only saw you as a friend.
You turn to him slowly your sad eyes staring up at him. He sighs while giving you a sad look back, putting your foreheads together. He hadn't left your side at all besides when he and to work, but he made sure to come right back to your apartment to assure that you were alright. It's not like you were sick or anything because you weren't. You could walk, talk, shower, cook, and do everything just fine, but he insisted you do nothing he felt far too guilty to even allow you to lift a finger. He once apologized for you telling him you thought about cooking on your own.
He whispers an "I'm sorry" while your heads are together, you simply chuckle and try to smile. Your quirk had been disabled due to being transformed. There's always a loophole in quirks so why hasn't anyone found one for sphinx's quirk? It was weighing on you far too heavily for either of your liking. Izukus heart ached for you to get better, he hated seeing you like this, all sad and unable to do anything for yourself. You can but for some odd reason he thinks you can't do you just let him take care of you.
Izuku pulls away, putting his fingers in your hair and scratching your scalp, the soothing motion making you sigh and lay your head on his shoulder. He hums with a smile that didn't meet his eyes, he grabs the remote from you and puts on a movie, grabbing your cup of water to ensure that you are hydrated.
You both had fallen asleep on each other, his head on top of yours while you laid on his shoulder. You got up and stretched making him get more comfortable and turn his head to lay on a pillow beside him. You looked at him closely, admiring each and every freckle that littered his cheeks and slightly down his neck his chest moving up and down in a smooth rhythm. He looked so peaceful not having to worry and feel guilty for your current state. Your body moved on it's own, one of your hands moving to his chest rubbing up and down his body. He was very toned, you knew this you could practically see it through his new skin tight suit. It hugged his body deliciously.
You couldn't take your eyes off of him, his shirt was slightly raised and scrunched up ending just above his v line, the way it looked like it was sculpted by gods. He looked like a Greek god himself. His body was fucking hot.
Your tail wiggled and twitched against the bed light noise coming from the way it moved. You bit your lip lightly while looking down where his shorts hugged his waist. Your eyes kept trailing down his figure landing on where a tent in his shorts sat. He was completely flaccid yet his thick cock made a very visible print. Fuck this was really turning you on, he was completely unconscious and unaware of how you were fucking him with your eyes. Your hand moved down to his dick print and gently rubbed over it making him take a deep breath and breathe out slowly, you noticed this and continued your movements while staring at his face, a pink hue forming onto his baby-like cheeks.
You watched as he gulped and turned his head in your direction with a breathy and quick sigh, he was getting bothered by how you teased his semi erect cock. His brows slightly furrowed while you stopped your hands movements completely, his cock twitched against your hand making your eyes shoot down to his cock, seeing it fully erect and leaking slightly against his thin shorts. God this was such a sight, it was so fucking hot and lewd, you felt guilty for getting him all hot and bothered but seeing the way his cock twitched and bobbed up and down for your touch was hypnotizing.
Without thinking you hopped onto his lap you weight sitting on top of him making him shift under you, that was almost enough to snap you out of whatever trance he put you in but the way he put his hands on your thighs and rubbed them out you right back into the daze you never got out of.
Your tail wiggled against his thigh as you slowly grind into him, rubbing your clothes pussy against his clothed cock in a slow yet rough manner. a moan accidentally slipped out of your mouth when his cock rubbed against your clit in the best way.
You panted lightly as the grind of your hips started to quicken in pace, you dug your hips down into his to feel his cock press against you. A noise left his throat as he gripped your waist tightly, his grasp bruising your skin while pushing you down more into him. You didn't think about the fact that he might've woken up due to your moans and the way you moved helplessly on top of him. He rubbed his cock up into you to feel that light friction that had him dizzy.
You grabbed onto his shoulders and rode him like you were actually riding his cock. The thought alone of actually getting to ride his cock getting you to that building release. He moaned deeply before his eyes slightly opened and peered up at you, you were too busy in your own haze to acknowledge the way he looked at you, your fucked out face contorting in such a pretty way.
He couldn't believe you were using him while he was asleep, riding his clothed cock for all that it's worth. He bit his lip and flipped the both of you, a scream ripping right out of you as you look up at him with wide scared eyes. He could only look down at you with lust filled ones. His emerald orbs looking at every feature that painted your body, the way your thighs looked more plump because of your shorts. Your boobs spilling out the top of your tank top. You looked so good and the way you looked at him with those scree and glossy eyes went straight to his aching cock. He was so ready to split you in half on his thick cock, he knew you'd have a struggle but it'd be worth it just to be inside of you. He'd wait as long as he'd have to just to feel your pussy squeeze around his cock.
No words were said as he went in to kiss you, lightly pressing his dry but soft lips against yours. A moan left you as your tail wiggled underneath you, you were so horny and you could feel the way it ate you alive from the inside out, you were so close to crying from how much it burned inside of you.
"please.. please fuck me, I need it."
You whispered up to him with a raspy voice, whining as your eyes moved down to his cock, it looked like it was going to burst out of his shorts with the way it stood up proudly.
He smirked at you with lidded eyes while he kissed you neck, you closed your eyes and fell into the soft kisses being planted on your sensitive neck, he moved his kisses up to your bunny ears blowing on them lighting, the soft feeling of it all making your pussy throb and a whimper leave you lips.
He chuckled lowly to himself as he flipped you over into your stomach. He pressed his chest and his hard cock against your ass cheek as he whispered in your ear.
"using me while I sleep? naughty thing. poor bunny, must need it badly, hm?"
You nodded your head aggressively while rubbing your ass against his hard on, earning a low groan from the muscular man above you.his weight on you felt so good and it wasn't even sexual at all.
He slipped your shorts and underwear down in one swift move, he pulled his own down as he teased your dripping hole, slipping his engorged cock head in and out of your lips. Your eyes roll as you lift your ass in the air and wiggle against his cock. he's surprised by this, a chuckle leaving him while he pulls you back by your ears, a squeak leaving you while he slaps your ass.
"you're so fucking needy huh? this sopping wet cunny of yours dripping around my cock, hm?"
You nod again, not being able to speak due to your throat getting rather dry. He hums and slips his cock in halfway before taking it out quickly, this went on for about 5 minutes, the torture was so funny to him yet painful for you. You felt as if you were going to die, the heat forming inside of you burned badly. You needed release, finally being def up with his teasing, the second he tried to do it again you slammed your ass back onto him taking his cock fully, a choked moan leaving his pink lips.
He groaned loudly while lying his head on your shoulder with a smile, he was out of breath from you taking his cock fully. He chuckled against your skin while kissing it, he bit harshly on the skin of your shoulder making you scream while he thrusted vigorously into your soaked pussy, the squelching noises clouding his mind while he moaned into your ear and grabbed onto your bunny ears. The sensitive muscle being pulled painfully hard went straight to your throbbing cunt, the way he slammed his hips into you and hit that spot repeatedly was just enough to make you cum, but he knew you were going to by the way you started squeezing his cock for all he was worth, milking him and slicking his cock up with your fluid.
âA-Agh fuck donât stop- donât fuckin stop.â
You command him while throwing your ass back, you were feeling too good you felt as if you weren't even in control, the way your body moved lewdly against him was inhumane and unlike you. You'd never felt the need to be near someone like this, like you yearned for his very touch, for him to cum inside of you. Oh. God that sounded so good, the thought of his warm thick cum spilling and spreading inside of you made you squeeze around his cock even more.
Just when you felt as if you were going to cum you felt the need leave. He had pulled out of your cunt with a groan, his cock twitched from the cold ajr hitting the leaky tip. He looked down at your pussy squeezing around nothing, god you were so fucking needy and that made him go feral. He could practically smell the delicious scent you released. Your tail twitched fastly, catching his attention. He had asked you before questions about your body and if anything felt different, he hadn't asked about your tails however, he was curious if it was sensitive. Out of pure curiosity he pushed his thick cock back inside of you, and yanked at your tails, his tight grip on your ears never leaving.
He used them to bring you back more into him. You let out a high pitched moan as your arms gave out, your body felt like it was on fire, throwing your ass back against him while your thighs burned from the work.
âfuâ m'cumâ cumming!!â
You couldn't control it, it just ripped out of you. The feeling was far too strong to hold back or even pretend not to acknowledge you groaned while sobbing, tears falling from your face due to the extra stimulation. He cooed in your ear, coaxing you through your orgasm while never letting you in the way he fiddled with your tail, his other hand leaving your floppy ears to go to your clit, rubbing it slowly while speeding up his hips.
"nngh~ izuâ Izu-"
You couldn't speak from the immense pleasure, it began to hurt due to overstimulation. You sobbed and hiccupped against the pillows as he drilled his cock into you, he groaned and grunted behind you moans leaving his lips as well.
"shit...- fuckâ god dammit, u/n I'm gonna cu- cum again.. shit take it, fucking take it all.."
Again?! He'd already came?? Maybe that's why you thought about his warm cum spreading and claiming every spot inside of you. Because he already did.
You couldn't move or even speak, the way he bucked his hips into yours, stuttering and rhythm becoming uneven. He threw his head back with a moan as he came again, tears welling at the corner of his eyes. He felt so good, your fluttering walks squeezing and convulsing around his soft turning cock.
He collapsed beside you without a word. His eyes closed as he tried to steady his breaths, he hasn't felt this good in so long, it's been a while since he'd last been with anyone. He took pride in his job, he'd wanted to be a hero since he was a kid, however it did take him away from a lot of things, including interacting with people and making new friends.
He needed this and he's glad you gave It to him. He turned to check on you to see you had already passed out, he rubbed your back lightly making you shiver underneath his touch. He got up to assure you were alright, making sure you water was refilled and that you could be clean, he grabbed a warm damp towel to clean you but before he did he got a good look at the two loads that were fucked into you, slowly oozing from your still convulsing lips. Fuck this was a sight to see, he was afraid he'd never get to see it again. He hates what he did but, he had to save this moment forever! A picture to remember this morning by! After all, you won't be a bunny forever.
AN: this was very fun to write actually, I've recently been in a chokehold w top!izuku there's something ab him being mean or js taking care of me that gets to me.
Dividers by @anitalenia
#cvnts-post#mha#mha x reader#deku x reader#izuku x reader#boku no hero academia#izuku is so girlie pop#cvnts-reqs#deku smut#izuku midoriya smut#izuku smut#izuku midoriya x reader#izuku midoriya#mha izuku#midoriya x reader#midoriya izuku x reader#deku x reader smut#deku
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Yandere 7k Special:
With This Love of Mine
Yandere Crossdressing Duchess x Marquess Reader
The day your father announced (your name)â engagement to Duke Claymoore, she was horrified. The young Duke had risen to power from killing all of his siblings and even his father to become the head of the family⊠Duke Claymoore was a tyrant.
âBut father, heâs a tyrant! A madman-â (Your name)âs head was thrown to the side when her stepmother slapped her across the face. Jezebethâs face twisted with disdain. A face (your name) was all too familiar with since childhood.
âThis is for your own good. No other man would want to be with a wild woman like you.â And whose fault was that?! (Your name had wanted to screech at the treacherous woman that stood confidently before her. Jezebeth had destroyed (your name)âs reputation by spreading false rumors of her having a love affair with her childhood friend⊠her commoner childhood friend, Claudia.
âPerhaps the Duke will straighten out your brazenness.â Marquis (last name) sighed in defeat, the portly man pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance. âHe will be here to fetch you this afternoon, so I recommend you clean yourself up to be more⊠presentable.â
(Your name) but her lip and cast her gaze to the floor. She never had her father in her corner so why would this sudden engagement change his coal black heart? The Marquis was only interested in more power and if that meant marrying off his only daughter, then heâd do it⊠an action that (your name) would never forgive until the day she died.
âFine, but donât you ever forget what date you had succumbed me to. For I will never land you a hand in your time of peril, even if you beg me.â (Your name) then grasped her blush colored skirts and rushed from the room so her stepmother didnât see the tears that fell from her eyes. The young marquess didnât want her âfamilyâ to witness any more of her weakness.
âIâm sorry (your name)âŠâ Marquis (Last name) muttered under her breath. âIâm so sorry.â
.
.
.
(Your name) swallowed the lump in her throat when her fiancé stood before her. He was a massive man, of mostly muscle, that stood at almost seven feet tall. His long, dark hair was pulled back in a low ponytail, but his neat hair did little to tame the wildness behind those ruby red eyes.
(Your name) gulped at all the scars that riddled his face. She couldnât imagine the ones that littered his body since he was wearing long sleeves, but she caught a glimpse of some burn scars on his neck. This man was terrifying⊠and she had to marry him.
âIâm here for my wife.â Duke Claymooreâs voice was low and raspy, as if he hadnât spoke in a millennium.
âOh, I hope her appearance isnât embarrassing-â The Duke slammed his shoulder into Jezebethâs shoulder before he stood in front of (your name). His ruby red eyes studied her expression in wonder.
âIâve come to take you home, (your name).â (Your name)âs face scrunched up in confusion at the Dukeâs words. How did he know her name? She had never debuted in society since her stepmother had torn her reputation into tatters and she only had one friend up until their sudden disappearance.
âHome- oh!â (Your name) squeaked when the Duke threw her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Was he some sort of unsophisticated barbarian?! Why on earth would he carry her like this?!
There was only one person that had ever handled her in such a way but she had lost Claudia in a fire so many moons ago⊠plus this was a man that picked her up and not a womanâŠ
The Duke chuckled when (your name) began to struggle. The giant man shifted her body around so that she now was in a proper bridal hold. His chapped lips pulled up into a soft smile that only made the large scar across them even more intimidating. (Your name)âs fiancĂ© was terrifyingâŠ
âIâm taking my wife home. My men have the dowry money in my carriage.â
The Duke ignored the interjection of the Marquess and his wife and instead rushed (your name) to his dark carriage. His grasp was inescapable from how tight it was, his palms dug into her flesh like a pair of ticks. It made (your name) feel even more trapped.
She was gently placed into the carriage before the Duke crawled in beside her. His large, gloved hand slammed the door shut on her fatherâs face, the Duke grinned as he signaled the carriage driver to leave.
(Your name) could only watch out the window as her fatherâs portly body attempted to give chase, her brows furrowed in confusion on why the old man would even try to catch up to a horse drawn carriage.
âYour stepmother made jokes within the social circles that you were only worth a single gold coin so thatâs all I gave him.â (Your name) jumped when she felt the Duke whisper in her ear, the young woman recoiled into herself.
âW-what?â
âThey donât deserve anything more than a single gold coin.â Duke Claymoore pressed a chaste kiss to (your name)âs cheek. âYouâll never have to be around them ever again. It can be just you and me⊠like it was always meant to!â
(Your name) furrowed her brow in confusion at the Duke who seemed so suddenly chipper. Just her and him? She has never met this man before in her life!
âIâm sorry, but have we met-â a beat up locket was suddenly thrust in her face which sent (your name) into even more confusion. This locker belong to Claudia⊠but Claudia had died almost five years ago.
âI didnât think Iâd pass so much for a man.â The Duke chuckled as he ran his hands through his pulled back hair. His raspy voice a bit shaky, âitâs me, (your name). Itâs Claudia.â
âClaudia?!â (Your name) gasped, her eyes nearly bulged out of her head in shock. Claudia⊠was a man?! NoâŠ
(Your name) blushed when Claudia guided (your name)âs hands towards her chest. (Your name) was shocked to find the softest bit of flesh around those muscles.
âI had to train my body to the point bones snapped and Iâd throw up, but it was all worth it! I have power and money now, I could easily eliminate our enemies!â Claudia beamed at (your name), her ruby red eyes filled with so much love. âMy family tried to kill me since I was an illegitimate child to the Claymoore Dukedom. Who would have thought an orphan like me had noble blood?â
âClaudia, I was so worried about you⊠this is a lot to process.â
(Your name)âs cheeks were then cupped by Claudiaâs calloused palms. The Duchess bent down to press a tender kiss to (your name)âs nose.
âIâm so sorry for pretending I died in that fire all these years ago. I saw it as an opportunity to gain power and influence to protect you.â Claudiaâs face was merely inches apart from (your name)âs, their breaths mingled. âYou donât know how happy I was when I heard about how much you loved meâŠâ
Love? Did Claudia believe the rumors (your name)âs mother had started?
âClaudia, I-â Claudia pressed her chapped lips against (your name)âs in a searing kiss. One of her hands tangled in (your name)âs hair whip the other grasped her hip to pull her closer.
âShh. You donât need to say anything, I know you love me too.â Claudia peppered (your name)âs face with more kisses. âIâm so happy you accept this love of mineâŠâ
#female reader#yandere fic#yandere imagine#yandere#yandere duke#yandere smut#Yandere wlw#wlw story#sapphic#yandere oc x reader#yandere oc#yandere original character#yandere obsession#yandere concept#yandere content#yandere idea#yandere imagines#Yandere tyrant#cross dressing#yandere duchess#yandere best friend#yandere childhood friend#yandere x you#yandere x reader#yandere x darling#original work#Yandere writer Momo#wlw yearning#sapphism#sapphic yandere
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An arranged marriage with James Potter
Something had happened over the summer that made James Potter the most love-sick fool in all of Hogwarts. Purebloods being purebloods, it wasnât uncommon for children to be paired up early on to secure the bloodline. While this happened mostly between the old-arching Slytherin families, an example being Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Black, every once in a while, the other houses would participate too.Â
Such was the case with James Potter and Y/n L/n. The L/nâs had spanned generations, stretching back to even the Gauntâs time. But, such as the Gaunt family, the L/n family had run into some bad luck. Stocks didnât go the way they wanted or something of the sort and now they were in ruining trouble.Â
Euphemia Potter was usually one to scoff at arranged marriages, wanting the children to find love for themselves, blood status be damned. However, the L/nâs were good friends of hers and James had written home multiple times about their daughter. From his letters, it seemed as if the two were already dating. It was a perfect coincidence. Euphemia and Fleamont agreed instantly, lifting the weight of a thousand bricks off of the patriarch of the L/n household.Â
However, James and Y/n were not dating. Much to Jamesâ annoyance, the only thing between them was his unrequited infatuation towards Y/n.Â
So thatâs where the pair found themselves at the beginning of seventh year. Y/n L/n trying to fly under the radar and not draw any attention to herself or the new ring on her finger, and James Potter doing everything in his power to show off their relationship and spoil her in front of everyone.Â
It began at the start of the year feast. James had an arm around Y/nâs shoulder the entire time. When a third year nervously asked if the two were dating, staring reverently up at James, the boy grinned and looked to Y/n. âI donât know, love, are we?â
Y/n pushed Jamesâ arm off her shoulder and indelicately said, âno. Take him.â The third year blushed and mumbled their way out of the conversation as James clutched his wounded heart.
During classes, James would loudly correct the professors from Miss. L/n to Mrs. Potter. It earned him wry smiles from McGonagall and Sprout, chuckles from Slughorn and Flitwick, and a cold glare from Y/n. The students all looked a bit confused whenever this happened, but chalked it up to the usual antics of James Potter.Â
In the courtyard or by the Black Lake, James would lay his head on Y/nâs lap, even if she pushed him off or was sitting with her knees up. There were roses on her bed and notes in her bag and it got to the point where Y/n didnât even question how James had snuck into her dorm.Â
If Y/n ever went to Hogsmead, James was sure to follow. No matter what she bought, he would pay for. Even if she got frustrated, he would slip the galleons up onto the counter, grinning at the cashier. He wanted to show her that he could provide for her and give her a nice home. As she would walk from shop to shop, he would point out colours of shops, saying, âoh, that would be a good colour for our bathroom. Look at that little cuckoo clock! Y/n, we have to get it.â
He would follow wherever she went, asking what seemed like meaningless questions. Have you ever had any pets? Do you like the country or city better? Any aspirations for your career? Whatâs a place you always wanted to visit? Y/n thought nothing of it, but to James, her answers were slowly sculpting his future. Would she want a dog or a cat in our home? Where should our house be? I would like the country so our kids could run around more, but we can easily make the city work if she wants. Should I be a stay-at-home dad? Or could we juggle two careers? Where should our honeymoon be?Â
Quidditch games were no better, because after every goal the chaser scored â and he scored a lot â he would look to the stands, find his fiancĂ©e, and blow her a kiss. Before every match, one of his spare jerseys would be laid out on her bed, a small note attached, begging her to wear it. She never did and he always gave her a pout when he realised it. And God forbid she didnât go to the games. Once, she had been studying for an upcoming exam and hadnât been able to make it. James had thrown a fit. Sirius had to drag him away from Madame Hooch before he secured an entire year of detention, but the boy still refused to get in the air. Madame Hooch threatened to start the game and make Gryffindor play a catcher down, but thankfully Remus and Peter had just found Y/n and dragged her to the pitch. The moment James saw her, he beamed and kicked off, broom now in the air. They had ended up winning. James spent the afterparty with his head on Y/nâs lap, arms reaching up to encircle her waist. He continuously reminded her how awful it wouldâve been if she hadnât shown up and only shut up when she began running her fingers through his hair.
And every night, no matter if he went to bed first or she did, James would always go over to Y/n and give her a soft kiss on the forehead and a whispered, âsweet dreams.â No matter where she was, this became a daily occurance in Y/nâs life. At first, she tried to avoid it by sneaking off to the library whenever James began yawning and tossing around the idea of going to bed. But he would find her. She tried the kitchens, hoping he didnât think to look for her there. But he would find her. She tried being in a group with her friends, in animated conversations. But he would weave his way through the group, step in front of her, and still say goodnight. It was like he had this magical map that told him where she was at all times. It was bloody infuriating.Â
Much to Jamesâ dismay, no progress seemed to be made. At least she was staying faithful to her fiancĂ©, the Marauders reassured him as James griped and moaned. He would sling himself onto a common room chair, conveniently in the earshot of his dearest. Y/n would just roll her eyes.Â
The majority of Hogwarts didnât know what to do with them. The girls would swoon when they heard the new thing James Potter had come up with to woo Y/n L/n. The boys would huff and grumble about needing to step up their own game when it came to their girlfriends. James was setting the bar too high. The teachers would sit around, taking time to sip a well-deserved drink, as they complained how if L/n didnât soon see the boy that was right in front of her, helpless to his love, then Potter was going to have a breakdown.
Yet, Y/n continued to push him away. James could be patient. He had been waiting practically seven years â he could wait a little more, but heâd be lying if he said he wasnât hurt whenever she brushed him off. She couldâve said no to the engagement. She couldâve punched or hexed him. It didnât seem like she truly hated him, more like she was embarrassed and tired of him.Â
âI donât get it,â James said finally one night. He laid out on his bed, long limbs stretching over the place as Peter and Sirius played Exploding Snap on the floor.Â
Remus was reading on his own bed. The werewolf sighed, knowing where this was going. âWhat donât you get, Prongs?âÂ
âWhy doesnât Y/n like me?â James murmured, looking at his friends with large, hurt eyes.Â
âMate,â Sirius said. One of the cards exploded, making Peter flinch. âListen. She likes you, yeah? How else are you able to get close to her? I swear, you were practically on top of her a couple days ago.â He scoffed and laid down a card.Â
James groaned loudly and exclaimed, âbut Iâve tried everything! Hell, weâre literally engaged! I canât go through an entire marriage like this. Especially not with the woman I love.â
Peter piped up, smiling sincerely at James. âHey, Iâm sure sheâll realise it soon enough. I think she loves you back. Sheâs just scared.â
âBut Iâm me!â James shouted out. âIâm not scary!â He looked around wildly at his friends. âAm I?â he asked pathetically.
âI think if you have to ask if youâre scary,â Remus pointed out, âthen youâre not scary.â
Sirius grinned. âExcellent point, as always, Moony.â
Remus sighed and gave James a pointed look. âPerhaps, the best thing to do is talk to her. Since she is your future wife, after all.âÂ
âI do talk to her!â James argued. âI ask her about her day and tell her about our pranks. She- she responds. Sheâs very sweet, you know, but she never shows any affection.â
âMaybe youâre pressuring her,â Peter commented. âBy being all lovey-dovey. You could try being her friend first?â
James didnât think he could do that. He already thought of Y/n as his wife. He already thought of her as one of his best friends. But what else could he do to get her to feel the same way?
The next week, James took Peterâs words into consideration. Instead of leaving flowers in her dorm, James asked if he could join her in the library for a study session. Instead of blowing her kisses during Quidditch games, he just waved. Instead of envisioning their future, he focused on the present.Â
It wasnât until three weeks had passed that James noticed the results. Y/n began coming to him with some questions on schoolwork. Y/n waved back at Quidditch games, shooting him a thumbs up in encouragement. Y/n wouldnât fiddle with her engagement ring nervously, as if worried someone would spot it.Â
The girl noticed her changed behaviour too. On a random Thursday, when James came to kiss her goodnight, she paused her conversation and whispered back, âsleep well,â angling her body so he wouldnât have to reach as far to kiss her temple. Soon after, she excused herself from her friends, flustered. Y/n paced around her dorm, twisting the ring back and forth.Â
A knock came at the door. âHey,â James murmured as he pushed open the door. âAre you okay?â
Y/n turned to face him. âYou actually care about me, donât you?â she whispered.Â
James couldnât help but laugh. âOf course,â he replied. âWhy on earth would you think otherwise?â
She shrugged. âIt seemed fake, you know? Like this one big prank to single me out. But then you actually seemed excited and willing to marry me, James. Marriage. This is the rest of our lives and we havenât even kissed!â
James cracked a smirk. He shoved his hands in his pockets. âI can fix that really easily.â
âBut you think youâre in this for the long run?â Y/n asked desperately. âFor- for the fights? The late nights? The chores? And we havenât even talked if we want kids or not!â
âLove,â he interrupted her spiral. âHave you thought about the waking up every morning in my arms? The dancing in the kitchen for no reason? The anniversary dinners where I profess my love over and over again?â He stepped forward, placing his warm hands on her arms soothingly. âAnd if you want, I would love to have mini replicas of us running around, waking us up in the middle of the night because of a night terror. I would love for them to disrupt our dancing in the kitchen by demanding they want to dance too. And I would love for them to groan when they see me being all sappy towards my wife.â
How could any girl say no when James Potter was standing before her, promising her endless devotion? The kiss was slow, Jamesâ lips slowly moving against hers. He revelled in the warmth of her body and how her head tilted to him as he cupped her cheek gently. All short and lovely and sweet, the kisses were exactly how James had dreamed.Â
The couple parted and the boy stared down at her. His finger went up to brush her bottom lip before murmuring, âwill you marry me?â
She didnât hesitate. âYes.â
#james potter x reader#james potter#harry potter#harry potter fanfic#marauders#maraders era#sirius black#remus lupin#peter pettigrew#james fleamont potter#the marauders#the maraunders map#euphemia potter#fleamont potter#james potter fic#james potter x you#hp#hp marauders#hp fanfic
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